Moonlight Meetings - Three Erotic Supernatural Stories (The three first stories from Suzy's Adventures) Read Online Free Page B
pillow. Her body still shivered as she rolled over gingerly and stared at the roof. The dull neon reflexes in the chandelier seemed to swirls and circle, forming a whirlpool of red and white, pulling her in, drawing her closer, deeper into the current…
*
Suzy opened her eyes, made a face and quickly closed them again to keep out the harsh daylight. Am I awake now , she wondered? Or was she still dreaming? What was going on ?
Curtains fluttered in a warm breeze in the open windows, rippling and dancing to the tones of a deep reggae base that thumped from nearby speakers. Horns, laughter and footsteps echoed from the streets outside. Everything seemed normal. Well, except for that she’d missed out on a night out in town in exchange for the mother of all wicked dreams. She felt irked, but found that she wasn’t sure if she’d like to change what had happened. After all, that had been some experience.
She sat up gingerly and carefully stretched her back. She could have killed for a glass of water, but the prospect of going to the bathroom was less than appealing. Just breathing was hard, and any movement beyond sitting up was out. Every limb felt slack and her back was stiff, making her wince as she turned and looked at the clock. She frowned at blinked at it in disbelief. It couldn’t ten to twelve; if it was, her flight would leave in less than two hours.
“Shit!” she shouted and leaped out of the bed, ignoring the chorus of complaints from her sore body parts. She dashed into the bathroom, turned the taps and stood jumping from foot to foot under a blitz of icy water. How could anything be so cold when the whole city was sizzling under the sun? Back in the bedroom she threw on the clothes closest to her, cursing her love for leather pants, then raked her belongings off the bed down into her backpack. Most of her packing was lying strewn all over the room, so she crawled around frantically is search of the most essential stuff. She glanced at the clock. Five to twelve. If she could flag down a cab right outside the hostel, she should make it.
Typically, she couldn’t find the Emily doll, her most prized possession. Under the bed? No, but there at least she found her book. In the bathroom? Nope, but she grabbed the range of soap tubes and tossed them into her bag too. This was a hotel, after all. Under the pillows? She threw them aside but found nothing. The dull ticking of the clock seemed much quicker than last night. Almost noon. Checkout time. Damn. She had to leave it behind. Maybe she could have them send it to her mom, not really wanting to know what that would cost her. If they found it.
She sighed, slung her bag over her shoulder, stepped into her boots and made for the door, pausing only to cast a longing look at the room, the bed, the paintings and the huge windows. She knew she’d miss it, and who knew when she’d sleep in an ex-cultist mansion again? Then she unlocked the door, pulled it open, stepped out into the dark corridor, and stopped. She stood frozen in her step while her memory rewinded and replayed what she’d just seen. No. She was stressing out.
But her memory, annoyed at being ignored, did another replay that forced her to step back into the room. She dropped her packing and walked up to one of the smaller paintings in the room, an ochre-toned portrait of Monroy next to the bathroom door. He was sitting on a chair facing the artist – or maybe himself – with the ever-present glass of wine in one hand and the other hand behind his back, as if he was hiding something.
And that was what had caught her eye: he was hiding something. Even worse, she had admired that very painting last evening, and she could have sworn he had his other hand in his lap when she’d last looked at it. Now there was something dark and round sticking out behind his back, just where his hand would be. She leaned closer and felt every hair on her body stand up.
Behind his back he held a toy, a small
*
Suzy opened her eyes, made a face and quickly closed them again to keep out the harsh daylight. Am I awake now , she wondered? Or was she still dreaming? What was going on ?
Curtains fluttered in a warm breeze in the open windows, rippling and dancing to the tones of a deep reggae base that thumped from nearby speakers. Horns, laughter and footsteps echoed from the streets outside. Everything seemed normal. Well, except for that she’d missed out on a night out in town in exchange for the mother of all wicked dreams. She felt irked, but found that she wasn’t sure if she’d like to change what had happened. After all, that had been some experience.
She sat up gingerly and carefully stretched her back. She could have killed for a glass of water, but the prospect of going to the bathroom was less than appealing. Just breathing was hard, and any movement beyond sitting up was out. Every limb felt slack and her back was stiff, making her wince as she turned and looked at the clock. She frowned at blinked at it in disbelief. It couldn’t ten to twelve; if it was, her flight would leave in less than two hours.
“Shit!” she shouted and leaped out of the bed, ignoring the chorus of complaints from her sore body parts. She dashed into the bathroom, turned the taps and stood jumping from foot to foot under a blitz of icy water. How could anything be so cold when the whole city was sizzling under the sun? Back in the bedroom she threw on the clothes closest to her, cursing her love for leather pants, then raked her belongings off the bed down into her backpack. Most of her packing was lying strewn all over the room, so she crawled around frantically is search of the most essential stuff. She glanced at the clock. Five to twelve. If she could flag down a cab right outside the hostel, she should make it.
Typically, she couldn’t find the Emily doll, her most prized possession. Under the bed? No, but there at least she found her book. In the bathroom? Nope, but she grabbed the range of soap tubes and tossed them into her bag too. This was a hotel, after all. Under the pillows? She threw them aside but found nothing. The dull ticking of the clock seemed much quicker than last night. Almost noon. Checkout time. Damn. She had to leave it behind. Maybe she could have them send it to her mom, not really wanting to know what that would cost her. If they found it.
She sighed, slung her bag over her shoulder, stepped into her boots and made for the door, pausing only to cast a longing look at the room, the bed, the paintings and the huge windows. She knew she’d miss it, and who knew when she’d sleep in an ex-cultist mansion again? Then she unlocked the door, pulled it open, stepped out into the dark corridor, and stopped. She stood frozen in her step while her memory rewinded and replayed what she’d just seen. No. She was stressing out.
But her memory, annoyed at being ignored, did another replay that forced her to step back into the room. She dropped her packing and walked up to one of the smaller paintings in the room, an ochre-toned portrait of Monroy next to the bathroom door. He was sitting on a chair facing the artist – or maybe himself – with the ever-present glass of wine in one hand and the other hand behind his back, as if he was hiding something.
And that was what had caught her eye: he was hiding something. Even worse, she had admired that very painting last evening, and she could have sworn he had his other hand in his lap when she’d last looked at it. Now there was something dark and round sticking out behind his back, just where his hand would be. She leaned closer and felt every hair on her body stand up.
Behind his back he held a toy, a small
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