I floated through the bookshelf and into the dark staircase cut down through the schist underneath an old New Hampshire mountain mansion. On one hand, hopelessly, I felt it did not matter, but, on the other hand, I had to know that my body was still alive.

It had been seven years since my lover, Rosa, and the current occupant of the mansion, Caribou, had buried me, bound in some sort of machine deep underground. Caribou, the thankless bitch who Rosa and I had saved from the machine, had apparently stolen my identity and she had not aged a single day since we pulled her out.

Meanwhile, I was nothing more than an ethereal spirit stuck in the area around the mansion, unable to interact with the physical world in any way. Just as well, I suppose, because my hands were utterly useless. My wrists were pinned in the small of my back by a set of heavy metal cuffs that were chained to the back of my collar. Otherwise, my attire consisted simply of a pair of nipple rings and a forsaken bejeweled buttplug which, I suppose, has something to do with the reason I am stuck in this purgatory.

I drifted through the darkness of the tunnel, down to where the heavy machinery hummed. Though there was no light at all, I could see with no problem. Even after seven years, my brain still seems to think that I should walk around on a solid surface, so I do, I suppose. But with a little mental contortion, I can move through any and all solid objects.

I dropped down through a large, heavy stone plug and steel plate that covered a deeply drilled hole. I descended alongside a cable through that hole to another stone plug, tightly wedged in the bottom. After descending further, I came to the chasm that held my coffin dangling a further ten feet below the wedged stone plug. There was a metal framework with a large sphere. The sphere was slowly spinning. Somewhere on the sphere there is a hatch, currently securely locked. My body was passed through that hatch into the hollow interior of the sphere, chained and bent in a severe back bend.

I stuck my head into the spinning sphere.

My body was still there, bent in an extreme circle, with the pads of my bare feet resting on my shoulders. My hair would flop to and fro as the sphere rotated.

I could sense warmth and that blood was running through my veins. My body was still alive. I swear that the jewel of the buttplug lodged in my body’s tush was glowing.

I drifted back out of the sphere and looked around. There wasn’t much to see - just a big emptiness, a nothingness. I hated it down here. I usually left back for the surface as fast as possible.

I looked down. How big could this chasm be? “Fuuuck!” I cursed to myself and slowly started to drift down towards the hazy darkness below.

I don’t know how long I dropped. Not long. I could not really estimate a speed. There was no sensation of air movement as I dropped. I looked up though, when I started to feel nervous. At least I think that I looked up. I couldn’t see my sphere any more, or the roof of the chasm… Up and down looked exactly the same.

“Fuck!”

I thought I detected a slight glow in one direction - like a line, or perhaps, more like a river. I moved towards the glow. It seemed to be getting brighter and brighter.

“Magma?” I wondered. As a spirit, I was impervious to temperatures, it seems. Still, I could often sense heat. So… No. Not magma or lava or whatever.

As I drew closer, I could definitely see movement. It was a river of something. Not physical, perhaps. Plasma? I’m no scientist.

I noticed a bulge forming in the plasma river. Tendrils broke out and started to reach up towards me. “Fuckk!!”

I tried to float away from the light, but something grabbed me. The buttplug in my ass shifted violently. Something had grabbed my buttplug!

I kicked my legs at the tendrils of light, but my legs passed right through. I tried to shift my hips away from the river, but whatever had grabbed the buttplug yanked me back around. I was being pulled down into the plasma. I began kicking and bucking as hard as I could - my wrists pulling violently at their chains. All I could hear in my head: “Don’t go into the light!”

“You are not a physical being!” the voice in my head screamed. I think it was me talking to myself. I realized that kicking and bucking around was not going to free me. I had to will myself away from the light. This was a mental struggle, not a physical one.

My legs were already submerged in the light. I could feel the light move through them. They felt like they were vibrating. I relaxed them and closed my eyes. “I want to live!”

I lifted away from the light a little. It was working! “I want to live!!”

I felt the buttplug jerk around in my ass. The thin ghostly fingers of plasma were slipping. Still, when I opened my eyes I saw more tendrils reaching up towards my naked butt. “FUCKK! I WANT TO LIVE!”

I snapped away from the river of plasma and shot off in some direction; I did not care which. I hit the roof - or maybe it was a wall. I was blind as I passed through bedrock. There was nothing living around me, just lifeless rock. I had no idea which direction I was moving in. I forced myself to calm down and pause for a moment. I was embedded in stone. Gravity does not affect me. I could not use that as a tool.

Eventually, I just chose a direction and started to move. Normally, if I get too far away from the mansion, I tend to lose consciousness and find myself waking up in the master bedroom. I am not sure how that boundary works if I am underground.

I could be traveling in circles.

<>--+-

I first sensed a peaty smell and, moments later, I burst into sunshine. I was in a small meadow with tall grass. I could see the mansion in the distance. I lay back in the grass and smiled. I had escaped. I did not necessarily feel the grass on my back or the sun in my face, but still…

I was surprised by a moose calf walking up to where I lay. It was probably just eating grass, but I swear that it was nuzzling me. I swear that it knew I was there.

<>--+-

I had become more in tune with nature over the past seven years. I was not affected by snow or rain or lightning. I never got mosquito bites or tics. I could feel the cycle of the moon. I knew when a full moon would rise without even looking at a calendar.

It was on the full moon that I happened to find Caribou in her office studying the screen of her computer. She had some kind of mapping application to which she had added markers denoting something special to her. There were other dots that were moving around on the map. Those dots indicated the local lesbian population of a certain age and promiscuity.

Whenever Caribou brought home a one night stand, she had a creepy habit of chipping them. Then she would track their movements. Caribou was watching a string of six markers moving slowly towards one of her special location markers.

I’m not very good at reading maps, but I knew that the squiggly lines tended to be roads. When there were not many roads around, but instead a green expanse, that generally denoted a forest or wilderness. The six moving markers were slowly moving through a forest. I thought perhaps they were going camping or something.

Caribou was plotting out a route from our mansion to a trail head near the gathering dots. She stood up and grabbed a long dark robe from her closet. She had a small backpack prepared as well. She went out of the house, climbed into her car, and drove away.

So… a bunch of lesbians were gathering in the forest wearing long black robes?

<>--+-

I was often really, really horny. I don’t know if that is just a natural state of being when you are a ghost or if it was particular to me. With my hands bound behind me, masturbating always took a little work. There was nothing I could rub against, for example. I would just drift through the edge of a bed.

Luckily, I maintained my extreme flexibility. I could lay down on my stomach and then bend my back, lifting my legs over my head. I am so flexible, I can press my knees to the ground right next to my ears. Then if I lifted my head, I could press my crown against my clitoris. Even as a spirit, the position was not the most ideal position to masturbate, but the menu was limited. I had to do what I had to do.

Masturbation is nice, but for me a little story is required to push me to climax.

Often, I find myself fantasizing about the moment that Rosa and Caribou locked me in the chest. That may seem a little strange, since the event turned out to be such an act of violence against me, but… I’ve always loved hiding in small dark places. I don’t know why. Maybe I always wanted to be somebody’s treasure. Forever locked away and kept safe. Meanwhile unknown people, with nothing more than a hint of my existence, would search the world to find, steal, and covet me. It’s just a fantasy.

Maybe I was Rosa’s treasure. Maybe she would return one day and dig up her buried treasure. “Oh, Ana!” she would exclaim. “You are so beautiful and, now that Mariana is gone, you are all mine forever more!”

Then I would climax and hate myself for a couple of seconds. I regarded Rosa as a fucking bitch now, after all.

But, as I said, I was horny as hell. I forgive myself for whatever fantasy gets me over the edge.

<>--+-

One day, two women came to visit Caribou. She gave them a tour of the house. “Hell, yeah, the house is haunted,” she was telling them.

“My mother always said that some old witch named Havalina lived here and she was over 400 years old,” said the taller woman - a real live Snow White.

“Cecelia told me that she was here once and saw a ghost in the mirror,” said the shorter woman, bespeckled and gothed out. Her eyes were wide as she looked around towards the upper corners of the room. She had an excited grin on her face.

I kicked at the woman, as if to say, “I’m right in front of you, bitch!” But, my foot passed right through her stomach, of course. I wasn’t really mad at her though, so I turned and kicked at Caribou a number of times – just because...

“Yeah!” Caribou explained. “She must be one of my distant relatives because Cecelia thought it was me at first. She said the ghost looked just like me. The ghost is always naked.”

“Ooo!” the tall, pale woman said, eyeing Caribou with a devilish smile. “I love it! What’s her story?”

“My mother said that long ago - maybe my great, great aunts? - they were twin sisters and they developed an incestuous desire for one another. They had no interest in going out into the community and finding a proper husband. So, their father, who was desperate for a grandson, forced them to participate in a dark, evil contest. He told them that if one of the sisters did not kill the other, then he would choose the survivor.”

“What? Wow! Creepy!” one of the visitors said.

I was rolling my eyes. What a load of bullshit!

“Well, the sisters decided that one of them would pretend to sacrifice the other. Then, together, they would kill the father.” Caribou paused for a moment. “Well… Apparently, something did not go as planned during the fake sacrifice…”

Caribou led the women towards the door where she picked up a small hand shovel. “And what I wanted to show you is the stone where the sacrifice took place.”

“Ooo! I love it!” the taller woman shrieked. “This is awesome!”

“Creepy as hell!” the shorter one agreed.

I followed them along a path through the woods to a slab of granite that breached the dirt and undergrowth. Caribou wielded her hand shovel for a moment near one corner of the rock until there was a metallic clang.

“Ah! Here it is!”

A metal staple had been hammered into the stone, apparently long, long ago.

“No shit!” the shorter woman gasped.

“There is a metal loop at each corner,” Caribou said, as she set off to dig up the second one. “This is where the sacrificial women would be chained down.”

“We are definitely coming here for the August Gathering,” the taller woman said, enthusiastically. “Ana could tell this story about the twins…” I flinched at the use of my stolen name. “...then we could sacrifice someone right here! Who should we sacrifice?”

The two women looked at each other smiling. “Inclementia!”

“Who?” Caribou asked tapping on the second metal staple with the point of her shovel.

“Inclementia!” the women said again, laughing.

“Goddess! What a horrible name!” Caribou said.

“Well, she’s a horrible person!”

“A real, privileged bitch!”

“Was she at the last gathering?” Caribou asked.

“Yeah! Tall. Long red hair.”

“Oh yeah! Resting bitch face?” Caribou said. “She’s pretty!”

“That just makes me hate her more,” the short goth said. “She is always corked on ‘shrooms at our gatherings. She won’t even really know what’s going on. It’ll be easy to chain her to this rock!”

“We’ll really scare the shit out of her!” the taller woman exclaimed.

“There is a whole ceremony that my family practiced,” Caribou explained. “Will we be able to convince her to get naked?”

“It would be more difficult to get her to keep her clothes on!”

Caribou led the women back down the path talking excitedly about the “ceremony” but I stayed behind. I found the remaining two staples pounded into the stone. This actually did look like some kind of altar. Were there actually human sacrifices made here? Is this the family that I came from?

<>--+-

The sun had just slipped behind the mountain on the evening of Caribou’s “ceremony”. Cars started arriving and women climbed out carrying black robes and pointed, yet somehow stylish, hats.

The gathering felt like a normal party at first. Many were enjoying wine and hors d'oeuvres. I noticed the tall, red-haired woman arrive. She seemed mostly sober.

“Inclementia! Have you met our hostess? Ana.” I recognized the shorter woman who had visited a few weeks before.

Inclementia frowned at the little goth, then turned her gaze to Caribou. “These old houses are so hard to keep looking nice. Lucy, be a dear and get me a cabernet.”

The short goth woman looked side-eyed at Caribou, but then slinked off.

“Lucy tells me that you are a Latimer,” Caribou said. (I think that she was referring to a family name.)

“It no longer suits me,” Inclementia said. She pulled a small metal case from her purse and ate something from it. It could have been a mint, but probably not.

“Okay…” Caribou said, grinning. “Well… enjoy yourself!”

“Château Haut-Brion? I just might,” Inclementia said.

<>--+-

The full moon had risen high in the sky by the time the line of torch wielding witches made their way along the path to the sacrificial stone. All the women had donned their black robes and hats. All, except Inclementia, who was dressed in a flimsy tattered white nightgown. Two women had to help her walk and her eyes kept drooping closed. She had definitely indulged in more than a little wine.

A torch was held to a prepared fire pit which quickly erupted into a healthy bonfire. Caribou was kneeling in the dirt by the fire mashing a pestle into a large black caldron. Lucy, the short goth woman, began to lead the group in a droning chant.

After a moment, Caribou lifted the hem of her robe and squatted over the caldron. After a moment she lowered her robes and whispered for another woman, motioning with her hand towards the caldron. The second woman obediently squatted over the caldron for a moment just as Caribou had, then tagged the next woman in line.

I maneuvered my way through the crowd, listening to the whispers when I could.

“Is that real blood in the caldron?” one asked another.

“No. Food coloring. I think. And now… well… I actually peed in it.” The two women giggled quietly.

“Me too.”

Two women held Inclementia’s hands. They pulled her arms up a little. She could barely keep from collapsing. Caribou stepped in front of Inclementia and told the Gathering the story of the incestuous twins and their father’s morbid contest.

As she spoke, a breeze began to blow. Inclementia’s gown and long red hair flapped in the wind.

“And in honor of my ancestors… Of all our ancestors… Of our Wiccan sisters… Tonight we shall make a sacrificial offering!”

As the women cheered, Caribou went to the caldron and dipped in a large goblet. Meanwhile, the two women holding up Inclementia helped her lay back on the granite slab. They were locking metal cuffs around her wrists and ankles, stretching her body out in a taut X.

Black clouds blotted out the light of the moon and the smoke from the fire whipped about through the gathering. Women pulled their robes more tightly around their bodies to combat the wind. There was a distant sound of thunder.

Caribou stood near Inclemetia’s head, setting the goblet on the ground. She pulled two long thin items from her robes each wrapped in dark cloth. Next Caribou lifted her own robe over her head and stood naked in the flickering firelight. The women cheered her on.

Inclementia’s head – shifting back and forth… She looked lost and confused. Her lips were moving but only incoherent mumbling fell forth.

Caribou began speaking loudly. But, she was speaking in some language I did not know. The words were sharp and clipped and they cut through the night. The people in the crowd began to look towards the sky nervously. Thunder sounded, no longer so distant.

Caribou dipped her hand into the goblet, then wiped a smear of red from ear to ear across her mouth. She placed both hands into the goblet and then began fondling her breasts, smearing them with the red liquid. She pinched her nipples until they stood proud then dragged her hands down her torso and began to rub her crotch, gyrating her hips back and forth, chanting all the while.

The crowd seemed to be focused fully on Caribou once again, mesmerized for the moment – no longer concerned about the rising wind and flashes of lightning.

Caribou picked up the first wrapped item. She pulled the cloth away with a flourish to reveal a long ceremonial dagger. Some of the women cheered, but there was also a strange sense of unease now.

Caribou stood over Inclementia. She continued to rub her crotch with one hand. She thrust the dagger up into the sky somehow synchronized with a bright flash of lightning. More than one woman in the crowd yelped with a gleeful fright.

Caribou knelt down, positioning a knee to either side of Inclementia’s head, her naked crotch hovering over the bound woman’s face. She raised the dagger over her head again, then rotated it until the sharp point was directly over hollow at the base of Inclementia’s neck.

“No!” I shouted. Caribou was cruel, but would she murder an innocent woman?

A few voices from the crowd began to plea for Caribou to stop. They rose to a scream as Caribou thrust the blade down. She did so with quite a degree of dexterity, rotating her wrist as her fisted hand descended so that soon the dagger was horizontal resting between the tattered nightgown and Inclementia’s pale chest - the skin, as yet, unscored by any blade.

Caribou leaned forward, slicing the nightgown down the middle as she did, tearing the gap far past the bound woman’s crotch. Caribou pulled the nightgown open revealing Inclementia’s small breasts and pink nipples, her pale skinny stomach and the dark red pubic hair above her sex.

Next, Caribou splashed the remains of the red liquid across Inclementia’s torso. She closed her eyes, still fingering herself just above the confused woman’s face, gyrating her hips in a wanton fashion.

She stood and spun her back to the crowd. She held the dagger up again for a moment and then hunched over with the dagger hidden from view. Her arms thrust up her body and she jerked spasmodically for a moment. Then Caribou slowly turned around to reveal that only the handle of the dagger could now be seen extending from the lips of her sex, seemingly having impaled herself on the evil blade.

The crowd had gone quiet as Caribou moved stiffly, kneeling once more between Inclementia’s bound legs. Her arm jerked in a downward motion, apparently dislodging the dagger from her own fleshy sheath. She raised the dagger, coated in red but then thrust it between Inclementia’s legs.

Surrounded by darkness as we were, I think that only I, with my sensitive ghost vision, was able to see… Caribou had switched out the dagger with the second wrapped item. It was a buttplug, obviously crafted by the same artist as the one I wore. Lubricated with her own vaginal secretions, Caribou shoved the smooth rounded end into Incementia’s rectum causing her to scream and pull at her chains.

The women in the crowd also screamed and, with an ear-splitting peal of thunder, the sky opened up in a torrential downpour. Every woman was running away down the path back toward the mansion screaming in fear for their lives and the terror of what they thought they had just witnessed leaving only Caribou perched over the bound sacrifice.

Caribou gently pulled the buttplug from Inclementia and unhooked the chains at the four corners. Inclementia slowly sat up, the rain soaking her gown until it was transparent. She grabbed Caribou’s hand when she offered it.

“Caribou?” Inclementia said, somewhat dazed. “What year is it?”

Caribou helped her to stand then began guiding her through the pouring rain down the path towards the mansion.

I started after them, but suddenly heard a voice behind me. I turned around.

Inclementia was standing on the stone altar. “Where are we? Who the fuck are you?”

I turned around to look down the path where I had just seen Caribou and Inclementia. Then I looked back towards the altar. Inclementia was standing there looking directly at me.

“You…” I started nervously. “You can see me?”

Inclementia looked down at her torn nightgown and the stain of red dripping down her torso. She raised her arms which were still sheathed in nightgown’s sleeves - far longer than the tips of her hands. Only heavy chains dangled from the openings, the fabric, somehow dry despite the pouring rain. She turned back towards me with an accusing look. “What the fuck is going on!? Are you fucking with me?”

I looked back down the path where Caribou and the other Inclementia had gone…

“Oh, fuck!” I said to myself as realization regarding the real purpose for tonight’s sacrifice settled into my ethereal head. “Tia Havalina is risen from the grave?”