It was wrong, what I did to Melanie. I understood that. But you see, my obsession had grown to rival hers. I felt I had no option other than trickery. 

And truth be told, I never dreamed she'd fall for the deception.

In the autumn of 1983, Melanie and I were both twenty. We'd grown up together as neighbors in a rural county. Our village barely warranted a name.

I always knew Melanie was different. Quiet and dreamy, she didn't have all that many friends in school. Once we graduated, I went to work at the paper mill, while she spent her days looking after her great-grandmother. When she returned home in the evenings, I would watch for the light to appear in her bedroom window. I stood in my own darkened room, waiting to see that glow more often than I cared to admit.

It made sense that she and I should marry. My job was sheer drudgery, but I knew I could bear it with a smile if she was waiting at home for me after a long day. 

And in our backwoods area, Melanie and I had few other prospects. Most people our age got the hell out as soon as they finished school. This place was dying little by little, year by year.

But I was certain she and I could make a decent life here. We could have a family and stay close to our folks.

The problem was, Melanie had no interest in sharing a life with me. She was too caught up in worshipping a man she'd never known.

On a Saturday afternoon in late October, I watched her climb the hill behind her house. She wore jeans and a sweater to ward off the crisp breeze. Her dark blonde hair spilled down her back, swinging gently from side to side.

Having witnessed this journey numerous times before, I started after her. My long legs easily closed the distance between us, but she seemed oblivious to my presence. In her hand was a small bouquet of chrysanthemums. 

The wind picked up, plucking at my flannel shirt and ruffling my brown hair. I was in need of a trim but hadn't felt like making the trip to the barbershop in town. 

Melanie soon reached the tiny cemetery at the top of the hill. I couldn't hold back a sigh as she sank to her knees before a marble gravestone. In moments, she'd replaced the dried flower arrangement there with her offering of cheery mums. It was a weekly ritual on her part.

My friend's fixation had begun earlier that year, following a trip to the county library. She'd taken an interest in genealogy and wanted to research not only her family tree but also the history of the property her parents owned. 

Though our library had few resources, the ancient librarian knew a great deal of village lore. From her, Melanie learned more about the family buried in this cemetery.

Melanie was already aware that at the turn of the century, the house where she now lived had been owned by a couple whose only son, Thomas, died in World War I. She and I had climbed this hill as teenagers; we'd studied the birth and death dates on the gravestones, along with the epitaphs inscribed. 

But the librarian had surprised Melanie with a photograph of the young soldier, recently located in the archives.

Later, Melanie would tell me that as soon as she saw that sepia-toned image, she felt a strange warmth settle over her. Grabbing my hand, she said, "It was like someone was hovering right behind me, Jack!"

I didn't make much of it at first. Melanie had always been prone to flights of fancy. Whenever she expressed her wish for a romance like the ones she read about in gothic novels, I never had the heart to tell her that kind of love didn't exist. Not for her, at least.

But then she claimed Thomas's ghost was in her house, trying to communicate with her.

"Who knows? I might be sleeping in the very room that was once his," Melanie said.

I did my best to simply listen as she described the tapping she heard inside the walls each night. It wasn't easy to hide my skepticism, yet I told myself she'd grow tired of this foolishness soon enough.

Instead, she talked of Thomas more and more. "Maybe he's communicating in Morse code. I'm trying to learn it, but so far I can't make out any clear message." 

Perhaps I should have urged her to stop indulging in nonsense. Thomas was long dead, buried beside his parents on a desolate hilltop, and she needed to let him rest in peace.

But I said no such thing, for I feared making her angry. As far as I knew, I was the only person she confided in, and I longed for our fleeting conversations, as ridiculous as they'd become.

While biting my tongue, I started to resent the dead man's memory. Melanie went on and on about how handsome Thomas had been, and how his life ended tragically on another continent, so far from home. 

Meanwhile, I was right there, alive and full of adoration for her. Why couldn't she see that we were meant to be together?

As I now approached her on the hill, she turned to smile at me. I extended my hand and helped her climb to her feet. Her blue eyes were bright, and I basked in the warmth of her gaze before she returned her attention to Thomas's grave. 

"I think he enjoys the flowers," she said.

Though I tried to keep hold of her hand, she slipped free. Still, I managed an easy tone. "I imagine he does. Those mums sure are pretty."

"He'll probably be tapping on my bedroom wall like crazy tonight. He always does after I've been up here."

Tucking my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, I rocked on my heels. "Still ain't figured out what he's trying to tell you?"

Melanie's happiness dimmed a little. "Not yet."

While I studied her face, I felt something sinister tug at the edges of my mind. It was incredible, the way the plan so quickly fleshed itself out. 

"You know," I began, trying to sound casual, "Monday's Halloween."

Melanie turned to me, eyebrows raised. "So it is."

"On that night," I went on, "the door between the living and the dead is thrown wide open. Maybe..."

Now she did reach for me, gripping my arm almost painfully tight. "Jack, do you think we could communicate with Thomas then?"

I pretended to consider her question. "Possibly." With a shrug, I added, "It's our best chance, right?"

"Oh, let's try it!" Melanie bounced on the balls of her feet, barely able to contain her excitement. "You can come over once it's dark. We'll eat caramel apples and then hold a séance in my room."

I had to laugh; her enthusiasm was contagious. "You don't have any idea how to hold a séance."

"It can't be that difficult. We'll light some candles and hold hands, and we'll invite Thomas to make his presence known."

I should have been ashamed of myself for encouraging her delusion. But I was already convinced this was my only chance to make her mine.

That night, I stood in my room, staring at Melanie's house. I saw her bedroom light illuminate the window; I even glimpsed her pass by. She wore a long-sleeved gown and was running a brush through her hair.

Hidden in the darkness, I took my hard cock in hand and stroked with a punishing grip. As my arousal grew, I fantasized about seeing Melanie naked on Halloween night. I imagined the warmth of her skin against mine. 

My body shuddered, and I had to muffle a groan while I came. Immediately afterward, I felt guilty, but my dick was slow to soften. Once I was in bed, I couldn't resist the urge to masturbate yet again. I thought I'd go crazy with need before Halloween night arrived.

Sunday dragged by, each hour serving to torment me. At church, Melanie gave me an eager smile. She was anxious for Halloween as well, but for an entirely different reason. 

On Monday, it was all I could do to keep my mind on my work. As soon as I got home, I wolfed down the meal Mom had made, then headed for the shower.

"What's your hurry?" Mom called after me. I heard the amusement in her voice.

"I'm going over to Melanie's for Halloween," I replied. 

"Ain't you a little old for that?" Dad teased. "Besides, I need you to help me hand out candy."

That was a joke; no trick-or-treaters ever ventured out this way.

For my outfit, I wore my best jeans, along with a striped polo shirt. The evening was fairly warm, so I could get by with short sleeves. Studying my reflection, I was glad I'd gotten to the barbershop after work. 

At just past eight, I headed over to Melanie's. Mom insisted I take some chocolate chip cookies she'd baked, and I ate one on the way. My jacket held off the night's chill.

Melanie had told me we'd have the house to ourselves, since her parents would be in town taking their grandson trick-or-treating. Despite the fact that I'd stood on her porch countless times before, I was nervous while ringing the bell.

She quickly answered, and I couldn't help but stare. My expression made her giggle.

"What do you think?" She twirled a few times, letting me see her dress from all angles. It was a gorgeous red, the skirt swishing around her legs. The bodice, however, was surprisingly snug. I couldn't remember Melanie ever wearing something that drew attention to her figure. Low heels completed the outfit. 

"You look beautiful." I tried not to let my gaze linger on her breasts. "Is that new?"

"I bought it earlier this summer but never had a reason to wear it till now. Come on in!"

We headed into the kitchen, where I saw she'd made caramel apples, just as promised. Though anxiety coursed through me in an ever-present hum, Melanie didn't seem at all uncomfortable. Soon, we were crunching into the apples, and as she chattered away about ghosts and séances, I ached to lick the sticky sweetness from her lips.

When we finally went upstairs to her room, I had to chase away the feeling that I was doing something wrong. We were twenty, for God's sake. My parents were already married at that age.

Looking around, I noticed my friend had gotten rid of many of her stuffed animals. The pink bedspread had been replaced with a royal blue one. She'd already placed several unlit candles on the floor. Beside them rested the dried flowers she'd collected from Thomas's grave.

Our playful moods settled into something more solemn as she lit the candles. I'd already taken off my shoes, and she now stepped out of her heels. Breathing in, I caught the scent of Opium perfume, which Melanie occasionally borrowed from her mom.

"Let's sit down," she suggested.

I watched as she eased onto the floor beside me, modestly arranging her dress over her thighs. Reaching for my hand, she told me to close my eyes.

Candlelight flickered across my lowered lids, and for a few seconds, I could focus only on Melanie's hand in mine. I heard her draw in a deep breath, so I did the same.

I had no idea what to expect. I figured Melanie would do something dramatic like chant a spell.  

But when she spoke, her voice was full of pleading. "Thomas, if you're here, I hope you'll find a way to communicate that I can understand. I know you've been trying to reach out to me; I've heard you rapping on the walls almost every night." In the brief pause that followed, she gave my fingers a squeeze. "I can sense your presence. Please... give me and Jack a sign."

Another silence, this one heavier. Anxiety made my stomach churn, for I knew this was the moment to enact my plan. It was now or never.

With my eyes still closed, I said, "I'm here." Having practiced beforehand, I lowered my voice so it sounded unfamiliar to my own ears.

I must have convinced Melanie, because she gasped and held my hand even tighter. Was she staring at me now? I was too nervous to take a peek. Instead, I tried to maintain a passive expression.

"Thomas!" Melanie shifted beside me. "I'm so glad you've come!"

Allowing the hint of a smile to appear on my lips, I said, "I've longed for this night, Melanie, ever since our first encounter in the library. And now that your friend is here with you on All Hallows' Eve, I can use his body as my own."

Melanie pressed her free hand to my cheek, and I dared to open my eyes. Her gaze was wild as she searched my face. "Jack, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"He's not present at the moment," I told her in that deep, resonant voice, "but he's perfectly fine; he wants this for us. Sadly, I can stay only a short while."

To my surprise, she threw her arms around me. "I knew you'd find a way, Thomas!" Her lips were soft on my cheek.

Tentatively, I embraced her as well. It was a miracle she didn't hear my heart thudding in my chest; I was terrified she'd see through the act and tell me to get out of her room. Out of her house.

Out of her life.

Burying my face in her hair, I inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo. My body responded to her closeness. Along with my racing pulse, I felt myself growing hard.

I might have held Melanie like that forever, but she eventually withdrew in order to study me. 

"Jack seems so different—he even looks different—now that you're here, Thomas."

I must have been a far better actor than I gave myself credit for. Still, her words were like a barb in my heart. Only because she believed I was Thomas did she now look at me so tenderly.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned in for a kiss. Instead of pulling away, Melanie readily met my lips.

I'd worried our first kiss would be awkward. To my relief, it felt completely natural. I knew she was a virgin; she'd never even had a boyfriend. And though I'd briefly dated a girl during my senior year of high school, we broke up just before graduation. She and I had done some heavy petting in my car, but I was still pretty inexperienced compared to other guys my age.

The kiss deepened, and I moaned as my tongue caressed Melanie's. I was brave enough to slide my hands over her dress, and to inch closer to her breasts. Playing the part of her ghostly lover was working wonders for my confidence. As long as she thought I was Thomas, I could do no wrong.

Finally, she broke the kiss. We were both breathing faster, and when I cupped her right breast, she leaned into my touch. 

Hungry for more, I reminded her, "We don't have much time."

I was shocked when Melanie leapt to her feet.

"We should make the most of tonight then," she said. Once I stood beside her, she turned her back to me. "Unzip my dress."

My hands were surprisingly steady as I followed her instruction. She lifted her hair out of the way, and I couldn't resist planting a kiss on her neck. 

"Have you watched me in this room at night?" she whispered. "Have you seen me touch myself?"

My cock was achingly hard in my jeans. With astonishing self-assurance, I pulled Melanie to me. By now, her dress was unzipped and hanging loose on her frame. She wore a red bra beneath it. 

Again cupping those perfect breasts, I grew bold enough to grind against her. "Oh yes, I've watched you, Melanie. Can you feel what you do to me?"

That seemed to obliterate any restraint she had left. Turning in my arms, she alternated between pulling at my clothes and removing her own. 

"Get undressed. Hurry!" she urged. 

I quickly stripped out of my shirt and jeans, while she cast aside her dress and began the painstaking process of removing her pantyhose. My erection was clearly visible in my briefs, and I noticed her sneaking glances at it. 

"Take off everything, Thomas."

It was all happening so fast; I never believed we would reach this point tonight. I hoped we would kiss, and she'd let me play with her tits. Maybe I'd get to slip a hand into her panties. But I hadn't even thought to bring a condom. 

And how would I present it if I had? I couldn't just pull a rubber out of my jeans pocket; she would think I'd expected sex all along. 

If Melanie shared my concerns, she didn't show it. She was too busy unclasping her bra and sliding her silky panties down her legs. 

This was no time to lose my nerve, I told myself. As fast as I could, I took off my briefs. 

In the next moment, when she and I were both naked in the candlelight, we allowed ourselves a long look at the other. I stared at her small, firm breasts, and the thatch of hair between her legs, while she studied my erection.

Then she went to close and lock her bedroom door. It wasn't all that late, but her parents would be home before too long. She blew out all the candles but one, which she placed on the bedside table.

When we again embraced, this time skin-to-skin, it was the most incredible feeling I'd ever known. The guilt I might experience later on for my deceit? It was worth it. Just for this.

As Melanie gave me another deep kiss, her fingers sought out my cock. I started to ask if she was sure; I never wanted her to regret her decision. 

But she led me to her bed. Once she slipped under the covers and invited me to join her, I didn't have the strength to suggest we slow down. 

Tomorrow, I would return to being Jack, the neighbor she'd never seen as more than a friend. But tonight, I could be Thomas, the strong-jawed, fearless soldier. The man Melanie had placed on such a high pedestal.

Lying at her side, I kissed her mouth and neck as my hand traveled over her skin. She made a sound like a whimper when I drew her nipple between my lips.

Despite my fierce arousal, I took my time enjoying her body. It was strange how I felt older, moving with a practiced ease. Strange how it seemed I was already familiar with our intimacy. I didn't second-guess myself while touching Melanie. Though an unsettling sense of déjà vu came over me, I slid my hand along her inner thigh.

And she moved it farther upward. My fingers brushed her coarse pubic hair, then parted her outer lips. She was hot and wet, her flesh slick. Using a knowledge I shouldn't have possessed, I easily found her clitoris and massaged it with just the right amount of pressure.

I grinned at the sight of her rocking her hips. "You enjoy that, don't you?"

"So much!" A euphoric giggle escaped her before she added, "Of course, you would know just how to touch me. You've seen me masturbate plenty of times."

But I hadn't. Even as my fingers effortlessly pleased her, and my own need intensified, I puzzled over my newfound ability. 

"Thomas!" Melanie cried out. "Don't stop. I'm almost there!"

My hard kiss was what she needed to send her over the edge. I kept working at her clit while she squirmed, for I knew—somehow, I knew—she touched herself in the exact same way. 

Maybe the orgasm I gave her would be enough. Maybe she'd change her mind about going all the way. After all, neither of us had prepared for this.

Instead, she tugged at me until I slid on top of her. I could feel her trembling. 

"Make love to me," she whispered. 

I could have sworn I'd seen her just like this in the past, lying in bed, begging for me to take her. 

Cock in hand, I slid my tip along her folds. She whined when I teased her clit.

There was no nervous fumbling, no muttered apologies. I positioned myself at her entrance and eased inside. A satisfied groan rumbled from my throat.

Beneath me, Melanie sucked in a breath. I noticed her wince with pain. 

"It's alright, sweetheart," I said. "The worst is over now."

Of course, I had no way of knowing that. Still, my words coaxed her into relaxing, and I was able to inch deeper, meeting little resistance. 

I showered her with grateful kisses. She clung to me, nails burrowing into my back. I was careful even as I shook from the urge to drive myself inside her again and again.

My thrusts, hesitant at first, soon took on a more instinctual rhythm. The creaking bed provided a soundtrack to our lovemaking. I buried my face in her neck, wanting to slip under her skin. I wanted my heart to live right beside hers.

"I love you," Melanie whispered. 

I didn't ask if her love was meant for me or for Thomas. Right then, it didn't matter.

"I love you, too, Melanie," I whispered back.

Daring to move faster, I listened to her faint cries, edged with both pain and pleasure. She was exquisitely hot all around me. While the act might have been natural, even inexplicably familiar, losing my virginity was still a novel experience. I quickly grew desperate to come.

I knew she hadn't orgasmed again. With a twinge of regret, I told her, "I'm close." 

A reckless, selfish part of my mind hoped she'd allow me to come inside her. But before she could grant permission, I withdrew.

Kneeling between Melanie's legs, I grasped my dick. All it took was a couple of strokes, and my semen jetted forth. The mess rained down on her belly; a little landed in her pubic hair.

No longer feeling quite so sure of myself, I choked out a helpless, "Sorry!" 

That made her laugh. "It's okay. I was actually curious to see the big event." Her smile faded into tenderness as she added, "And I appreciate you being careful, Jack."

At what point had she dropped the illusion of me being Thomas? Another question I didn't ask. Instead, I leaned to kiss her mouth. 

"I'm sorry you didn't come," I said.

"It would have been a miracle if I had, since that was my first time. And you made me come really hard with your fingers."

Lifting an eyebrow, I managed some of my former boldness. "I bet I can do the same with my mouth."

"We'll just have to find out, won't we?" Her grin mirrored mine. 

Easing off the bed, I grabbed some tissues so I could clean my cum from Melanie's skin. As I tended to her, I noticed the way she stared up at me with a kind of awe. Maybe even adoration.

And it made me wonder which man she saw then. Me? Or Thomas?

​*****

A year later, Melanie and I were married and living in the house she'd inherited from her great-grandmother. My wife still placed fresh flowers on Thomas's grave every week, and she swore his spirit had followed us to our new home.

I didn't argue with her. By that time, I'd heard far too many comments about the perceived change in me, not only from friends but also from my family.

Even Mom had pulled me aside after Sunday dinner last week. Peering up at me, she asked, "Are you okay, Jack? You seem different."

I managed a smile. "Different how?"

"I can't explain it. There's this... weariness in your eyes I've never seen before."

I promised her I was fine, just a little tired.

Of course, I couldn't tell her the truth. Couldn't tell her that almost every night, with Melanie sleeping soundly at my side, I woke up choking, gasping for breath.

My eyes streamed tears, and my lungs felt scorched. I swore I could smell the fetid odor of the trenches. I was tormented by phantom chemical burns on my skin. 

It was almost enough to drive me to the bottle, but I knew I couldn't rely on that for peace of mind. And Melanie would worry if I started needing booze in order to sleep through the night. The last thing I wanted was for her to believe I'd grown unhappy.

Because I was happy. Even as I became more and more of a stranger to myself, I evolved into a man she worshipped.

My life would be perfect if only I could escape the nightmares. They followed me into the next day, the terror of war clinging to me like a residue.

Resigned to exhaustion, I wondered if I was being punished for my former deceit. Or was this simply the price required for me and Melanie to live the life we'd most wanted?

After all, I had my girl.

And she had her ghost.