The shutters bang against the window, waking Freddy in the late hours of the night. The room is dark and cold and she groans as she wakes, warm under the thick covers of the bed. Her brown eyes bat open against her will, struggling to stay that way. But her shutters continue to be thrown by the harsh wind of the night. So she drags herself out of bed, the floor cold against her feet. The harsh wind found its way through the cracks of the window, blowing in frigid air, raising goosebumps along her skin, and waking her from her lingering slumber. The cold infects her body from the soles of her feet and up her lithe body. 

Before she latches the shutters closed she peers out into the night. There are flashes of lightning breaking between the slates of rain and wind. Rain catches on her bare arms, hair rising from the cold, each drop a shock to her system. Freddy extends a hand to feel the rain pool in her hand. On a whim she pulls her hand back and slowly raises her palm to her mouth, tasting the ice-cold water that collected there. A shiver takes over her and the pool of water splashes. In a swift movement, Freddy grabs the shutters and latches them closed. 

What was once a room with thready light sifting through the window becomes pitch black. She blinks, lashes brushing against her cold skin trying to adjust to the dark. Muscle memory brings her back to bed, her steps confident in the path, and she rolls back into bed, covers immediately tucked around her. As her blankets pillow around her, she feels the cold seep into her bones. Her feet feel like ice infecting her whole body. The cold rolls up and over her. She brings a hand up to her chest and rubs over her heart as if to remind her body how to warm up.

Freddy brings the tips of her fingers to her lips. Parting with warm breath to feel the heat against her skin. The cold of her fingers no longer feels how it should. There is something off. She feels the blanket stir, though her body lays still. Her fingers do not feel like her own. And she realizes both her hands remain under the plush blankets. 

She sits up, wild-eyed. Panicked she looks around the room and calls out, “Is anybody there?” Freddy sees nothing in the dark. Fear creeps up her neck and forces her out of bed. Her feet sting from the cold wooden floor. She hurries over to a nearby table feeling for a lamp and turns the switch to allow its soft amber glow to guide her. Freddy does what she can, looks around, searching for answers to what she knows she felt. But she sees nothing. 

“Hello?” She calls out tentatively again to no response. There is quiet. Freddy continues to sweep her gaze across the room, very much feeling like a rabbit caught in a trap. She hears a rustling on the other side of the bed. Freddy rushes to the bed, falling to her knees and looking over the other side. Nothing. She gets down and looks under the bed. Nothing. 

A question lingers on her lips, is this just her overactive imagination in the middle of the night, or should she flee what she can not see? Freddy shakes her head, clearing her mind of restless thoughts, and lays down on the bed. There is nothing to do but accept there is nothing out to get her in her empty room in this creaky old house. What she needs is a night of sound sleep. She lies there, looking at the ceiling, measuring her breath, willing herself calm. Her eyes flutter close, her arms wrap around herself. Grounding herself in the feel of the cold, the feel of her own touch against her skin, and the weight of her eyelids against her tired eyes. 

She doesn’t even notice when the light stutters, then flickers out. Her eyes are heavy with sleep, her fingers soothing over her arms. A tingling comes over her, though she barely notices it at first. As it begins she thinks its simply the cold getting to her. First the hair on her legs, then the hair on her arms. Gooseflesh prickling at her peace. But then it is odd, the tingling spreads over her body in the most unusual pattern. Starting from the base of her neck, down the swell of her chest, causing her to gasp in response, then the sensation travels down to the navel and spreads down her thighs. 

Freddy’s hands follow the sensation almost mindlessly. Wrapping around the base of her neck, leaning in as if into a lover's embrace, then caressing over her chest, trailing her fingers down the length of her stomach, then each hand curling around a thigh. Her fingers dig into the soft skin there. She wishes for the feel of a tongue laving at the thin, sensitive, swell at the juncture between her thighs and her center. 

The wish is so strong it feels true. It feels as if tongue and teeth lave and teethe across her thighs, making her shudder and gasp. Her hands inch around the inside of her thighs, letting a finger glide along her folds. She feels the sting of her cold fingers. If anything the cold enhances the sensation. It is overwhelming. It wakes her in a way she has not felt in too long a time. She tilts her neck back, giving in, as she lets icy fingers tease and play at her. Dragging along her slit, playing with her clit, and running back down to slip in between her and gather slick. She wishes for a tongue at her entrance, easing her open as she plays with herself, and is shocked when she seems to feel it. 

Her eyes flutter open, looking at the ceiling in a silent prayer of pleasure. But with a start, she realizes the light has gone out. She bolts up, and before her, between her, is the shadow of a figure burning light blue, barely visible, between her bare thighs. She screams. A shock of sound in between the sound of steady rain against the walls of the house. The figure looks up curiously, if it could look curiously, and Freddy’s eyes widen, her mouth frozen in shock. The feeling of something entering her takes over. The sensation of a tongue accompanied by what feels like a sturdy finger slowly, surely, penetrating her, burns her from inside out. Freddy watches, unable, or unwilling, to fully comprehend the sight before her. 

Still, the figure looks hazy. And then the sensation of wet, curved, strong strokes fills her. A cry falls from Freddy’s lips. Her arms fall back to brace herself as a slow steady pace stokes the fires inside her. Freddy’s eyes close once more, repeating over and over to herself that this can’t be real, it must all be a dream. A need her mind is fulfilling. So she leans into her hands, bracing her body, and bucks her hips to meet the sensation. The strokes fill her, growing, not as hands do, or as members do, but a growing sensation of fullness, slowly taking over her. This visitor stretching her from within, seeking all the perfect places inside her. 

She opens her eyes once more. She is met with a sight that seems so real. Her body bucking against the haze of a figure, her own body moving as she has seen it do before, as present as it would be in the light of day. The ache in her wrists sharp and pulling her mind into focus. Freddy raises a hand and slaps herself in the face, to make herself come to. And still, the vision persists. This figure between her thighs as real as the wind rushing through the cracks of the window whipping her hair against her shoulders. 

Freddy lets her body fall against the mattress, pinching herself, and still, the vision persists. She should fight, she should free herself and rid this house of this spirit. She knows she should will herself away, or awake if she is somehow still dreaming. But the truth is it feels good. And her body betrays her. Her hips work hard against the sensation filling her. She gives in and rolls her nipples between her fingers and runs her hands along her torso and her thighs, as the spirit fills her and fucks her. 

Her breathing becomes ragged. Her body aching. The tingling spreads across her from her toes to the hairs on her head. Her whole body feels alight in a way utterly foreign to her. In a way that makes her feel as if wine has gone to her head and made her whole body feel light and heavy at the same time, but a thousand times more addicting. She feels like honey and like the lighting flashing across the sky. Her fingers trace her clit. It feels as if more and more hands are touching her body, teasing her nipples, pressing the skin above her womb, making her cry out in pleasure. Needing more and more and more, and the spirit meeting her ache.

She feels like she is being swallowed whole. She feels her cunt filled and fucked to the brim, her clit aching and so close to release. The hands she felt take over her body blur back into amorphous tingling, now with bright spots wrapping around her. The sensation, the spirit, setting her whole body aflame. Her cries tumble from her lips with more and more desperation, her face a mask of need, of want, of desire. Freddy feels the tipping point rush towards her. Her legs shake, her breath shudders, her chest heaves with the untamed breath. She falls apart, split open on nothing at all, and yet so so full. Convulsing as the figure takes her senses and shatters them. 

All at once her body drops down to the mattress from where she was arched in pleasure and the light flickers back on. Her face turns to the light, eyes once more wide with shock. She looks down at herself again and the figure is gone. She reaches down and feels her body shudder with the aftershocks of sensation, her cunt drooling and her body sensitive to touch. Freddy lets her gaze sweep the room for any sign of what she saw to no avail. Once again her room lays still but for herself and the sound of wind and rain against the windowpane.