The darkness whispers and night groans softly with the voices of ghosts. They sigh with memories long dead, though they refuse to forget. Eternal as death, and love, they reach with cold fingers through empty air. With the long reach of hope, the spirits wander dreams and carry out the long gone desires of life.

  And so she comes, haunting dreams where she still finds welcome, and the safety of night, where the cares and frustrations of his day can't bar her way to his side. Her soul knows him and finds him on this night, a night of power, the All Hallowed Night. Here, amongst the dreaming memories they share, she builds new ones among a time only she knows, in death knowing nothing of the changes since her passing. With new remembered kisses she haunts him, though she knows it not. To the eyes of her spirit, all is as it ever was, and he is hers, as she was his, once upon a sunny day far from the mists of night and Halloween shadows.

  Alone in the darkness, he feels her touch as a strange chill, and a stray thought of hungry kisses once tasted. Trails of icy tingling tell the tale of her soul fingers reaching him, stroking the shoulder she remembers, seeking the embrace she once knew. Tickled by spiderwebs he can't see, he feels the fall of silken hair upon his skin, and searches the darkness for its source. "I'm here," she says in his ear, in his mind. He wonders at the bare whisper in his head that reminds him of a voice he can only remember in the fading voice of a passing dream. Yet warmth comes to him, from somewhere inside, and he remembers her face, and the the taste of her lips. His fingers close on wisps of nothing, but in the shadows between them she smiles and takes his hands. Stepping closer to his dream, a face in his mind comes closer, eyes well-known taking shape before his. She feels his hand upon her cheek crossing the void. She feels his warmth and passes it back within his spirit where she lives as hope and a memory that fails to fade.

  The bond grows, the ghost grows stronger. The night dew seems warmer upon his throat, where her kisses live and seek him still. The mists that wrap him 'round seem somehow more solid, and drift in curves his body knows. the deadly chill recedes, replaced by heat. Heat all over, tasting his skin from head to toe. She hungers now and feasts upon him. He feels her touch, her lips, her memories upon his skin. A moment of wonder disappears into a shape within his arms. His soul remembers what logic does not, and she is his once more, and ever, wrapped in his embrace. Warm in his arms and under his lips, entwined with his legs, and his dreams, he holds her close. She presses tightly to him, seeking the response of his body and his breath. Her breath is a passing breeze, an echo of the wind. But the Halloween wind is changeable and powerful. It seems to rise and fall with their touch and kiss, a reflection of passion, or its howling ghost.

  Ghost or soul, dream or memory, the crossroads of time bring them together. As his body arches into hers and she surrounds him with all she is and was, he doesn't wonder if it matters. It just is.


© Sonja Torres 2001
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