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The rain poured evenly down, with no pause or variation or break save when a particularly fat drop smacked against the windshield of the car. The wolf inside cursed and leaned forward in his seat - even though the wipers were turned up the highest they could go and he had his high-beams on, he couldn't see more than twelve or thirteen feet ahead of him. Despite how the threat of hitting a pedestrian here, so far from any town, was exceedingly low, this lack of visibility still worried him. He had driven up to visit his parents, who lived in a secluded house in a region where mountain-sized ridges covered with just-as-tall trees dominated the landscape, and where driving along the road was extremely challenging and dangerous even during a clear, sunlit day. Hell, on the way up, he had almost careened off the road and down the steep rocks to the river below probably two or three times, and that was before this storm had hit. The sea was on the other side of this particular ridge of earth than he was, which made it even stranger that a storm should rage with such force over here... well, that a storm should even be here at all, unless it came in from the other direction. Which it shouldn't have.

Something glinted on the road and made him panic and swerve - what if it was a feral rabbit or deer or something? - but, after he ran off the road (the side other than the cliff face and into a small ditch, thank God), it was gone. He cursed again, although this time, cursed himself. His heart pounded badly from running over into the ditch and the startling, abrupt jolt this brought when the nose of the car rammed into a tree trunk, and when he tried to reverse out of the ditch, he could not.

"Dammit!" Exasperated and exhausted, he pounded his fist on the dash and then leaned back against the headrest, heart in his ears just as loudly as the rain. Wonderful: the sky had opened up to release a downpour the likes of which he had never heard of, nor even thought possible; it was late enough, 11:26, his car clock said, so that anyone that did live nearby would be asleep, but morning was a dreadfully long wait away; and, worst of all, the car was still jutting halfway out into the road, but at such an angle so that, again, putting it into reverse did nothing but kick up mud from beneath the front tires.

"Quite a mess you've gotten into, isn't it, Crisp?" he grumbled, and pounded the dash again. Needing a moment to think, he turned off the car and rested back again. The rumblings of the idle engine and the soft vibrations it caused slowed, quieted, and died, and when the lights turned off, Crisp was wrapped firmly in the black mantle of night, darkened further by the pouring rain and oppressive stormclouds. He knew that his phone had no service this far away from everything ever, so he didn't even bother to check. He could either wait out this storm here or walk back a ways, here he thought he saw a driveway that led up the mountain side to another house. If he stayed here, he ran the risk of being plowed into by another car, thanks to his being half-in the road paired with tonight's darkness... or, if he went back, there was the chance that someone would still run into his car - but, hey, he wouldn't be in it - or would run into him while he walked alongside the road, or he might slip on a patch of mud and roll down into the river, or he might get hunted and devoured by some feral carnivore certain to be prowling this area...

He had a book with him, some gay romance by some Kawika otter author, but he'd need a light to be able to read it... and in order to have a light he'd have to turn the car back on, and keeping the car on all night to read would certainly drain the battery something fierce (since he'd have to keep the headlights on as well), and then... well, and then, come morning, he'd really be fucked.

Besides, he figured that walking to something that might serve as shelter was a lot better than waiting here for God knows how long, even if all the risks previously listed were still very much possible. Making his decision, he slid his phone into his pocket, grabbed the little bright-ass LED flashlight from the glove box as well as a meat stick he had forgotten was there - on a spiciness scale of zero to Madre to Dios, it was about a thirty-seven - and his coat that he had thrown into the passenger seat. Then, after looking around the car one more time and making sure he had everything he would need, he slipped on the coat and put the hood up, placed his paw on the door handle, pulled in a breath, then opened the door -

• and stepped out into the coldest rain he had ever felt in his life. The ground beneath his feet liquefied when he stepped down onto it and made him tumble down into the ditch. From here, and with some help from the flashlight, he could see just how fucked his car really was: not only was it half-in the road, but the only thing keeping it from sliding down the rest of the way was a boulder that looked to have caught and sliced into the underside. Wonderful. Beneath the relentless pounding of the rain, Crisp could hear a weak hissing come from there.

He wanted to scream, or break something, or strangle anything that jumped out of the woods at him. He had bought that car with his own money! He had slept in it, had lost his virginity in it, had done a number of other not-so-admirable things in it... but, instead of acting on his anger and possibly making the whole situation worse, he just sat there in the mud and fumed, the rain cutting through each little cloud of mist that appeared in front of his muzzle whenever he exhaled. After a moment, he stood and clawed his way up the side of the ditch, and then looked both ways down the road. Which way had he come from...? Each direction looked equally as dark, endless, and unfamiliar as the other... but, he wouldn't get anywhere by just standing here. So, shifting his coat around himself, he picked a direction and headed down that way.

This was the kind of storm that, if it had arrived during the day, would've dropped the light level to that of early evening. It was the kind of storm that isolated people at wherever they were when it hit, with the rain falling almost sideways and causing actual physical pain upon contact with the skin; clouds that looked more like half-molten tar than clouds; and wind powerful enough to make stout oak trees sway like the wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube-men at used car lots. In short, it was the kind of storm that Crisp's schools had prepared him for in his childhood with countless drills, but had never come.

No matter how low he held his head to his chest, no matter how tightly he drew the hood, hostile raindrops still found their way into his jacket and bit into the skin under his fur, leaving a lasting and painful chill. The road went on and on and on, and each time he looked up, the view ahead of him looked exactly the same. Funny; all of his childhood nightmares involved him walking alone at night, or in a forest, or during a storm, or all three... and yet, all he wanted right now was to get somewhere. He didn't really care where. He remembered one certain nightmare that had thoroughly terrified him: he was walking along a winding gravel path through - guess what - a forest, and something was following him. He turned around once to see what it was, and that was all the motivation he needed to start running: the thing following him walked on four legs, or limbs, as they should be called, for at the end of each was no foot, but rather, a long and pointed protrusion of bone that crunched on the gravel with each step it took. It was hairless all over, and its skin was pale and drawn taut over its bony, unnatural frame; it watched Crisp from empty eyes of pure white, no iris, no pupil, bulging as if to pop from their sockets at any second, and its mouth always hung open and allowed sight into a black cavern ringed with sharp yellowing fangs. The only noises it made apart from the crunchings of its steps were an assortment of foul, breathy hisses, like the noises a man tries to make as he is being strangled.

Of course, if one of those were to be following Crisp right now, he wouldn't be able to hear it over the endless rain and occasional brutally loud blast of thunder. Hell, tonight was so dark that the thing probably couldn't even see him.

The rain did now show any sign of letting up. If anything, it only got heavier. He followed the trusting of the road along the side of this forested hill, first arcing far to one side and then farther to the other, and he was about to turn back to return to his car when the road forked along two different paths: one, paved with asphalt like the road before it, continued along the side of the mountain, while the other turned sharply to the other side and disappeared into the forest. There was no asphalt, or concrete, or anything; the wolf could only discern it from the rest of the landscape by its noticeable lack of trees... and, in truth, it was more of a path than a road. He just stood there for a moment, looking back and forth from the direction he had come to the path leading off into the woods... he couldn't remember if this was what he had noticed before. But, hell, it had to lead somewhere, even if that somewhere was only deeper into the woods. Even there, though, was more cover from the rain...

The dirt of the path had turned to a coarse mud in the rain and either stuck to his shoes or made him slip. Miserable - horrible - goddamn - storm! No cars had come from either direction when he walked along the side of the road, and he was fairly certain that none would come down this way. So, muttering a quiet "fuck it" to himself, he veered to the center of the path and stayed there. Despite the thicker tree cover, the rain still fell more heavily than any other storm he had been through, and it had begun to soak through the so-called waterproof outer material of his coat. God, he would be cold tonight... he hadn't even wanted to come all the way out here to the middle of uninhabited scenic nowhere to visit his damn parents. It was their idea, not his. Sure, he could've said 'no', once, resolute, and then hung up, but... that just seemed rude to do to a pair of old wolves (probably Mesopotamian in age by now) that hadn't seen their son since he ran away several years ago.

In hindsight, it wasn't quite clear whether coming all the way up here to visit had been a good decision or not. However, he was beginning to form some idea.

The path twisted and climbed steadily further up the mountain, and as the wolf continued following it, his paranoia of being watched also grew. He just didn't like being in a dark forest... at night... alone... during a storm... miles upon miles away from the nearest town or source of help. So, it was a rational paranoia, right? Whenever he looked around, all he saw was a few feet of large trees standing close together and swaying in the rain, and then beyond that, the blackest darkness he'd ever seen. At least the thick tangle of branches overhead warded off some of the rain...

He lifted his head again and stopped walking, somewhat startled. Looming behind the trees ahead of him was the silhouette of a large house, much larger than any house back in his home city. It looked to be three or four stories tall at least, and from here, he could count more windows along the front face of the first story than he had in his whole house. More of this place came into vision as he drew closer... very quickly, his relief at coming across someone's house faded. The front double door hung open, one tilting on a broken hinge; the wood of the porch steps sagged and looked a dark, sickly greenish-brown in this light; very few of the many windows had not been blocked by a haphazard assortment of boards, and those that hadn't were, for the most part, shattered; and, no lights were on... but, upon stepping a few yards closer, Crisp noted that the lamp sitting on the dilapidated and wilted wooden table on the porch was an oil lamp.

Wonderful.

Trying not to judge his fate too quickly, he trudged up the muddy path leading to the porch and then stepped up, testing each stair before he put his full weight on it. Sure, it was unsure footing, and the roof overhead dripped like an oversaturated sponge, but... hell, better than nothing. He looked out behind himself at where he had come from... the road couldn't be seen from here. Actually, hardly anything could be seen from here. On the horizon lurked the deepest, blackest darkness; above that puffed the slightly greyer shadows of the treetops; and then, above that stood the blue-black of the night sky and the stormclouds.

Not even bothering to knock first - what was the point? The door was fucking open, the only things that lived here were probably feral bats and raccoons and other forest vermin, whatever - Crisp stepped inside and was instantly enveloped in oppressive shadows. In here, the rain sounded dulled and muted, but certainly no less fierce. He flicked on his flashlight (thank God he thought to bring that) and looked over where he was. Dark hallways stretched off to both the left and right, and a wide staircase curved up across the room - two staircases, actually; apparently this was one of those houses - with a massive chandelier hanging limply from the ceiling, on which a beam of light and a fair amount of squinting revealed a bunch of smaller glass oil chimneys, like on the lamp out front. So then, any electricity at all was out of the question. No lights, no heating, no telephone. If the late 18th century had always been like this during a storm... God. Must've sucked.

Cold, shivering, and exhausted, he dragged himself over o a spot underneath one of the staircases and sat down, making sure to brush away all the spiderwebs with a sleeve before doing so. The air in here felt heavy and smelled of dirty rain, of mildew, and of rot, and despite the coldness, the humidity was almost suffocating. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. Good lord, just what had he gotten himself into? He had no car - not anymore, at least; come tomorrow morning, it would either be in worse shape than it was now, or gone altogether... or, hell, in multiple unattached pieces strewn across the road - and no cell phone service, no warmth and no food other than that little meat stick he grabbed, no way to get dry and no way to contact anyone... right now, his best bet was to just wait out this storm, however long that might take.

While he sat and waited for his everything to stop dripping, he turned the beam of the flashlight over his surroundings. The more he looked, the less he wanted to be here: the first feeling that stirred in him was a boyish curiosity of adventure, the want to look around and explore... but, then, a creeping dread squashed this, strangled it. Oh, if only he hadn't played so many goddamn horror games that involved abandoned old houses in his high school years; if only he hadn't watched so many scary movies...

...but, of course, all that was silly. He ignored the tickling feeling of being watched and flicked the light off, once more closing his eyes. He put his paws up behind his head and leaned back against the wall, listening to the steady drumming of the rain interspersed every now and then by the crashes of thunder. Now that he had been here a while, the lingering scent in the air wasn't so bad... hell, it calmed him somewhat. Reminded him of his grandma's house, this damn large place on a hill with a huge backyard in which he and his brother found bits of obsidian. He still had the largest chunk they'd found, a vaguely triangular thing about as wide across as his fist, on a shelf back home. And, ever since he had been just a cub, he had always enjoyed it when it rained, especially heavily like this (except he never had to go out into the rain, which he had learned today was a deciding factor in how he felt about it. Right now, it wouldn't be quite so bad, if only he was a little warmer.

After a while of sitting there and shivering, he decided he'd look around this place. He shrugged off his jacket, and then, considering the wetness of his shirt - as well as remembering something he heard on TV or something about how it was a better idea to remove any wet clothing if the environment was cold - decided to take that off, too. He was only slightly drenched through, and while he didn't feel particularly warmer, it still felt better to have the thing off than it did holding and matting down his already-wet fur. The shirt made a saturated _schlup_when it dropped to the ground, and Crisp spent a moment working some moisture out of his chestfur He kept his pants on, though - no way to tell whether anyone else had the same idea as him to take refuge here. Even though the thought of walking around naked in a public - 'public' - place excited some part of him...

There was something strangely enticing about this place. Where rugs didn't cover the floor, the bare boards creaked underneath his feet; a soft scent of moisture, mold, old wood, and other things hung in the air, not entirely unpleasant; and this house seemed to go on and on and on, one room having two doors into two other rooms, each of which led to at least one room of their own...

...And, for some reason, Crisp still couldn't shake this feeling of being watched, of being followed - yet, he found no reason to believe that either of these were true. He often turned around and shone his flashlight behind himself, but only ever saw the room he had just left. No creeping shadows - that moved of their own accord, at least; those caused by the lightning didn't count - or figures ducking behind corners right as he looked, no nothing. He was still alone.

The first room he stepped into was a hallway, one with windows on the left wall looking outside. Across from these, in the middle of the hall's length stood a door, which resisted all of the wolf's attempts to open it, while the other end of the hall appeared to open into a wide dining room... something with a large table and several chairs, at least. On either side of this locked door hung paintings; Crisp, having passed by the first before he noticed, took a step back and directed the flashlight at it. It depicted a wolf, one with obsidian-black fur and luminous eyes, sitting in a three-fourths profile view with his paws folded in his lap, just like countless other old portraits he had seen. Something that caught his attention was that, upon closer inspection, the painting appeared to be an original... this tempted him to take it, but if he displayed it at home, people would ask about it - 'who is it?' and 'are you related to him?' and 'who's the artist?', the answers to none of which he knew... and, besides, he couldn't just say 'I stole it from an abandoned fuckin' mansion one night after I wrecked my car' - and the years of age showed clearly in its rotten wooden frame, the stained and torn canvas, the quality of the paint, which had become saturated with moisture over time and thinned and spread out, so it probably wouldn't be worth much to anyone except maybe some snotty art collector who liked this sort of thing...

The other painting - or, rather, the subject of it - had a striking similarity to the first one, except this one was female. Same expression, same pose, same fur color, but different eye color... and, of course, breasts. Quite a bit of breast, too. And, then, the little name plaque at the bottom - Crisp had to wipe some dust off in order to read it: "Tesya Amur", whereas the other one said "Nicholas Amur". Amur, huh...? That wasn't any kind of name the wolf had heard before. Hell, he couldn't even begin to guess as to which part of the world that name came out of. Not like it really mattered though; he just needed something to do until morning came - well, until this storm went away, at least - and this had caught his attention and kept him occupied for... maybe half a minute or so.

God, he was in for a long night.

A flash of lightning dropped everything into bright white light for a quick fraction of a second, and the following explosion of thunder startled Crisp, even though he knew it would be coming. He shivered, wrapped his arms around his bare chest, and stepped into the room at the other end of the hall, which did turn out to be a sort of dining room. A large, heavy table took up most of the space in the center of the room; the chairs stacked upside-down on it matched its dark, glossy wood. Pushed up against one wall was a decorative china case, the glass panes uneven, bubbly, and tinted, like Crisp knew from that time before refined glassmaking, and many of the dishes within were either covered with dust or shattered into many pieces due to who knows what. A window split into three definite sections, the center being the largest, took up most of the wall opposite crisp, and yellowish-brown curtains that may have once been white had been drawn partially closed in front of this window, what light that came in from the storm casting a foreboding blue-black into the room through them.

In here, despite the large window - part of which had to be broken; some fragment of the sound of the pouring rain, clear and unobstructed, came in from that side of the room - the storm felt more distant, less powerful. Perhaps the walls were thicker, or the insulation better, or any of a number of other factors; not only this, but the air felt a few sweet degrees warmer, too... not much, but still a very noticeable and pleasant difference.

Thinking he heard a noise behind him, the wolf swung around and passed his flashlight over everything... but came upon nothing different than when he had first come into this room. No definite shadows came in from the hall windows, mainly because everything had been submerged in one uniform shadow, blending in and out of different shades of blues, blacks, and purples. He thought he saw something else, something a light shade of grey of bluish-white at the other end of the hall, but he blinked and it was gone. Must have just been his imagination, or something that got into his eye.

Another flash of lightning and its boom of thunder, which again startled the poor wolf. For some reason - he couldn't exactly say why - he didn't want to be in this room anymore. The air had gotten colder and heavier and now settled on his shoulders and lungs as if to keep him from breathing anymore; even though it had already been hellishly dark in here, the outlines and details of everything in the room only recognizable to him thanks to his canine vision, when he turned back he felt as though the shadows had somehow been deepened further and now restricted his vision even more. He reached a paw out to the wall and followed along, all the while keeping his eyes straight forward. His flashlight seemed a bit dimmer as well...

The next room seemed to be a sort of... storage room or something, likely for the dining area he had just come from. Tall floor-to-ceiling cupboards, stained slightly lighter (but no less regal) tone of brown and decorated with fancy inlays and intricate carvings. Trying to ward off the uneasiness that that last room had instilled into him, he tried one of the handles on the cabinets. The door stuck at first, but gave way with a firm tug - and then, it squeaked open on ancient and very rusty hinges, and revealed an interior that was empty save for a collection of spiderwebs as complex as the cabinet's exterior decorations.

Either someone had gotten here before him, or the family that lived here really cleared out when they left. Not that it mattered, really; he just needed a place to wait out the storm, however long that would take.

This hall ended in a locked door which, when rattled, sounded to be of heavy, solid wood, not some hollow material that all the doors back home were made of. Even though the hinges had probably been completely taken over by rust and age, and even though nobody currently lived here and it was doubtful anyone would come back anytime soon, it felt wrong to Crisp to consider kicking it down. So, instead, he turned around and felt his way back through the dining hall to the entryway, all the while trying not to think about what he had seen earlier. Just a trick of light, he told himself, a flash of lightning whose thunder came a bit late. That's all it was.

...Of course, this would be a lot more plausible if the thing he saw wasn't currently sitting on the lowest step of the left staircase. Crisp froze where he stood and turned off the flashlight, but... in the darkness, he could still see the thing as clearly as in the light. Hell, it certainly gave off illumination of its own, as the shadows of the bars supporting the stair handrail radiated out from where it sat. It was a person - or had once been a person - or was part person - at least, it resembled a person, a wolf, with smooth, well-kept fur, and... no clothing. Its - his - tail flicked idly around behind it, causing the shadows to pulse and dance, and it - he - looked right at Crisp, head cocked to one side like a feral dog, eyes not blinking, tongue a centimeter or so out of his mouth.

Crisp wanted to turn and run out the doors some two or three feet behind him. He wanted to flee, to forget this... strange... thing, to get out of here and just return to his life, but he found himself immobile, not unable to move but simply... unwanting to. This thing, this figure, this... ghost?... captivated and interested him, and it seemed just as startled and interested in his presence as he was in its.

He turned the flashlight back on and pointed it directly at it, at him. He didn't blink or squint against the light. Crisp cleared his through and hoped his nervousness wouldn't show in his voice: "Um... hello."

The ghost's ears turned toward him, and then just as quickly flicked away. He showed no other sign of having heard the other wolf.

Crisp took a wary step forward. "Can... can I get my stuff?"

Again, no answer, but the spectral wolf shifted how he sat and lay back against the wall, never once taking his eyes off his guest.

Not knowing what to make of this, Crisp remained where he stood, and then sat down after a few moments of protracted silent eye contact. As soon as he did, the other wolf stood up - or, rather, stood on all fours, again like a feral dog - and came up to him. It took all Crisp had not to back away or recoil or react at all; along with the soft light, the ghost emanated an accompanying chill that made his fur stand on end and prickled the skin underneath. The ghost leaned in and sniffed at Crisp's paw, then his leg, then his crotch, and then stepped up onto him, which made him suck in a gasp - it felt like someone had carved a paw-shaped sculpture out of ice and pressed it against his leg - and sniffed at his chest, neck, and muzzle.

"Um... Crisp swallowed and inched backward. "Hello?"

The ghost looked up at him, tilted his head, licked his lips, and then... disappeared. Like watching fog dissipate underneath warm sunlight, the bright whitish-blue form fizzled and then fell apart and disintegrated, the light it gave off disappearing with it. Then, it was gone, and Crisp was left sitting on the floor with the icy remnant of that touch still tingling in his leg. He felt around beside himself for the flashlight and flicked it on when he found it, but... no sign of the thing remained. Had he not seen (and felt) it, he'd have no idea that it had been there. But... what the hell was that?

Making the decision to leave and stay somewhere else to wait out the storm, preferably a place that wasn't haunted, he stood, wobbled a little (the leg the ghost touched felt like it had fallen asleep: every movement, each step caused a sharp tingling to pulse out from it) and headed back over to his stuff. He had two choices: he could either stay here with that thing, which didn't seem too evil or malevolent, but it might not be - probably wasn't - the only ghost here, or he could go back out into the storm, which very obviously wanted him dead. For some reason, though, sharing this place with the not-alive-but-also-not-quite-dead chilled him more than that cold-ass rain did, so he bent over to scoop up his things...

...and felt cold, cold fingers slide up his back underneath his shirt, making him yip and jump. "Hello there," cooed an empty female voice with a thick accent - definitely eastern European, but not Russian; perhaps Romanian or Hungarian, something from that area. "Who is this?"

Crisp, tail puffed out and hackles on end, tripped over himself and stumbled into the wall... and turned around to see another luminous apparition, this one a she-wolf, and also quite naked. She had a fine form, with a diminished shoulder-line and full breasts that hung above a flat but firm stomach, the sides of which curved elegantly in above wide - but not obtuse - hips, which in turn arched down into fine legs. She stood with one leg just barely in front of the other as if modest about her nudity, but other than this, made no attempt to cover herself. Apparently even as a spirit, the outlines and details of a body were still as apparent as those of an intact, corporeal body...

...was Crisp really admiring the body and form of a ghost, of a dead woman?

"I - I um..." He coughed into his fist and tried to sneakily adjust his pants. He could still feel the touch of her fingers on his back, as if someone had slipped icicles up under his shirt, but this... he hated to admit it to himself, but this was a strangely pleasant sensation. "My -"

"Cute." The she-wolf put her weight on one leg, allowing Crisp an uninhibited view of her full front, and inspected one of her claws. "What are you doing in our house?"

"I-I'm sorry, I thought..."

"That no one lived here?"

He swallowed, and then nodded.

She remained quiet for a moment, lips parted and eyes directed towards him. "Well," she said, and a small smile crossed her muzzle. "You're right. Nobody lives here who is living, that is, and yet...I have never felt more alive. Ha."

And then, Crisp blinked, and she, too, was gone, but he did not feel any more alone. At least now he knew that his feeling of being watched was justified and accurate. Although, now that he thought about it, was that a good thing or a bad thing...?

Despite a crotch-sniffing naked male who seemed convinced he was a feral pet and a beautiful naked female who was not afraid to touch him and show him her body, Crisp still did not want to be here. However, when he turned back around to get his things, he found another ghost rifling through them - another male, also a wolf, also naked. He held up Crisp's shirt; his luminescence shone through it, as if someone held a weak flashlight behind it.

"What is this?" came the ghost's voice. It sounded like any other person's, except flat and empty, lacking depth and substance - and this wolf's words lacked the accent that the female's had, which was interesting. "Clothing? Who needs clothing...?"

"I do. Who are -"

"Not really, you don't..."

Cold paws came up around Crisp's waist and fiddled with the button of his pants. He slapped at them and took an uneasy step forward when he felt them slip underneath his waistband. "Stop that! Who are you? What do you want with me?"

It had been a female voice, the one near his ear, the same one from before; and, sure enough, it was the same she-wolf who stood behind him that had tried to strip him. She stood there, paws raised, a disappointed expression on her muzzle. "You come into our house and then ask what we want with you? I think you are backwards, stranger."

"Look, I just need somewhere to wait for this storm to leave." As he spoke, Crisp redid the button of his pants and tried to ignore how the she-wolf's eyes were very obviously focused there. He hoped she hadn't felt anything, but doubted it; at the base of his shaft sizzled an icy coldness, like what her fingers left on his back... "If you leave me alone, I'll leave you alone."

"But I don't want to leave you alone," she replied. "None of us do. It's been so long since we've had visitors..."

"Well, then, I think I'll just leave, and then you won't ha -"

A wave of numbing coldness suddenly passed over him, starting in his lower back, and he found he couldn't move. "Well now..." purred the voice of the ghost who had been going through his stuff; this time, though, it was both in his head and out of it, somehow. When his arms and paws moved without him trying to, his suspicions of what had just happened became manifest. "Let's not be too hasty... you've only just gotten here. We haven't had time to play yet."

"Play?" he managed to squeeze out. He tried to move against the ghost's influence but found he could not. "I don't want to play..."

"Really." He watched as his own paw, against his will, slid into his pants and under the waistband of his underwear and the squeezed his growing shaft. He could feel it in his paw, yes, as if it was all him doing it, but... the numb chill of the specter in his body made it feel like it was someone else, too, somehow at the same time. "Because this sure seems to say otherwise."

"Tell me, Alex," drawled the she-wolf. Crisp's heart skipped a beat as he realized, to her, it looked like he was feeling himself up. That's embarrassing. "...are those pants a little tight? Our friend here looks a bit uncomfortable."

"Yes, they are," replied the other ghost - Alex, apparently. Crisp tried to wriggle again, but to no avail. "Care to help us, Mother?"

"Gladly."

"No, no -" She came up and kneeled in front of Crisp. He could feel her cold aura even though she as several inches away; it grew stronger as she lifted her paws close, and that cold tingling that had quickly become so familiar to him returned. Alex made him look down and watch her, and she maintained eye contact with him. She undid the button of his pants and then the zipper, and angled her eyes down to the bulge behind the fabric of his underwear. "Listen," he complained, "don't -"

"Shh," hissed the mother in response. As much as Crisp did not want to be in this position and situation, he couldn't help but derive some sort of unique sexual pleasure from the whole thing... which the she-wolf (and her son, who still restricted their victim's movement) obviously knew. She leaned in and drew her nose up along his bulge, which made him stiffen - in more ways than one - and suck in a sharp gasp at the sensation. "You listen. You will be quiet, or I will make you be quiet."

"I just want to know who you are and - and what you want with me."

She cast a sharp glance up at him at this. "I think it is clear what I want. But, fine. You are a guest in this house and should be treated with the courtesy that warrants. So, I will answer your questions."

"All of them?"

"Just those two."

"Oh."

"I am Tesya Amur. I saw you admiring my portrait - yes, you were. Don't give me that face. Ah, back before we moved here, I made sure to dress every morning and undress every night in front of the bedroom window, free to see for anyone who so looked. I would often go out and lure and entice other men, and - oh! - my husband would fuck them as hard as they'd fuck me... oh, you'd like him, I think. He loves the touch and taste of company, of a fellow wolf, as much as I do." She paused in her speech and nuzzled up against Crisp's shaft through his underwear again. He shuddered. "...Touch, taste, and scent, I mean..."

"Please..." he moaned, half out of exasperation and half out of want.

"Please what?" Tesya resumed her nuzzling. She hooked two fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugged down gently. "Please continue?"

"No, no - please stop..."

"But it's been so long since we've had a guest. We're all a little hungry here, and don't even think about saying you don't want it like I do. Your body clearly does."

"...I just want to get through the night, so if your son - Alex, whoever - will let me go, I'll go on back to my corner and not bother you, and you can, like, masturbate over me while I sleep or something. ...Actually, you know what? On second thought, please don't do that."

"Oh, hon..." The she-wolf finally sat back. She brought one of the fingers that had explored underneath his boxers to her mouth and then gently ran her tongue over and over it, never breaking eye contact with him. "Alex has been out of you since before I answered your questions. You've had full ability to step away, but... you didn't."

Unbelieving, he turned around - and, sure enough, the other spectral wolf stood beside and slightly behind him, arms crossed in front of his chest and a mischievous smile on his face. When Crisp noticed the hard cock throbbing below the ghost's lower belly, he shivered. "...Oh."

"But, fine. Go on to your corner and your loneliness. I cannot promise that you will get nothing more from me or any of my boys, so... of course, I will not promise." Tesya stood and took the wolf's paw, and before he could react - partially due to the shock of her touch - slid one of her fingers up inside her, which caused a gentle hitch in her breath and a chirp in her voice. To Crisp, it felt to his finger what submerging his tongue in a shot glass filled with mint extract would feel like there. Tesya straightened back up and smiled. "Goodnight... ah. I do not think I ever caught your name."

"Crisp." He wiped his paw on his leg, not caring if she saw or not. "You can call me Crisp."

"Crisp, mm? Interesting." Tesya turned and brushed her tail against his crotch as she stepped away. He got a very good look at the plump rear beneath that tail, even though he didn't put much effort into doing so. Then, like a mist dissipating, like smoke clearing in a breeze she disappeared; Crisp turned back around, expecting to see Alex still there and still hard, but he, too, was gone. Certainly, they wouldn't be for long, so the wolf zipped and buttoned is pants and headed over to his stuff, where he sat down.

The things he had taken with him were scattered all around within a five-foot radius or so, thanks to that damn nosy ghost. His shirt had picked up a thick layer of dust, dirt, hair, what looked to be a few toenails, and who knows what all else thanks to its lingering moisture; after lifting it with a toe to see this, he left it where it was that moisture of its saturating and dripping through the old, old floorboards. It looked like Alex had taken his meat stick, too, or at least hidden it somewhere... damn him. Crisp had been looking forward to eating that.

Not sure what else to do, he balled up his jacket inside-out (so that its dripping wetness wouldn't be on the outside) and used it as a pillow as he stretched his body out on the floor. The underside of the staircase revealed a maze of intertwining spiderwebs, along with two husks of dead spiders, plus at least another two or three living ones, so he shifted himself and sprawled out more towards the center of this grandiose entryway - but a considerable distance from the chandelier, because hell, the chains holding it to the ceiling could give out at any moment, especially during a storm like this when wood gets saturated and swells, shifting supports and foundations...

At least the storm had calmed down somewhat. Not much - not much at all - but it still did, a little. Now, the steady patter of rain only occasionally arose into loud pounding, often accompanied by heavier winds which, in turn, rustled the countless trees outside. It was dreadfully late; a look at his phone, which somehow had evaded being drenched by the rain, verified that it was well past midnight by now. Even though he really didn't want to for multiple reasons, he felt that he should get some sleep, a notion with which his body wholeheartedly agreed.

He tried to find a comfortable place on the floor as well as a good position in which to sleep, but accomplished neither of these, and ended up settling down solely because his body hurt from all the shifting and bumping against the uneven floor. The drumming of the rain only seemed to make him sleepier, especially now since it had calmed down a little and was more even, less erratic; he remembered his high school days on the bus to school, dozing off every now and then thanks to the not-at-all unpleasant warmth of all the other students on the bus and their gentle indeterminable myriad of conversation... and, well, because at 6:50 AM on a weekday, he was always still at least half-asleep. Here, though, now, he had neither the warmth of friends, of people he knew, nor the knowledge that he was somewhere he was comfortable with. Every sound that stood apart from the rain startled him and made him jump, set his heart to fast, nervous beating, even if it was something as benign as the house creaking, or a far-off rumble of thunder, or a...

...a strange scratching a little bit behind him, back where he had left his shirt, flashlight, and whatever else he had taken with him from his car. Not wanting to see the source of the sound, he squeezed his eyes tighter and tried to push it out of his mind. Likely it was Alex, looking for another way to mess with him... after a while he felt a gentle tugging on one of his shoes, to which he kicked at. He liked these shoes. A lot.

Thankfully, the tugging followed the scratching noise and shortly disappeared, leaving Crisp to himself. He shifted, rolled over onto his other side, saw that his things were exactly as he had left them - at least, nothing had changed that he could see from here - and, feeling a little better ,closed his eyes again to try to sleep. It came slowly and reluctantly, but eventually, it did overtake him; he knew this by how he lay in one position one moment and then a totally different one when next he opened his eyes.

The floor was unfriendly to his back and bones, and often stood the reason for him waking up... which happened many times. Each time it did, he found himself in a different position than before, and also more uncomfortable and in greater pain. From when he did manage to sleep, he remembered very little of the broken, disjointed dreams he experienced: something about one of the house's ghosts, the one that acted like a feral animal, like a housepet.

Crisp rolled over again, rubbed at his eyes, shifted how he was laying, yawned, cursed the dull pain in his legs, hips, lower back, and right arm, and opened his eyes...

Sitting cross-legged in front of him (and, yes, naked), was that same ghost. When he saw that Crisp had awoken, his translucent blue-white tail swayed back and forth, back and forth behind him, and a slight smile crossed his muzzle. The ghost said nothing.

"Um..." Crisp moved to sit up, but the ghost put an icy paw against his bare chest and pushed him back down. He found it strange how sometimes the ghosts could touch him, and other times went through him. "Oh. Um."

More wagging, and the ghost went on all fours and padded down to Crisp's feet; only now did he notice that his pants had been removed while he slept and now lay in a heap off to the side, and his soft cock pulled through the front of his underwear. The ghost leaned down between his legs, nuzzled up against the base of his shaft, and wagged more.

"Hey...!" Crisp jolted upright and, blushing, worked his cock back into his underwear. The ghost's tongue flopped out to lick his lips. "What the hell! Did you do that?"

The ghost nodded. Between his legs was a semi-hard shaft of his own... great. Now Crisp had to deal with a horny dog.

"Since you can clearly understand me, why don't you say anything? - or, I dunno, start acting like an actual person?"

"Oh, I see you've met Matthias."

Crisp looked over to where that voice came from, on the other side of the room. Alex sat underneath the other side of the staircase, leaning back against the wall. "What's wrong with him?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong .That's just... something he likes doing. I can't say that I personally see the appeal in it, but hey. To each his own, right?"

Matthias came closer and nuzzled at the bulge in Crisp's underwear. He didn't bother trying to push him away, because he knew he'd just come back... and, besides, the tingle of his spectral touch felt... somewhat good. "Can you, like... get him off, please?"

Alex let out a short laugh. "Looks to me like he wants to get you off."

"I'm being serious -"

"So am I. Come on, stranger, give the dog what he wants. Once he gets that, he'll scamper off and leave you alone to attend to himself."The ghost across the room stood and approached, then sat down again some ten feet from Crisp and the attentive pet. "I should know. I had to live with him."

"You..." Crisp swallowed and bit back a moan; Matthias had continued his nuzzling and rubbing, and had even begun to lick at the fabric beneath his muzzle. A bit of pre had oozed through, leaving a little point of wetness that Crisp was somewhat ashamed to notice. "I don't... really want to..."

"Hmm. How come I don't believe you?" Alex sat back and propped himself up with his arms outstretched behind him. He, apparently, took great interest in the show: despite his maybe-lack of a heartbeat (Crisp had no fucking clue how ghosts worked), his own very erect cock throbbed against his belly. His face cracked into a grin when he noticed the other wolf looking. "If you won't take a kicking willingly..." He stood back up and came over to Crisp, who tried to move away but was held down by the other ghost. "Then I'll do it for you."

"No no no, don't you fucking -"

A wave of cold energy passed over Crisp again, and he felt his entire body stiffen. Dammit... his fingers and limbs refused to obey his command once more. He watched himself reach out and gently scritch behind Matthias's ear, and then tug the other wolf down into his crotch. The touch of the ghost now felt quite like what Alex's occupation of his body did, except a little sharper, a little colder.

"Good boy..." Alex purred, through Crisp's voice; Matthias's tail wagged at this and he dug his nose into the front of his underwear and pressed into his sack. "You like that, don't you? It's been too long since you've had an actual, living guest... hell, it's been too long since I have, too. Earlier, I was just waiting for Mother to leave -" He pushed the thirsty pup away a little roughly and stood. Crisp watched himself flex his arms and fingers, then kick each leg, and finally roll his shoulders. "Mm... it feels nice to be alive. Like I could... like I could dance!"

Alex put Crisp's paws on his hips and did a little jig, kicking one leg out, then pulling it back in and kicking the other out, all the while humming a tune to himself. It didn't bother Crisp too much that he was dancing - no, he may or may not do this often when blasting music at home alone; what made the embarrassment and shame bubble at the bottom of his chest like a boiling cauldron of some thick stew was how he was dancing... in nothing but his underwear and his shoes... with a drooling boner... and, worst of all, in front of someone else - even though Matthias seemed determined to keep up this game of acting like a dog, he had to bring a paw to his muzzle and stifle the laugher that presently shook his body.

"Hmm..." mused Alex after a moment. He ceased dancing, to his victim's great relief. "How about..." Then, he reached into his boxers and tugged his cock and sack through the hole in front; the wolf sitting on the floor instantly focused on it, his tail swaying slowly from side to side. "C'mere, Matt. I've got something for you."

The other ghost came forward and once more nuzzled up under the preferred 'treat', first with his nose under the sack - to which Crisp tensed and then shivered as a reaction to the chill, even though Alex still maintained control of him - and then at the base of is shaft. The ghost's breath drew in (somehow) an inhalation of scent and musk, and upon releasing that breath, he dragged his broad, flat tongue up the underside of the hard meat in front of him.

Were Crisp able to move away, he would have... maybe; he lived alone and had no mate or love interest, and so, it had been a while since he had last felt the pleasant pressure of something other than his own paw on his body, and here, there were two people who had very much shown an active interest in 'playing' with him, along with one who was content to watch as well as make sure he accepted - or at least endure - the advances of his family members (then, a thought: since Alex controlled his body and movements, could he also feel the same sensations, the same pleasures...). Sure, this entire situation left Crisp with a haunting discomfort and unease that even the possession of his body couldn't eradicate, but still... hate as he did to admit it, a mouth is a mouth, and a tongue is a tongue. And, God, did Matthias have a hell of a tongue...! Alex could, apparently, feel everything, as he had Crisp lean his head back and lick his lips, eyes closed. In front of them, Matthias had drawn himself up to his knees and now swirled his tongue around the other wolf's cockhead between closed lips, eyes also shut.

Gentle shivers ran the course of Crisp's body, but these shivers weren't entirely unpleasant; the way they made him want to tighten every muscle and hump forward, even though he couldn't at the moment, reminded him of the first time he had gotten blown by someone who really fucking knew how to give head... which, unfortunately, wasn't his first blowjob, or second, or third, or fourth or fifth or sixth... Matthias seemed to know he was doing well, too, since he drew back and focused on the leaky tip when Crisp and his host breathed out a shared sigh. The icy pang each flick of his tongue brought didn't at all make it less enjoyable - instead, it added another layer of pleasure, a gentle jolt at the base of his spine. Matthias dove down and surrounded Crisp's length in that icy-hot tingling, always keeping his tongue moving, not stopping even when his cockhead met resistance at the back of his throat...

"Oh, my. Hello there."

Crisp jumped upon hearing Tesya's voice and turned his head to see her standing some distance away, paw in front of her mouth... and then he realized that he had looked of his own accord and doing, and turned back around to see Alex against the wall, stroking himself with one paw while the other arm was up behind his head. He wore a mischievous grin... when had he...?

Tesya moved her paws to her hips and looked past Crisp, who tried in vain to tug the other wolf away from his crotch. "Alex..."

"What? I didn't do anything, Mother. When I came in, they were like this."

"Oh, you lyyyy..." Crisp trailed off and had to gather his skewed thoughts when Matthias once more deepthroated him and held him there for a few seconds. The ghost rolled his balls around in a cool paw, one finger tracing up and down the line between his legs that led to Crisp's tailhole...

"Mm. Of course." Out of the corner of his mostly-shut eyes, he saw the she-wolf draw closer. She walked with an elegant sway to her hips that her upper body and tail both followed. "Why don't I believe you, then?"

"Look at him. He's having the time of his life. You could... I dunno, shave all his fur off and he wouldn't notice."

"Hmm..." Crisp was only vaguely aware of Tesya as she circled around him and Matthias once, and then ran a spectral paw through the fur of his tail. "He does seem to be enjoying himself quite a bit... and to think he wanted to leave when he met us. Isn't that right, stranger?" She brought a few fingers to her mouth, close to Crisp's ear - close enough that he thought he could feel her gentle breaths ruffling the sensitive fur there, but that couldn't be right - and then moved that paw down his back. He felt the claws of the fingers she hadn't licked trace down the line of his spine, and then the pressure of the fingers she had against his tailhole, tantalizingly hot yet so cold at the same time, teasing his already-worked-up body with promise of more pleasure. Almost unconsciously, he pressed back against her. "Ooh, what's this?" she cooed, and nuzzled up against his neck. "Looks like our guest likes more than he lets on."

"I -" He gasped and inadvertently tightened around her finger, to which she breathed a soft laugh.

"Yes? You what?" Tesya lowered herself to her knees and lifted his tail with her other paw, fingers sending sweet ripple of tingling through his nerves every time one touched his skin. Matthias had drawn back and now only lapped and nuzzled at the underside of Crisp's member, allowing him a large portion of his brainpower back. He knew what the she-wolf wanted to do a moment before her cold nose pressed up against the sensitive skin above his tailhole, and then he felt her tongue. It startled him at first and made him buck forward; Matthias's tail started wagging again at this, and he closed a paw around Crisp's shaft and started working him slowly. Against the wall, Alex continued pawing himself, but now there was a vacant look on his face, and his eyes had glazed over somewhat; either he was quite bored or enjoying himself very much.

Tesya pressed the broad of her tongue against Crisp's tailhole where her finger had just been, once again shocking him. He had been rimmed several times before (and always loved it), but never before by a ghost: it felt much the same as Matthias's tongue dancing over the head of his cock, although this was more concentrated, more defined, more... more breathtaking. The way she worked her tongue felt like it had a weak electrical charge to it, each flick or press sending another jolt up his spine, every time she drew it along outside his pucker making him shiver and buck forwards towards Matthias's face again...

God - fuck this family. They trap him somewhere he doesn't want to be on a night where his mood is already shot to hell; they mess with him - showing up and then disappearing before he knew what they were, taking control of his body and making him dance, undressing him, sexually touching him and urging him; and now, they've actually gotten him to where he wants to stay. Both Matthias's paw, and occasionally his muzzle, and Tesya's tongue and lips on two sides of his body - a glance down showed that she had reached a paw between his legs and was stroking the other ghost - everything about this dulled his mind and overrode his senses with hot pleasure. Hell - at multiple points, he almost called Alex over so he could find out how a ghost's cock and cum taste.

He moved his paws down to the back of Matthias's head and tugged him down onto his length, wanting once again to feel the tightness of his throat. Tesya, not slacking in the work of her tongue, had slid a finger into him beside it and fucked him with it, each push in going a little deeper until the rest of her paw kept her from doing so any further. Crisp felt on edge, but in a very good way: he breathed heavily, his heart pounded, and he thrust forward deeper into one wolf's eager maw only to pull back and press against a just-as-eager tongue.

"God..."

Matthias picked up speed in stroking the bottom of his shaft while swirling his tongue around the head; through almost-closed eyes, Crisp could see that the ghost's own eyes were closed, and he humped upwards into Tesya's swift paw. Crisp licked his lips and let his muzzle hang open, feeling himself draw closer and closer to climax - and the she-wolf felt it, too, since she stopped pawing Matthias and used both paws to spread Crisp and work her tongue in as deep as she could -

• and then it all happened in a bright, powerful burst of energy that shot through him and made him slam all the way into Matthias's waiting muzzle, eyes closed, head back, mouth open. Gradually, he let go of his head, and shuddered and fell back when he was rewarded with a wagging tail and a still-hungry tongue flicking over the end of his cock, right into Tesya's waiting arms.

"Will you stay now?" she purred in his ear. She ran her claws through the fur of his chest and belly first, then moved down to his crotch, where she cupped his sack in a paw and ran the pad of a finger over the length of his shaft, slickened with saliva and cum. "If only for another day or so? I'd say you owe the three of us - and my dear Alex and Matthias both need some attention..." ~