It’s excerpt day here at P&P, so here’s a smidge from my latest story – Dead Sexy 
- I picked a gentler ghosty bit, but it’s quite a dark tale, and is also f/f erotica.
The Old Weaver’s Cottage had a couple of ghost cats, who had surprised me by arriving on the bed during my first night of residence. It’s rather odd, feeling the weight of a cat next to you, but not being able to find it with your hands. Don’t ask me how that works, I don’t know. Sometimes I almost see them, stretched out in sunny spots. They bothered me for the first thirty seconds or so, but I find them companionable, and it saves the money and work involved in getting a living kitty.
I’d liked the quiet here on my first visit, which is why I chose the place. Plus it was cheap, thanks to the floods. The cottage being all on a level made it easy to get round with a stick. I’d be okay using a wheelchair, when the time came. The walkers, dogs and horses beyond the windows gave me a sense of connection. I’d spoken to a few of the neighbours and they seemed nice. Not Irene, though who lived in the apparently haunted cottage across the road. She hadn’t said hi, although others had pointed her out to me. “Don’t mind Irene.
She’s an oddball, but harmless,” was the remark that stuck in my mind. I considered asking her about the ghosts; it would give me an excuse to say start up a dialogue sometime. I enjoy listening to other people’s tales.
Filed under: Bryn Colvin, Fiction Tagged: | Bryn Colvin, Dead Sexy, excerpt, ghost, Gothic, Loveyoudivine, Paranormal
It’s rather odd, feeling the weight of a cat next to you, but not being able to find it with your hands.
Ghost cats have weight?! Oh, how can that be?
My living, 12-pound, part-Maine-coon cat Seamus is utterly convinced he’s weightless. At night he creeps up the length of my body with the stealth of a ninja to perch on my chest in the confidence of the unobserved. Or he commutes from the patio window across the bed to the bedside window to observe his namesake cousins the raccoons, bouncing with his hindpaws off my belly as the final springboard to the windowsill… and archly looks back in mild surprise at my groaned protests. When he passes on — say, if I ever strangle him in suddenly woken bellyache — I’m sure his firm belief in his own weightlessness will define the morphic resonance field of his ghost: there may be a sensation of warmth, of pressure (pushing hands away or apart), but not of weight.
‘ve had ghost cats on my bed… so this is one of the few details in the story drawn from first hand experience! And it was weird, because it felt like my cat was on the bed, and then, my cat got on the bed….
Ooh.