Kitsune: Wow, I don't even remember. Have I gotten more reviews?
Stretch: Would ya be updatin' if ya didn't?
Stinkie: Yer datin', Kitsune? Whassat gotta do wit da story?
Stretch: UPdatin', moron! Sheesh!
Stinkie: Oh, sorry, I dun heard wrong, den. (meek grin)
Kitsune: Brothers are so strange . . .
Aaron: Tell me about it.
Nick: Shut up, idiot!
Aaron: Make me!
Nick: Why you . . . ! (they fight)
Kitsune: (sweatdrop) Can we get on with the fanfic yet?
Stretch: Jus' start it witout dem.
Kitsune: A'ight. Please review. It's weird talking like you, Stretch.
Stretch: Then don't!
Stinkie: (holding up a sign that says, 'Will haunt for reviews.')
Summary: Nearly 50 years have passed at Whipstaff. The only remaining residents are two ghost brothers. But when a lonely living girl takes up residence there, she finds herself torn in two; while one brother seems to show concern for her, the other finds her a bit more appealing than normal. Rated M for rape, torture, and adult content, sorta.
Christine woke, blinking open sleepy lids and sitting up in bed. She stretched her arms out and rubbed her eyes. She had the vague sense that she was having a good dream, but she couldn't remember any details. She shivered, suddenly. Why was she so cold? She had at least three blankets around her. Maybe it was just the mornings . . .
She turned and climbed out of bed, going to grab a brush on a vanity on the other side of the room. She sat and brushed out her hair, wincing as the knots pulled at her head. She suddenly heard a metallic groan and turned to look at the door. Stinkie had it open and was holding a scrub brush and a towel.
"I, uh, warmed up da bath fer yas." He grinned, gesturing to the towel. "Took a bit o'work, but I got it goin'."
Christine smiled, meekly. "Thanks, Stinkie. I think that's just what I need." She stood, going over to him. He met her halfway and handed her the objects, then led her out of the room and to the bathroom.
She smiled and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Stinkie smiled and turned, drifting down the hall.
Christine glanced around the small bathroom before setting the towel on the floor in front of the tub. She undressed and climbed in, shutting the shower curtain. The spray was warm and she carefully washed with the soap and shampoo. Her body ached where the warm water touched her freezing cold skin, but it soon soothed her and she began to wash her hair, scrubbing furiously, then relaxing into a gentle, steady rhythm.
She shower spread warm water across her back. Things flashed in her mind, subtle impressions of something.
Warm hands gently wrapped around her, drawing her into skin-to-skin contact with her love . . .
His hands slid down her sides, making the areas tingle . . .
Gooseflesh suddenly arose and she shivered, involuntarily. She turned the spray off after rinsing her hair and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped the towel around herself and commenced to drying herself off.
Stinkie drifted to the kitchen, ready to make breakfast for him and his guest. He phazed through the door, looked up, and suddenly became startled. Stretch sat at the table, reading the paper. He didn't look up. "Hey, Stink." He flipped the page and read on.
"Stretch? What're ya doin' back here?" Stinkie asked, amazed.
Stretch sneered, still not looking at him. "I live here too, dipshit. Or did ya ferget about it?" He smirked, finally locking gazes with Stinkie. Stinkie shivered. There was something in his brother's eyes he didn't like. Something was there that shouldn't have been. But he decided not to mention it; it would probably only make Stretch angry. It was morning, after all, and Stretch was usually testy in the mornings.
"But I thought you was goin' on vacation?" Stinkie questioned. Stretch shrugged.
"I came back." Stretch stated, simply, looking back at his paper. He flipped the page again. "So, you an' da fleshie are gettin' along good?"
"Uh, I guess so . . ." Stinkie replied, rubbing his arm. He floated over to the refigerator, taking a swig of the racid milk before he got out some eggs for breakfast. "Eggs sound good t'ya?"
Stretch waved a hand, dismissively. Stinkie sighed, getting to work. After a few minutes, Christine came downstairs, dressed in a clean pair of clothes. One hand was shaking her wet, stringy hair out. She glanced at Stretch and waved, smiling. "You're back so soon? That must've been some vacation, then."
Stretch grunted. "It was alright." He glanced over at his brother, who wasn't having any luck with the stove. "Y'need help dere, Stinkie?"
Stinkie glanced back at his brother, and sighed in his mind. Stretch's eyes were back to normal. His tone wasn't as sarcastic as it had usually been. He nodded.
Christine stood. "Why don't I make breakfast today? I mean, it's the least I can do for what you've done for me already." Stretch nodded, and Stinkie looked at her.
"Awright 'den," Stinkie floated away from the stove with a shrug. Christine put on a sincere smile and walked over to the smelly ghost. With a little effort, she was able to get the dusty, deserted stove to work.
Stinkie crossed his arms, eyeing her but keeping a smug smile on his face. "Show off."
"You go sit down, I'll have breakfast ready in a little while." She set to work, and with little to no effort had a hot, steaming breakfast set in front of the three of them.
"Anythin' happen while I was gone?" Stretch asked through a bite of egg. Stinkie shook his head.
"Not really," the other ghost informed his brother. He glanced at Christine every few moments. She was meekly picking at her food; eating it, but not shoving it down her throat. Her eyes were downcast. Stinkie coughed once, trying to think of a good way to bring up a conversation. "So, uh, Christine . . ." The fleshie looked at him. "Have any dreams last night?"
Stretch's head slowly lifted from his paper to stare at his brother. His gaze was calm, but oddly cold. He shifted his gaze to Christine.
Christine glanced down at her food. "Well, sort of . . ."
"How do you 'sort of' have a dream?" Stretch sneered.
"Well, I know I had one . . . I just can't remember any details . . . It was a nice dream, though. I know that much." Christine picked as another piece of egg left on her plate.
"How d'ya know if yer dream was any good if ya can't remember it?" Stinkie asked, incredulously.
Christine gave a whistful smile. "Well, when I woke up, I was in a good mood," she stated, matter-of-factly. "Couldn't have been a nightmare if I woke up without any trouble."
Stretch "stood" from the table, taking his paper with him. "I got work to do, so I'll leave you two to yer business." He gaze a farewell glare at Stinkie, who shuddered. However, before leaving, he gave a strange glance that only Stinkie seemed to notice. He seemed to look Christine up and down, like he was appraising her. However, he was out of there without a moment's notice.
Christine stood and took Stretch's plate, as well as her own, to the sink, then inquired Stinkie if he was finished. He pushed his plate toward her with a nod, his mind far from breakfast.
They hadn't heard from Stretch the rest of that day. Stinkie stayed in his room, pondering Stretch's mood. Christine also retired to her room. She sat on the bed, brushing out her hair while staring out at the sea. His mind seemed blank; she was trying to remember what kind of dream could have made her feel so good in the morning.
Warm arms slid up hers, fingers drumming softly on her skin. Warm breath whispered words of love in her ear while he pulled her to him. She turned her head to the side, shyly, a girlish smile coming to her lips. His lips nipped her ear, wanting more, needing more, needing her. He needed her.
But again, she grew cold, goosebumps forming along her arms. She flinched from the sudden chill and glanced around the room, searching for the source. There were no windows open, and her door was shut. Where could it have been coming from? Again that strange feeling persisted; that warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach when that strange sense prodded her mind like a boy poking a dead carcass with a stick in curiosity. It was like someone was poking that stick at her mind, making her try to remember what had happened last night. But at the last moment when it seemed she would remember that wonderful dream, the sensation would leave her empty, confused, and unsatisfied. It was like it was teasing her; it made her want to know what happened, then take it away at the last minute, out of her reach.
She shrugged in resignation. She supposed that to know what had happened was to experience it again. She had to go to sleep that night and dream. But how would she know if it was the same dream? How did she know it would be a recurring dream? Would it come again?
"The only way is to find out, right?" she asked herself, snuggling into the covers and putting the brush on the side-table. She closed her eyes, levelled her breathing, and let herself succumb to the deep, dark sleep that kissed her brow.
Kitsune: Yay, chapter 4 is finished! THIS STUPID COMPUTER!!!
Stretch: What now?
Kitsune: You know the number keys at the top of the keyboard with the symbols?
Kitsune: The three, four, and six don't work. I have to use the one at the side that you have to press Num Lock for. Although, that's no problem, seeing as I always have Num Lock on, but still . . .
Stretch: You complain too much.
Kitsune: Shut up, Twiggy.
Stretch: What did you call me?
Kitsune: Nothing. (cough cough) Lanky.
Stretch: Why you!! (attacks her)
Stinkie: Please review! (CRASH!) (wince) Stretch, what are you doing? No, put Kitsune down! Stretch don't! (SPLAAAAAAAAAAAASH!!!)
Kitsune: (offscreen) Help, I forgot how to swim!
Stretch: (offscreen) That's just too bad for you, then, ain't it?
Kitsune: Stinkie, help!
Stinkie: Be right there! Review, people!
Stinkie: Coming! (flys off)