Chapter 1
“Oh! Oh yes,” the woman with the perfect purr says around an exaggerated moan.
Really, can’t he tell the girl is quite dramatic with the theatrics?
But Three doesn’t care.
Three is a rather selfish fellow, I’ve noticed. He lets One, Two, and Four do most of the heavy lifting, then he steps in and does something very scandalous it seems, if her breathy pants and moans could be trusted.
It’s not really scandalous. He’s just fucking her nice and hard, chasing his own release, and she’s fake moaning like she’s working for a Grammy.
It’s times like these I’d really like to be able to eat popcorn. It seems like the perfect time to have a bowl. The damn stuff slips right through my non-tangible hand.
Frustrating. As. Hell.
Anyway, Three gets his and moves aside for Two to step in. Two likes the nipples. He always works the nipples, and that’s when her moans will get raspy, more genuine. Two is who I’d like to meet first. Three would have to sit out if I ever get out of this half-here, half-not phase and touch some skin.
I’d make him watch, while Two took my nipples just like he’s doing to her now. As he was doing that, I’d make One and Four change their routine from going first to going second.
As soon as Two finished my nipples, I’d have One and Four do that delightful little blindfold game they do. I wouldn’t know which one had his face between my thighs, humming whatever tune he wanted. I wouldn’t know which one was behind me and running his hands all over my body.
Those two like to share a lot.
Three would usually step in and steal all this glorious thunder so he could deliver some anticlimactic lightning. Pew. Pew.
Not with me. He’d have his very impressive-looking ass on the sidelines, stroking himself for my viewing pleasure, as Two stepped back in and took me slow, then hard, then slow…
Oh yes. This is exactly what I’ve been doing for the last few years since I became whatever this thing I am.
We went dancing tonight. The four of them often go to clubs to find a willing participant interested in a scandalous night of debauchery with four sexy men.
I love dancing. I always pretend like it’s me they’re surrounding as I stand in the middle with the woman of their choice, while they close ranks, boxing her in on the dance floor and making her feel like the sexiest, most desirable woman in the world.
It’s breathtakingly erotic and empowering. Obviously it’s just make-believe on my part, since they’re not aware of me.
I’m neither here nor there. Alive nor dead.
I don’t even quite know who I am. I know what century I’m in, and who the American president is. I assume that means I’m American, especially given the fact English is the only language I know.
But me? I have no clue who I am. I know all that other seemingly less important information, but not where I live, or what I do, or even my name.
And I have no clue who these four are, other than the fact they’re not entirely human, though they look like the finest specimens in the world.
Well, I’ve learned their names; I just had them numbered first, so I considered them pet names after that.
Jude—Four—is the dark and tempting type. Not generally brooding, but certainly foreboding. A sinister twinkle sometimes flickers in his eyes. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautifully tan skin, and a body that would set my panties on fire if I could wear physical panties.
Yeah, he’s the one that drives you to the fine edge of pain, and that’s when those moans become disbelieving, as though they can’t possibly fathom anything is quite so good.
Four is definitely my favorite.
Two is a close second though, because he takes his time. His blond hair is a stark contrast to Four’s inky black hair. The two side by side have no visible similarities, besides the fact they’re carved like sexy stones.
Three is probably the most attractive—blindingly gorgeous, to be honest. But it’s wasted because he’s so selfish with his body, only touching but never letting anyone else touch.
His hair is almost as dark as Four’s, but it’s just a little lighter, always messier. But it’s messy in a deliberate way that only spikes his appeal. And again…that body.
One, who is built just as freakishly perfect, has very light hair, but not quite blond. It also looks the softest, and I really want to get my fingers tangled in it one day.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m terrible for watching these people in their dirtiest, darkest, most intimate of times, when they’re utterly clueless of my presence.
Yeah. I felt that way for the first little while.
During that time, I would flicker in and out. It seemed the longer I had my eyes on them, the longer I was able to stay in this place. Their world.
But when I would seal them out during these intimate times to give them their privacy whilst I called that nasty skank a string of names, I’d slowly start to fade.
What sort of self-respecting woman would allow four men touch her like that? How sickeningly filthy would one have to be to partake in such acts of debauchery?
After years of no one being able to see you, hear you, smell you, feel you, or even sense you? You stop giving a damn about what other people might think of you, and you face the truth of who you really are and what your moral compass truly is.
Because your opinion becomes the only one that exists. No one else even knows you exist.
Turns out, I’m a shameless hussy.
I watched, I coveted, I even did some really questionable things to try and actually possess whatever woman they brought home with them. I’m apparently not the possessing type of ghost.
Or poltergeist? Am I a poltergeist?
If so, I’m terrible at it. I can’t even rattle the electricity or change the channel on the television. Power surges are obviously way out of my league.
Anyway, I’ve since perfected my own personal fantasy. Living. Watching. Learning. I know all four of them as if they’re my real life family.
Well, not family. My people. There.
But they have no clue I even exist.
When I’m watching them watch TV—okay, that sounds creepier than it is—I like watching their different reactions to the same thing. Four always likes the gory stuff. He actually grins when blood is slashed.
Three lights up like a horny teenager when anything to do with sex is on. Ironic, since he’s the worst one at the act.
Two likes to watch with heat in his eyes instead of eager, unlike Three. He also likes to watch his friends—definitely not brothers, learned that—have fun with the girl of their combined choice.
One is the type to react differently the most to things. Sometimes he’s into gore. Sometimes the sex.
Jude is my favorite, of course. He’s the one I would have first. I’d never settle for just one. I’m past all points of dignity or respectable difference. I’m not a lady anymore—possibly never was, since I can’t remember.
I’ve endured this for over five years.
I’ve only caught glimpses of the other world they frequent. They’re certainly not from America, it seems. No. They live in a rather elaborate place where the colors are brighter, the smells are stronger, and the people are really dark and scary.
Somehow it feels familiar too. Though I’m not sure how.
Hard to explain, since I’m a ghost with no knowledge of my past or other worldly things. I know a lot of useless things.
But I’ve found myself knowing things that I didn’t realize were other-worldly until it was pointed out.
So whatever it is they are, I’m something similar. Though that is all real sketchy. I’m almost certain they’re immortals of some kind, but that’s all I’ve gathered. And not vampires; I’m certain of that.
Since I decided to keep eyes on them through all the dirty and the private, my presence has grown stronger. I’m able to stay all the time now. I can even let them out of my sight and not start fading away.
It’s still hard to focus in that other place, though. And now they’re about to start being there a lot more, since they’ve entered the trials. What trials? Hell if I know.
Since whatever I am doesn’t sleep, I even have to watch them sleep.
Ten minutes is the longest I can keep my eyes off them. The second I feel the warning tingle, I’m practically on someone’s lap, pretending he’s soothing me as the strength slowly returns.
They’re very comforting, though they don’t know it.
Needless to say, it’s been a long five and a half years.
There are a lot of others in this other place they visit. Others who also are possibly immortals. Those people are rather vicious. It’s like a forbidden retreat. Ethereal, but full of debauchery and violence.
Seductive as it may be, it’s still a very haunting place, and I have no idea why my boys insist on hanging around those terrible people.
Whatever celestial beings they are, they get tested every other year to see if they get some kind of spot on these trials. My boys have finally been selected.
I assume. I’m not really sure.
Things fade to a fuzz around the edges, and I mostly can’t hear all the words and stuff when I’m there. So…an academy? Or a training facility? Who knows?
Anyway, they finally finish off the tonight’s mushy girl with several more mind-blowing orgasms. She’s practically worshiping them now, telling them she thinks she’s finally in love.
I hate her. I hate all of them. And yes, I realize it’s because of petty jealousy.
They send her on her way the second pizza arrives. I join them at the table, sitting in my seat on the end, pretending I’m eating a piece as well as Two speaks around a mouthful.
“It’s my turn to choose the girl next. We haven’t had a redhead in a while,” he tells them.
I frown, looking at my very dark hair. “Nothing at all wrong with brunettes,” I tell him, though he obviously doesn’t hear me.
“Blondes are more fun,” One states with a dark grin.
“Only because you haven’t met me yet,” I point out. “I’ll be game for basically anything with the four of you the second I’m whole.”
“Brunettes are the most tolerable,” Three says after draining a beer.
“Tolerable is not a very sexy way of describing the women with my hair color, Three” I say on an exasperated sigh. “Do you have to be so rude?”
“Brunettes are the ones who fake it the least,” Four says with a smirk, winking over at Three, who pointedly ignores him.
“Yeah, but the blondes I pick out are wildcats. Very little effort in convincing them to try a little bit of anything,” One goes on.
“Redheads are wildcats too. And they’re fucking vicious in the best way,” Two says as he grabs another piece of pizza. “Not to mention they make you work for it.”
“I find it rather annoying how you four classify women based on their hair color,” I primly state, pretending as though my opinion carries weight, when they can’t even see or hear me.
“How about we just get some rainbow-haired girls and call it a tie?” Three drawls.
“I’ll change all of your minds on brunettes. Or I’ll just figure out a way to finally possess these women and be a little bit of everything,” I tell them absently, studying the types of pizza they ordered tonight.
I’ll try some of that pepperoni when I can.
The conversation shifts when they start discussing these trials I’m so curious about, so I perk up.
“Manella has something planned if he’s finally putting us in the trials. We should be ready for anything,” One states conversationally, as though they’re picking up a discussion they paused to sex up that very lucky girl.
“He’s an idiot if he does let us in. Whatever he doesn’t want us knowing will be easier for us to find,” Three says flippantly.
That has me inching forward.
“We’ve played our part. We’ve done our time. They’re running out of reasons as to why we can’t be there. They had to do this because everyone else was starting to have the same questions we were. We’ve excelled at everything, won time after time, yet never get into the trials. They can’t cover it up if they make it so obvious,” Two—I love his voice the most—says as he pours himself a drink.
Make what obvious? It would be awesome if they’d talk about this stuff here more than there.
“Not to mention the sheer volume of souls we’ve reaped. Our count is much higher than anyone else’s,” Four drawls.
Oh, I forgot to mention, they’re sort of bad guys. I’ve been calling them reapers.
I mean, they send the bad souls to the bad place, so obviously they’re bad guys if they’re working for soul collectors or something.
I still want all four. Told you; you learn a lot about your moral compass when yours is the only opinion that matters. Turns out, I’m an unapologetic psychopath.
Not really. I’d just like to know why exactly they got into this line of work. As I said, they’re immortal, which is totally mind-blowing until it’s just sort of regular, everyday stuff.
I’m not even wowed by it anymore, but I can’t be impressed by a mere mortal now either. Not after being around them so much.
I wonder if I was ever impressed by a mere mortal. I really hope I’m not a virgin—can’t even touch myself in this state of being to do an inspection.
I don’t want any awkwardness when I finally figure out how to touch them.
And I will figure it out.
They’ve fortunately had some women over who love their old collection of nineties movies. The ones they have to woo usually get to pick a movie while they get over their nerves of being with four indecently sexy men at once. Some of the ones who’ve chosen Ghost? I love those women. They’re totally awesome, even if I still hate them when they get to touch my men.
I’ve learned so much from that movie though.
It’s not done me any good yet, but I hope to get stronger and stronger until I can possess every girl who walks through that door. Don’t judge. You’d do it too.
Four’s phone rings, and he answers it, cutting off the conversation. “Yeah. We’re on the way,” he says before hanging up.
“Job?” Two asks.
“Big one. Meet me at the cemetery,” Four tells them, and I try to reach him in time to grab on.
Did I mention they can do this freaky disappearing thing? I learned if I’m close enough, it drags me with whichever one is doing it.
I miss Four, so settle for hopping a ride with One, managing to catch him before it’s too late.
Just as we land in the cemetery, I see a horde of black souls escaping, trying to go back out into the world.
Four slices through the air with his silver bo staff, and it glows as it sucks in soul after soul.
The others use their own respective weapons, and I watch them as they storm the city, chasing all the deserters. I have no idea where they come from, or why so many come at once.
But every time I’m here in this cemetery, I feel something familiar about it.
It almost feels like home.
And I don’t even know my name to check for it on headstones.