This story is an original work of fiction. It in no way resembles any
 persons living or deceased. It is purely a work of fantasy and is
 intended for the use of adults only. If you are under 18 years of age,
 or are prohibited by law to have access to such materials, please stop
 reading now.

 Feel free to distribute this work freely, provided it remains
 unchanged, with credit given to the author. Please download and enjoy
 it! All I ask is that you e-mail myself with comments or questions.
 I can be reached at:    dino@canoemail.com
 

 I banged out this story in 2 sittings, with a few more hours for a
 proof read and spell check. The "stumble across a girl chained to a
 wall" idea I have had for a while now. The photographer and the old
 house idea came a few weeks ago. With thoughts of halloween, the story
 fell together in a rush. Enjoy.
 

 The (haunted) House       By: Dino  (C) Oct. 1999

 The funeral was a quiet affair, friends and family I hadn't seen for
 years. Nephews I wouldn't have recognised if I had passed them on the
 street. Grandma had lived a good long life, still active until the
 end.

 Uncle Joe had invited me to stay the night but I had a long drive and
 was eager to make a start of it. The afternoon sunlight flashing
 through the trees as I drove to the highway brought back memories of
 an earlier time, bike rides with a gang of childhood friends up to the
 "haunted house".

 At the highway I drove over the bridge and instead of making a right,
 went straight, continuing along the two lane country road. It was a
 half hour by bike, ten minutes by car, to the "haunted house".

 I wanted to see if it was still there, snap some pictures maybe. Yes.
 The big oak tree. The rocky cliff, the swimming hole behind, not
 visible from the road. The start of the dense forest, spared from the
 chainsaws I saw. And then, the narrow driveway leading off the road. I
 nosed the car onto the overgrown lane, slowly along, until the
 clearing opened before me. I saw the "haunted house".

 Still magnificent grandeur after all these years although crumbling
 slightly you noticed, getting closer. Gray granite blocks, cut
 lovingly by the craftsmen of old, curves and spires. The gargoyles
 still hovered over the grand front entrance. The wood which had been
 nailed over the door and windows, to keep us kids out, now weathered a
 dark gray, matching the stone. Silence descended as I stopped the car,
 switching off the motor, and got out to stand before the "haunted
 house".

 I grabbed my camera bag, walked around the house, snapped pictures in
 the bright afternoon light. Around the side, out back, the big barn,
 now a ruin of twisted boards and towering beams. It must have fallen
 some years back. Memories returned. The pretty Irish girl with the
 flame red hair, what was her name? Crissy, Christine? A skipped class,
 the swimming hole, and then, her hair fanned out on the straw, and I
 on top. Moans of passion and adolescent lust in the old barn.

 I finished the roll, loaded another. Along the rear of the house to
 the back porch, careful steps over the rotted soft boards. The wood
 nailed over the door loose, nails rusted in the punky wood. I move one
 board, then another. I see the doorknob and turn it. I duck under the
 remaining boards and enter the "haunted house".

 I know I'm trespassing but no one is home. Haven't been for thirty
 years, or more. Signs of recent occupancy however. In the kitchen,
 empty beer bottles and wine bottles here and there. Fresh ashes in the
 fireplace. On the counter, artifacts, forged from pop cans. Pipes for
 hash or crack, pungent residue in the bowls. I snap some pictures of
 the room, the crafted drug paraphernalia. I move on.

 Big rooms, empty of all except dust. Sunbeams stabbing through cracks
 in the boards over windows. The main hall with stairs leading up to
 the floor above, light spilling down from above, from a skylight. I
 climb a few steps, snap a few frames of the chandelier in the center,
 the light from my flash dancing among the dusty crystals. I lower the
 camera and step back and then. . .

 A crack, a snap, my weight leaves my feet and I am falling, flying
 through the air. Down through the stairs. I land in the cellar, the
 hard pack dirt floor cushioning the impact somewhat, but not much. I
 land on my foot, my hand and finally, my back and my head.

      --==--

 I can feel my feet, my hands. I bring my hand down to my head and it
 doesn't move down. I tip my head up only to bang the back of it on the
 hard stone pillar behind me. Pain flares behind my eyes. My wrists
 hurt. I look up slowly and open my eyes.

 I am standing against one of the stone columns that support the house.
 My wrists are encircled with heavy looking iron manacles; a chain
 leads from one, up to a bracket on the post, then back down to the
 other. I look down. My clothes are gone. My ankles are similarly
 adorned with the shackles and chain, fastened to the bottom of the
 pillar. A beam of sunlight slants down across the room, from a crack
 in the boards over a window behind me, I guess. Dust motes winking at
 me, dancing a slow waltz in the beam of light.

 I follow the sunbeam to the post in front. A form there, lighter,
 against the darker stone. I hang in the chains and wait. The sunbeam
 shifts slowly as the earth turns, the angle becoming greater. Near the
 base of the column the spot of light creeps slowly. I see toes, red
 painted toes in the gloom of the cellar. Two slender feet standing in
 the dust of the floor. Then ankles come into view, shackled to the
 column like mine are. Weight shifts to one foot as the toes of the
 other stretch out, to raise the heavy iron off the foot underneath. I
 see the reddened skin where the shackle had been pressing down, for
 how long? After a few minutes she repeats the procedure with her other
 foot.

 The sunbeam travels higher, leaving her feet in the dark, to highlight
 legs perfect, flawless. Her thighs. Her sex, yes she is a she, a fine
 patch of light hair over the treasure beneath, between. The earth
 turns, the angle gets greater, the sunbeam passes her belly, flat,
 hard but oh, so soft looking. I stand there and stare, can do nothing
 else. Her breasts come into view, perfectly framed by the sunbeam,
 perfect. Firm, good sized, standing proudly on her chest. The nipples,
 I see, are two bright berries, sweet.

 I glance down and see, my cock spearing out in her direction. Can she
 see me? Oh well, there is little I can do, like this. I look back
 towards her, at her face, the face of an angel. Her blond hair behind
 her, her lips forming a smile, for me?  Her eyes sparkling. Her arms
 up I now see, over her head. Up, shackled, chained to an iron bracket
 on the post.

 The sunbeam touches her hands and up, to the bracket on the post. I
 hear, from upstairs, a sound like a heavy bolt being withdrawn. I
 hear, the squeak of old metal. I see, an iron bar behind the girl move
 up, being raised from upstairs. She looks up. The raising of the bar
 has created an opening in the bracket where her chain is. She
 stretches her fingers and unhooks the chain from it. Slowly she brings
 her arms down, down, down to her feet. She unhooks her ankle chain
 from the opened bracket there. She stands, to smile at me.

 The girl moves towards me, slowly, with careful steps. Her chains
 tinkle gently as they drag across the dirt floor. She stands closely
 before me and then reaches for my face with her hands. The chain
 between her wrists snags on my rock hard prick, pressing the head
 against her sex. She giggles at that, steps back to disentangle it,
 then holds my face for a tender kiss. I pull on my arms, wanting to
 hold her but the chain is still fast to the column. I part my lips as
 she presses harder, her tongue pushing in to mate with mine. Her
 passion increases as she probes my mouth with her tongue, holding me,
 her chain tight across my waist. Then she breaks off, breathing hard,
 a glazed, far away look in her eyes.

 The girl lowers herself to her knees before me. She raises her hands
 to guide my hard cock into her mouth. She takes my length deep into
 her, down into her throat in one movement. I gasp as my knees weaken,
 and my weight causes the shackles to bite into my hands. The pain from
 my hands is overruled by the sensations from lower down, the muscles
 in her throat working on my cock head. She moves her head backward to
 lick and tease me, then forward again, her cute nose pressing on my
 belly. Her hands, one caressing my nuts while the other strokes my
 thigh. Her chain, catching on the hairs on my legs from time to time.

 She begins an easy rhythm, stroking me with her mouth. Out, pressing
 hard with her tongue as she draws her head back and then pausing to
 lick around the tip before moving ahead, letting my length push down
 her throat again. I strained, desperate to reach out and touch her, to
 lay her down and fuck her. I begin to feel the pressure building in my
 back, flowing up my spine, flooding my brain with a warm mist before
 gathering steam and racing back down. A sharp turn at my hips and then
 onwards and out, blasting through my cock and into her mouth and
 throat, choking her, filling her to overflow as I cum and cum. I am
 floating on a tidal wave of sensations.

 A crack, a snap, my weight leaves my feet and I am flying through the
 air. I open my eyes and groan with the pain in my head. The room is
 lit with torches, flickering fire on the end of sticks, fixed to the
 columns of the cellar by ornate iron brackets. I bring my hand down to
 my face, and it doesn't move down. I tilt my head up to look. Heavy
 iron manacles around my wrists, a chain from one, up, through the
 headboard of the bed, back down to the other. My body is covered with
 a gray blanket. I feel, on my feet, a similar arrangement as with my
 hands. On my right, the cold gray stone of the house. Ahead, iron
 bars, a cage, a cell in the basement of the house. I turn my head to
 the left.

 The girl is on a bed against the far wall, watching me. It is the same
 girl as before. Before? Her golden hair gleams in the torch light.
 The fetters on her wrists and ankles look heavy, aged, permanent. She
 sits up, stands, walks over to me. Her chains tinkle as they drag
 across the dirt floor. She moves beside the bed and lifts the blanket
 from me. I am naked beneath it. She brings her hands to my chest and
 rubs me, her chain catching on the hairs there from time to time. I
 feel my prick twitch and stiffen. She smiles.

 She gets up onto the bed. She straddles me. The chain connecting her
 ankles, tight across my knees. Her shackles, digging into my legs. Her
 hands press down on my chest and she lifts up, then settles back down,
 my cock now deep inside her. She rocks her hips back and forth on top
 of me.

 I strain my arms, desperate to reach her, to touch her. Her hands
 press down on my chest and she lifts up, then settles back down. She
 does it again, then again, in a slow easy rhythm that is driving me
 mad with desire. My fingers claw air, aching to touch those luscious
 breasts so near, too far. My feet, pinned in the shackles, chained to
 the bed. My knees, pinned with her shackles, her weight pressing them
 down on me. Her heavy irons on each wrist, the chain between, on my
 chest as she pinches my nipples with her soft fingers.

 I start to feel the pressure building in my back, racing up my spine
 to flood my brain with a warm mist before gathering steam and blasting
 back down and then up, through my cock and into the girl above me,
 filling her to overflow as I cum and cum. I am floating on a tidal
 wave of sensations.

 A crack, a snap and the bed collapses as I fly through the air. A
 sharp pain at the back of my head as I open my eyes, searching for the
 girl. I am alone in the center of the floor. The torches around me
 casting their flickering light, showing little, the shadows around me
 hiding much. I struggle to sit, sharp pains in my wrist, my ankle, my
 head.

 I hear noises around me from the shadows, the scrape of a chain, a low
 growl. I see movement in the shadows, the fires on the sticks dancing
 to an unfelt breeze. The glimmer of two eyes? More sounds. Shadows
 detach from the dark to move closer to me, encircling me. I see three,
 four, five. Girls like the one before, yet not like her at all. The
 same heavy iron fetters and chains on their wrists and ankles. The
 soft tinkle of a hundred links of chain as they move closer. I see
 there, that the similarity ends.

 Ten feral eyes staring hungrily at me as they closed the circle around
 me. Crouching on hands and feet, they moved closer, wary yet sure. A
 hand, cold, brushes my foot. More hands at my back, reaching for my
 arms. Suddenly they leapt as one, landing on me in a mass of writhing
 girl flesh.

 This is nice, I thought, as I lay in the pile of their bodies and
 then, a pain so sharp I cried out. One girl had sunk her sharp teeth
 into the flesh of my thigh. I tried to fight them off as more teeth
 found my tender skin, hurting me, their nails, ripping into me. The
 girls used their arms and legs, their heavy chains, to bind me tight
 so I could not move.

 A crack, as my shoulder succumbed to the twisting pressure, my scream
 echoing around the cellar walls. A snap when my wrist was bent back
 double, a girls weight falling on it, tearing into it with teeth and
 nails. My weight left my feet as I was drawn upwards by the girls. I
 felt myself falling and falling as my life's blood fell, to the dirt
 floor of the cellar. . .

      --==--

 The beam of sunlight warms my face, pushing past the fog behind my
 eyelids. I stir, open my eyes, groggily try to sit up. Sudden pain at
 my wrist, my ankle, my head. I look up to see, dim light through the
 hole in the stairs through which I had fallen. I tried to stand,
 gripping the column beside me tightly as pain flared in my left ankle,
 sending my head reeling.

 I paused for several minutes as the hurt and the shock faded. I looked
 around the empty room. Hard pack dirt floor. If it had been cement I
 might not be standing now. I looked at my watch, wincing as I turned
 my wrist. The time was three in the afternoon. Yesterday? Broken in
 the fall, I guessed. I must have been out cold all night down here.

 I put some weight on my leg, slowly. It hurt, but it will have to do,
 I thought, if I want to get out of here. Slowly I made my way to the
 stairs. If the door is locked I'm screwed, but it swung open at my
 touch. I hobbled to the kitchen, pausing to pick up my camera bag with
 the valuable films inside, moments captured, waiting to see the light
 again. I made it under the boards covering the back door, then
 hobbled, hopped, around the house to the car.

 The clock in the car told me it was nine thirty in the morning. I had
 lain in that cellar all night. I drove back to town, to the emergency
 room of the hospital. A bone in my wrist had a slight fracture, my
 ankle was badly sprained. The bump on my head felt bad, though the
 doctor didn't think so. He wrapped my wrist and ankle with an elastic
 bandage and told me to see my doctor in a few days, when I got home.

 Strange bits of thoughts had been flashing through my mind when I was
 waiting in the emergency room. Pieces of a dream was it? I drove back
 out to the highway, over the bridge, and instead of making a right, I
 went straight, continuing along the two lane country road. I nosed the
 car into the driveway of the house, drove up to the side and stopped.
 I walked around to the back, my ankle slightly better now with the
 support from the bandage. I went back inside the "Haunted house".

 Through the kitchen to the stairs, I looked up. My trusty Nicon on the
 step beside a gaping, splintered hole. I reached out, ever so
 carefully this time and snagged the strap. Not broken, I was pleased
 to see. I went back to the cellar door and carefully down the stairs.
 I crossed the floor to the spot I had fallen. Splinters of wood. Marks
 in the dust. My footprints leading away, then back. The room was
 empty, silent.

 As I turned to go I noticed, at the base of one of the columns, an
 outline in the dust. I looked closer. A footprint. A bare foot
 footprint. A small, slender footprint, that of a girl, there, in the
 dust on the floor near one of the granite pillars which held up the
 house.

 I snapped a few shots of it, and around the empty cellar. Then I made
 my way back to the car and got started on the long drive home.

      --==--

 I developed the film I took of the house first. I printed the shots of
 the cellar and examined them closely. Nothing. No footprint where I
 had been sure I saw one. I scanned the print into the computer, used
 every effect on the image; nothing there.

 It was two weeks before I got around to doing the rolls from the
 funeral. I printed copies of the best shots for the folks back home.
 One picture seemed to stand out, the grave site, grandpa's marker and
 grandma's coffin over the hole next to it. I looked closer. The family
 around, the priest, and in the background. A girl with the face of an
 angel, blond hair. Her lips forming a smile, for me?

 [end]

  dino dave   Oct 1999