A Haunting LoveChapter 4 free porn video

Having been unable to hear what their mother and the strange hermit-looking man talked about, curiosity consumed the twins and they waited impatiently when the mumbling stopped and yet, the adults still didn’t appear. Debbie craned her neck, trying to peek around the corner without being seen. As the adults suddenly walked into view, Debbie saw that the man was holding her mother’s hand. He dropped it and then looked directly into Debbie’s eyes.

This stranger looked ... stranger and stranger.

They sat, Ramona at the head of the table, with her children on each side of her and Mister Smith at the other end.

As dishes of food began to be passed around, the man spoke.

“Your mother tells me that you two are curious about what is happening next door, at the old Nettleton place. This is true, yes?”

His accent caused Debbie to stutter.

“Y ... Y ... Yes.” The bowl of asparagus slipped from her fingers and thumped on the table, but didn’t spill. She blushed. “Sorry,” she said.

“Well, that is a simple thing to answer,” said the man, scooping out a huge helping of Lasagna. He held the last spoonful to his nose and drew in a great breath. “This is smelling divine to me,” he said.

Ramona scrunched up her face, somewhere between happy and trying to tell him that the accent was too heavy.

He passed the bowl to Robby who stared at it. It was a third empty and Smith was the only one who’d been served. He blinked and took some, unconsciously taking less than he usually would have.

Debbie had been waiting for Smith to go on, but he didn’t, choosing first salt, then getting three hot rolls, and then asking for butter.

“Well?” she asked impatiently, leaning toward the man.

He looked at her through his wild hair and bushy eyebrows and grinned with startlingly white teeth. Debbie noticed there was a stick of some sort stuck in the hair at the top of the man’s left ear, like some carpenters wore a pencil. The end of the stick looked like it had been smashed, leaving tiny slivers of wood bunched together. She stared at it and he saw where her eyes were. His hand reached up and felt the stick.

“This is a makeshift toothbrush,” he said amiably, “Such as they use in the country I have come from. I have not yet had time to purchase a new one here in your delightful town.”

Debbie’s mouth hung open. Who used a stick as a toothbrush? Who went anywhere without a toothbrush? She shook her head and frowned.

“You are having some impatience, yes?” prodded the man, grinning.

Debbie blushed more, her face going sunburn red.

“Sorry,” she mumbled again.

Smith laughed, and his voice sounded warm and nice, not at all like he looked.

“I should not tease you,” he said. “That is bad manners.” But then he took a bite of the lasagna, getting sauce on his moustache and beard, which he seemed completely unaware of. It was disgusting.

He smacked his lips and leaned back. “I work for the Nettletons,” he said. “It is wished for that the old family house be restored. I am to oversee that process.”

Had he said a comet was going to smash into the earth and kill everybody, the impact wouldn’t have been any more profound.

Debbie gulped for air and ended up hyperventilating, getting dizzy and wobbling in her chair. Smith was out of his chair in a flash, catching her before she fell, while her brother and mother stared, uncomprehending.

“I need a bag,” he barked, the accent suddenly much diminished. “Something she can breathe into.”

Ramona jumped from her chair like a rabbit jumps when it’s been shot, and scurried to the kitchen. She came back with a lunch sack and handed it to him.

Debbie was flailing weakly and Robby was ineffectually trying to get the disgusting man to stop touching his sister, but she was almost unconscious as her lungs spasmed.

“Hold her” he said to Ramona and he prepared the bag, slapping the open end over her mouth and nose. “Hold this to your face little one,” he ordered.

Debbie’s hands came up and pressed the bag to her face, half crushing it, but her head cleared almost immediately as she rebreathed air poor in oxygen.

Smith stepped back to his chair, sat down, and began stuffing lasagna into his mouth, alternating with bread and asparagus. He made noises of appreciation while Debbie got control of herself and her mother hovered over her.

“I’m fine Mom,” she said, disgusted that this foul stranger had helped her. “Go sit down and eat.” Her appetite was gone, and she sat, staring at her plate.

Smith paused, speaking with his mouth full, his words mushy. He picked up the conversation right where it had left off, as if nothing had happened.

“This renovation displeases you?” he asked, reaching for tea to wash down the food.

“You can’t,” said Debbie in a small voice.

“Debbie!“ came her mother’s astonished voice.

“Well... he can’t!“ shouted Debbie. “It’s not right!“

“Deborah Jean Franklin!“ said her mother in a too-loud voice. “Where are your manners?!”

Smith held up his hand. “There is much passion in this beautiful almost-woman,” he said, looking at her with piercing eyes. “This is America, yes? In this land you speak freely, is that not so?”

“Yes!” blurted Debbie. “And I say you should go back to wherever you came from and leave us alone!“ she ended in a shout, her face red again, this time from anger.

“Debbie, you are excused to your room,” said Ramona, her voice cold and sharp. “Freedom of speech does not mean you may be disrespectful to our guest.”

Debbie’s eyes were stricken and she ducked her head. Then it snapped back up, her eyes blazing. “I prefer to go to my room right now mother!”

She stood and stiffly turned to stalk out of the dining room toward the stairs.

Ramona watched her go and then her eyes went to her son, who had sat mute and stiff throughout the whole exchange.

“Would you like to tell me what’s going on here?” she asked in a voice that made it clear she expected to be told what was going on.

Robby didn’t know what to do or say. He couldn’t just admit that they’d played in the mansion for years, that they felt ownership of the dilapidated place. That would lead to consequences that couldn’t possibly be happy.

“It’s haunted,” he blurted. “The ghosts will be unhappy. They might do things,” he suggested vaguely.

Ramona, whose own spirit had been dampened many times by thoughts of that old house and the pain it had seen, but who had never thought even once that she might be “haunted” by an unhappy ghost, laughed, her voice at the edge of panic. Then her giggle box fell over with a silent thump and uncontrollable giggles gushed out of Ramona’s mouth until she was gasping for breath, almost like her daughter had been. She tried to take a drink of tea and choked on it. Now she was trying to laugh and cough at the same time. Twin dribbles of tea dripped from her nostrils.

Again Smith was on his feet and pounding her back lightly, helpless to do anything else.

Robby just stared.

All the tension Ramona had felt building, and only partially released by her earlier crying session in the car, flooded out with her laughs. It was a catharsis she needed badly and, even though she was afraid she’d fall out of her chair she was ecstatic at the feel of all that unwanted tightness flowing out of her body. Then she thought of what she’d look like falling over, lying on the floor, tea running out of her nose, and she laughed even harder. Her brother ... her dear sweet brother was there. He was going to be here next door for a long time ... maybe forever ... and that thought made her feel even better. She drew in a racking deep breath and finally got control of her diaphragm. Now all she had to do was pull in more air and she’d be fine.

Smith stood up, staring down at the woman. “All the women in this family have these breathing problems, yes?”

That made Ramona laugh too, but this time it was a short, normal laugh. She wiped her eyes and cheeks with her palms and, then grabbed the napkin to rub under her nose. With her cleared vision saw that Debbie had returned to the bottom of the stairs and was staring curiously at the scene in the dining room.

Ramona pointed at her. “You!“ she said. “If you’ve found your manners you may return to the table.” Then, a few more giggles chuckled out of her mouth.

Debbie turned and went back up the stairs.

Ramona felt sad at that, but waved mister Smith back to his chair.

“Ghosts,” she said, and giggled again.

“I’m thinking there are no ghosts,” said Smith, beginning to eat again.

Robby, flushed with shame and anger at his mother’s laughter, just sat. His appetite was gone too.

“Lots of people think there are ghosts,” said Robby sullenly.

His mother heard the anger in his voice, and she calmed. “Robby, I wasn’t laughing at you. Not really. I think I was just laughing because I needed to laugh. I don’t think you’re silly or anything like that,” she said. “But I also don’t believe in ghosts.”

Robby, his heart sinking, knew beyond his years that nothing he could say would undo what was going on.

“I’m not really hungry,” he said. “Can I go?”

Ramona’s first instinct was to say “No,” but she heard the sadness in his voice and nodded instead. He got up and walked heavily to the stairs.

When his footfalls were gone, Robert Nettleton, looking ridiculous in his sauce-smeared false moustache and beard, looked helplessly at his sister.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “They shouldn’t care so much about what happens over there. Nobody else does. I don’t understand it.” she said.

“Are you sure they don’t know?” he asked. “About who you really are I mean?”

“Bobby, I’ve never told them anything. Just that our parents were gone. I avoided talking about it, not wanting them to be affected by ... our past.”

There was more meaning in her voice than that associated with the house and grounds of the Nettleton Mansion. Robert wanted to tell her about their mother’s jewelry box, that he’d found in the wrong room of the mansion, with things in it that had been put there by someone other than their mother, including a watch that had to have been their father’s. He was distracted by the pain in her voice. It reminded him of his own pain.

“I missed you so much,” said Robert.

“I wanted to die at first,” said Ramona. “But then I met Richard and it wasn’t so bad. And then when the twins were born I was happy Bobby ... really happy.”

She looked at the strange apparition at her table and then looked away. As long as all she did was hear his voice she had a picture of 18 year old Bobby Nettleton in her mind.

“Didn’t you ever find a girl? To love?” she asked.

“Oh, there were girls, I suppose, but none to claim my heart,” he said. “My work was such that there was no time or place for romance anyway.”

“That’s so sad,” said Ramona, her heart going out to him.

“I’m young,” he said. “And I’m rich. I won’t be alone for long. Not in the good old U.S. of A.”

“I’ll have a talk with the kids,” said Ramona. “I’ll try to find out what’s really going on.” She stole a peek at him. “I’m glad you’re back Bobby. I missed you too.”

He grinned. “Come over and see me sometime. Bring some more of this delicious food. I won’t have electricity for two more weeks, and then I can get some appliances in there and begin cooking for myself. Man, I’ve missed food like this.”

“When do you think you’ll go ... public?” she asked.

“There are six liens filed against the place, from contractors who say they have been doing upkeep. That’s preposterous and I don’t want them to know they’re dealing with me. All they are doing is grubbing for money. More will probably come out as soon as the word gets out that I’m back. I have several court appearances to make as Mister Smith and then I should be able to throw away this horrible hair.

Ramona giggled. “It is horrible. Couldn’t you have gotten something nicer?”

“I thought it gave me a colorful appearance,” he said, wounded.

“Yes, but the color is so... “ she was searching for the right word.

He finished the sentence for her. “Crazy?”

She blushed. “I didn’t say that. you said that.”

“Well, I won’t wear it when you come to call.” He dug in the pocket of the coat he was still wearing and handed her a shiny brass key. “This goes to the padlock on the gate. I oiled the hinges and it now works flawlessly. I don’t lock the house. Haven’t gotten around to finding the right locksmith. The ghosts will keep everybody else away,” he said grinning.

“What will I tell the kids?” she asked, a flutter in her stomach at the idea of going back to the house she’d stayed away from for so long.

“Bring them along,” he said. “I have a feeling the disguise idea was a bad one ... at least with them. Who knows? I probably didn’t need a disguise at all. Who around here would recognize me anyway? I think I only used it because it was such an exotic idea.”

He stood up. “Now, I’d better go. You have two unruly children to deal with. If they give you too much trouble come get me and I’ll come back and scare them half to death.” He grinned again.

“I’d kiss you goodbye, but I’m not going near that mess you have on your face. I hope you have water over there,” said Ramona.

“Water I have in plenty. The old well is still good and the pump worked fine once I replaced the leather gasket. It’s cold, but I can always warm up some for a whore’s bath on the wood stove. As for the kiss ... I’ll save it for you...”

Ramona blushed. “That was a long time ago Bobby,” she said.

“I know,” he said back. “I really missed you Rami.”

Then he went to the door and let himself out with a wave over his shoulder. Ramona stood and just tried to decide how she felt.

It took quite a while, as she turned the shiny brass key over and over in her fingers. Finally she went upstairs to talk to her children.

She found them together. They were in Robby’s room. Robby was lying on the bed, while Debbie paced back and forth. She stopped when Ramona stepped into the room. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks tear-stained.

“Why is that old place so important to you two?” asked their mother.

Debbie slumped. Like Robby, she just couldn’t confess to what they’d done for so many years. It was their secret. It wasn’t their sexual play that was uppermost in Debbie’s mind. It was the length of time the secret had been kept from her mother. She knew her mother would be hurt by the truth.

As they say, the best defense is a good offense.

“Mom” said Debbie, her voice under control now. “You treated that ... man ... like he was somebody special. You fixed your best dinner. We used our best dishes. You were excited, Mom. But when he got here you acted like you’d never seen him in your life. Who is he?”

Now it was Ramona who had a fifteen year old secret she’d kept from the two people she loved most in the world. And she had no idea how to tell them about that secret, and all the other secrets she had kept for their entire lives ... even beyond their entire lives.

“He’s somebody I knew a long time ago,” she sighed. “He looked differently than I expected him to and it surprised me. He was very important to me back then. That’s all I can tell you about him. I want to tell you more ... but I can’t. Not yet. In a few weeks, maybe.” Her voice was defeated. She knew her children would not stand for that answer. “It’s very complicated.”

“How could you have known him long ago? It’s obvious he’s from some foreign country. I don’t understand.” Debbie’s voice was defeated too.

“Mom?” came Robby’s voice.

“Yes sweetheart,” she said back.

“Do you trust us?”

That surprised Ramona. “Of course I trust you. I love you,” she said.

“Okay, we trust you and love you too,” he said. “How about this? How about you trust us when we tell you we really care about that house. We can’t explain why, but it’s true. And we’ll trust you when you tell us that you know that man, and that he’s not a bad man. He’s not, right?”

Ramona smiled tiredly. “No, he’s not bad. He’s a very good man.”

“He scares me,” said Debbie.

“He would never hurt you for anything in the world,” said her mother.

“Okay, if you say so, but he’s still scary. That hair ... the way he eats. He eats like he’s starving, or has never had good food in his life. It’s just weird.” Debbie went and sat on the edge of the bed, by her brother.

“He said he’s going to restore the house. What does that mean exactly?” asked Robby.

“There used to be beautiful gardens all around it,” said Ramona, her voice going soft as she remembered. “And the house was painted and the tower roof was covered in shining copper shingles. And there were beautiful rugs and servants and music. It was a beautiful place then,” she said.

“How do you know that?” asked Debbie, her imagination fired by the description.

Ramona jerked, coming back to the present. Her words had been dangerous. “I ... ahh ... talked with Mister Smith about it. Back then he lived there.” She folded her arms. “I think Robby’s idea is good. I’ll trust you two, and you trust me. In a few weeks there may be enough changes that your questions will be able to be answered. Maybe mine too. Okay?”

There was a duet of sighed “okay”s from the bed.

“Now, let’s all go down and clean up together. I’m too tired to do it all by myself. For calling it such a special meal you two sure didn’t eat much of it. I could warm some up if you want...”

As if on cue, Debbie’s stomach growled and she giggled. The rest of the evening was spent much more happily than before as they all put the old house out of their minds and were just a family.

The next day, though, after their mother had gone to work, Debbie charged into her brother’s room, where he was still sleeping. She jumped on top of him, tickling him mercilessly.

“Wake up lazy bones!” she squealed. “Let’s go see what that horrible old man is doing to our house!”

Robby tried to defend himself by grabbing his sister’s breasts and squeezing them. It didn’t work. All she did was lean into his hands.

“Mmmm that feels nice. I should have let you touch me a long time ago.”

“I don’t recall asking to touch you,” he said, moving his hands in opposite directions and then back again, making her braless breasts bounce sideways. They were too firm to hit each other though.

She sat up and pushed his hands away. “So, come on, let’s go!” she said excitedly.

“You’re crazy,” he said, his hands moving to her thighs. She was astride him like she was riding a horse. “We can’t go over there any more. That man would probably chop us up and cook us on a campfire.”

“No he wouldn’t. You heard Mommy. She said he’d never ever hurt us, not for anything.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d be happy to see us. Besides, what are we going to do, just walk up to the place and say, ‘Hi, we just thought we’d drop by. Seeing as how we yelled and screamed at you last night we thought we’d be all friendly today.’”

Debbie put her hands on top of his hands, which were on top of her thighs. She stroked the back of his hands with her fingertips.

“No, silly. We’re going to spy. From the secret passage. Through the peep holes. I just want to keep an eye on him and see what he’s doing. Besides, if our stash is still there maybe we can get it while he’s in some other part of the house. Don’t you want your watch?”

“Didn’t mom say he used to live there?” asked Robby. “Maybe he knows all about the secret passages.”

“Of course not,” said Debbie firmly. “That’s why they’re called secret passages, because they’re secret. Those were made when the house was new, and there’s no way mister Smith could have lived there more than what ... twenty or thirty years ago maybe? He’s not old enough to have lived there before that. And he’d have had to be a little boy too if he lived there back then.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “You know what? I bet he and mom went to school together or something like that. And they played together, or he was her boyfriend, like when they were in forth or fifth grade or something. And he lived in the house and Mom lived wherever she lived ... where did mom grow up?” Debbie was getting animated by her imaginary assumptions.

“I don’t know,” said Robby. “But I’d rather stay here and play naughty with you. Maybe they played naughty when they were little,” said Robby, his hands sliding up Debbie’s thighs and onto her waist, moving ever upward toward her breasts again.

“Robby!” Debbie was scandalized. “That’s our mother you’re talking about.” She screwed up her face. “Ewwwww, can you imagine mom with that ... man?!”

She jumped up, eliciting a grunt from Robby as her firm hard butt bounced on his stomach.

“Come on, get up, let’s go!” she demanded.

Robby got up and unabashedly stripped off his PJ bottoms, showing his morning woody to his sister while he pulled on a pair of shorts. She stared intently at it, but didn’t move to touch him.

“Maybe we’ll play naughty later,” she said, and then danced out of his reach toward the door, teasing him. She pulled her T shirt up, showing him her naked breasts and backed out the door.

“Come on baby, you want these?” she teased. “Come on, just follow little Debbie and maybe she’ll let you play with them.” She had to turn and run to avoid being caught and laughed as she ran out through the back door and into the yard.

Though she had run outside, Debbie didn’t head for the fence to the Nettleton Mansion. Instead she ran around the house a couple of times, staying just ahead of her brother, teasing him. She ran like the wind and loved that he couldn’t quite catch her. When he finally slowed down, panting for breath, she slowed down too, still walking, until they got to the back of the house, where no one in the neighborhood could see them.

Then she let him catch her. She tried to kiss him, as consolation for besting him in the race, but both were breathing too hard for it to really work. They waited until they were sure their mother wasn’t coming back home because she forgot something. Then they walked to the fence where their “private entrance” was and slipped through.

As they penetrated the dense forest, they began to hear noises that were foreign to ears tuned to the normal silence of their fantasy play place. Instead of going to the root cellar, which meant they’d be exposed for the few seconds it would take to get to the entrance and down the stairs, they stayed to the woods and did a circuit of the house to see what was going on outside.

They were astonished.

There were trucks and vans everywhere, parked all over what had, at one time, been lawns and gardens. One had a sign on the side that indicated it was from a plumbing company. Another one was an electrical contractor. There were two from the local garden center, and they had a tractor with a bucket on the front that they were using to clear swaths of weeds and bushes away from around the house. There was a truck with no sign, but two men who wore white coveralls spattered with spots of color, suggesting they were painters. Another truck was from a roofing company. There was a tractor looking thing that had a long arm on the back, with a scoop on the end, and it was digging a long trench from the house toward the street. They winced as they realized if it kept going more of their cherished forest would be destroyed.

There were ladders up against the house in several places, and men on them, taking things off the house and others putting things on the house. The whole place looked different already, though most of that was just because of activity, and not substantive changes to the appearance of the house itself.

Still, it was obvious that the appearance would change. Already the house looked like it stood straighter, without the sag it had always seemed to have, like it was coming awake after a long slumber.

As they watched a truck left, and another one came. It was met by mister Smith, still wearing his long black trench coat, his beard and hair only a little less tangled. Debbie thought she’d see old crusted lasagna sauce in that beard if she were close enough. She shuddered.

Smith was flitting from one place to another, talking to this man, or that, pointing and gesticulating. The tractors made too much noise for them to hear what he was saying, but it was obvious he was issuing directions to the contractors.

The great double front doors stood wide open, letting sunlight into the foyer, which had not seen such light in decades. Two men were climbing twin ladders, set only a few feet apart, and were carrying something square between them, up the ladder. Whatever it was it sparkled and glistened in the sun, in vivid colors of red, green, blue and a golden color that could only be called yellow by a blind person.

“It’s stained glass!” whispered Robby, close to his sister. The men stopped at an open hole in the side of the house, where a window had been removed. Carefully they fitted the new window into the hole and did something to make it stay.

Another truck arrived, a larger one, with a flat bed heaped with all kinds of things. There was copper piping, and boxes marked as containing toilets and sinks. There were coils of black that looked like wire of some kind. Men got out and began carrying things into the house.

Yet another van arrived, this one marked as the delivery service for a dry cleaning establishment. Two people got out of it with folded boxes and went into the house.

Robby noticed that Debbie was panting, as if she’d run. He moved and saw tears running down her cheeks, dripping to the forest floor.

He reached out to touch her arm and she turned her tear streaked face to him.

“They’re changing everything,” she sobbed, melting into his arms. “I hate him!“ she screamed.

Robby hushed her, but there was really no chance her cry had been overheard. He hugged her to him as she sobbed. Finally he let her go and took her hand.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

He was just about to lead her back home, when a car drove into the chaos of vehicles littering the yard. They stared at the car.

It was their car.

Their mother was driving.

Crouching down in the bushes they watched as Ramona got out and stood in the open door, staring at all the other vehicles, and at the house. She didn’t move for a long time. Then, reaching into the car and removing a leather briefcase, she took a few tentative steps toward the house.

“Maybe she’s got something in there to make them stop,” whispered Robby.

That hope was dented a little when Smith saw their mother and hurried over to her. He started to embrace her, plain as day, but then dropped his arms and stood back, looking over his shoulder at the contractors scattered around the grounds. He took her elbow and led her into the house.

“What’s she doing here?” asked Debbie, puzzled.

“I don’t know,” said Robby, puzzled himself.

“We’ve got to get in there!” said Debbie, standing up.

“We can’t get past all those people!” said Robby.

“The secret way, you Dodo,” she said, looking at him like he was daft.

“I don’t know Deb,” he said uncertainly. “What if we make a noise or something? They could hear us and then what would we do?”

“There’s no way they could hear us with all that noise going on,” said Debbie. “You’re chicken! Aren’t you!”

As anyone knows, that’s probably the best way to get a fifteen year old boy to do just about anything he probably shouldn’t do, and it worked just like it would have on any other fifteen year old boy.

Debbie had to run to catch up to her brother, who was stomping through the woods in an arc that would bring them to the back of the root cellar.

“Be careful,” warned Debbie, afraid she’d made him so mad that he might do something stupid.

“What’s the matter? he growled. “You turning chicken?“

“I’m sorry Robby ... come on ... you want to know what she’s doing in there don’t you?”

He stopped and turned as she almost ran into him. “If we get caught, I am going to spank you. I promise!“ Then he turned and went on.

They waited briefly in the bushes, watching the back of the house, but there was only one man on a ladder there, and all his attention seemed to be on where some boards had been removed from the side of the house.

They made the dash to the steps and skipped steps getting down into the cellar. Without waiting to see if anyone raised the alarm, Robby jerked open the secret door and they ducked into the tunnel. Again, they had forgotten to bring a candle, but again, they both knew the tunnel so well they could negotiate it in the pitch black with no problem. Still, Robby went first, while Debbie held on to his waist.

Robby pulled gently at the door. They had used it so much that it opened easily now, though the hinges squeaked. They had never thought to oil them, since whenever they were there they were alone.