Hey everyone!
A few readers on this site might recognize my name. This isn’t my first attempt at an ENF tale. That happened to be, The Exhibitionist Next Door, posted on the Indian-Outlaw site beginning in June 2016. It ran 426 chapters, concluding in July 2017. My second effort, Summer at Cache Lake, ran from October, 2018 to July 2019 (218 chapters). I had so much fun and made so many friends (hopefully no enemies). And now – I’m back for more!!!
Jessa Meets Her Match:
The spark for this story came to me several years ago. I’ve been mulling it over, working on it in my mind, ever since. The first actual writing took place on March 1 of this year. The story is now mostly complete. Relative to my previous efforts, this tale is rather short. Molly and others might discount that assertion, rightly so. It should end up about two-thirds the length of a commercial novel (not six or eight times as long like those mentioned above).
I expect to be posting weekly and hope to not skip a week. Depending on how I break it up, it looks like it will conclude in something like 8 weeks. In my humble opinion, it falls solidly in the ENF genre but doesn’t rely (too heavily) on any of the most well-trodden tropes. I’d like to think that there is something new and different here. I invite you to give this initial chapter a look. And please comment. That’s the coin of the realm! And, importantly, my sincere thanks to Kinsey for providing us with this superb forum! I’ve been having fun here as a reader – now it’s time to experience it as a writer.
Enjoy!
Blair P. Clavel
(BPClavel@gmail.com)
Jessa Meets Her Match
Chapter 1: Bates Pond
Stonefield, Vermont. Mayberry fucking RFD. There was even a malt shop. Not for tourists – because there had always been a malt shop. The cars were 2025, but Stonefield itself – straight out of the 1950s.
I’d spent summers there as a kid – the town never fucking changed – not a new building or house to be seen. After completing my ten minute tour, I headed back up the hill, making a mental note to look up the population of Mayberry. It had to be about the same as Stonefield.
What beautiful weather, blue sky with tiny blazing white clouds way up high. It was just after Memorial Day. Stonefield had celebrated – such a patriotic place. I’d seen signs. I didn’t consider myself woke, but, having spent the last seven years on college campuses, I’d learned to pretend. I knew I wasn’t supposed to like Memorial Day. Wasn’t it all about aggrandizing war? I was young. I was a rebel, but that wasn’t me.
After all, it was a new America. The first black president had come and gone – while I was in elementary school, no less. But you’d never know it looking around Stonefield. The entire town was an anachronism. I was part of a new generation, most of whom had their hearts set on fixing America, or ruining it in the attempt. Again, not me. The military? Police departments? I was in favor of both. I knew not to broadcast it.
Taking one last look before walking around a bend, I sighed. I’d agreed to this. I’d survive. But it was going to be the longest, loneliest summer ever. No one my age was in Stonefield. They’d all fled south, to bigger cities, to where the action was. God, I hated Vermont.
I had started my summer long visit with a walk to town – just to remind myself how bad this was going to be. Now, I had to again cover the mile to grandma’s house – a country mile.
Spring was in full bloom. Birds and butterflies. Birds eating butterflies. Everything was green, not at all like Arizona. At the crest of the hill, I turned around and around, breathing in the fresh, fragrant air and taking in the lush scenery. It was beautiful. But I still hated Vermont.
Like the town, the house was unchanged – except for the ravages of time. It needed a coat of paint – and a new kitchen – and a couple of bathrooms. The list went on. But that was what we were there for. My last summer as a student – in the fall I would be tackling my dissertation – and I would spend it as a laborer – painting.
Mazzie, our scruffy Yorkie, was in the driveway, keeping our SUV company. “You don’t like it here either, do you, little girl?” I said, kneeling down to pet her. A minute later, I pulled my suitcase out of the car and headed up the front steps.
“How was your walk?” my mother called out from the kitchen.
She was wanting me to say something nice. Hope springs eternal in that woman’s breast. Deciding to spare her my mood, I headed straight upstairs. I knew which room was mine. It had always been my room. I stepped inside, tossing my suitcase on the twin bed. Four plain walls and one central light fixture – a square piece of formed and frosted glass hiding the single light bulb – barely. Totally fifties.
I started unpacking, but part way in, I decided on another walk – this one all country. I’d seen Stonefield. Now, I needed to see Bates Pond. If it was as I remembered, then just possibly, I might be able to survive the summer.
It was only half a mile, and fortunately, it was exactly as it had been. It had seemed larger, but so had the town. I’d been a kid. I’d grown up – I’d changed – Vermont hadn’t.
It was warm and I was instantly regretting that I didn’t have my swimsuit on under my clothes. I turned slowly, examining the countryside while looking for movement. “What the hell,” I said aloud, kicking off my shoes. “No one’s within a mile of this place.” I knew that wasn’t true, but it was true enough.
I briefly considered swimming in my bra and panties, but after again studying my surroundings and listening carefully, they joined the rest of my clothes on the grass. Was this why I had agreed to help my parents fix up grandma’s house?
The water wasn’t quite clear, but it was spectacularly crisp. As I was picturing it, I’d be there every afternoon. The loneliest summer ever, but with a daily dip in Bates Pond and an occasional trip to the malt shop, I’d survive. God, I loved Vermont – almost as much as sarcasm.
I swam all around, thinking about all the fun we’d had there as kids. This was a different kind of fun. Nude in broad daylight – not something I’d ever do in Arizona. It certainly got the heart going.
But as I climbed the bank, I saw her. She was sitting cross-legged by my clothes. Where had she come from? I hesitated, but after looking around, I concluded that it was just the two of us. Shaking out my long blonde hair, I started toward her. That’s when I noticed that she was nude, too. Had she considered joining me only to chicken out?
“Hey,” I greeted her. She jumped. She hadn’t noticed me? She was sitting next to my clothes.
But as I drew near, I noticed that something wasn’t right. I was seeing the grass through her. Holy shit! I froze. A split second later, I turned to run – reacting, not thinking. Only, after a few steps, I stopped. I was naked. I couldn’t go back naked. My dad, Mason, they were both there.
I looked cautiously back. The girl was still there, but standing, an expression of shock on her face. She was backing away. So she’s scared and I’m the one looking at a ghost? But that was all the encouragement I needed. I darted back. Scooping up my clothes, I took off – running faster than I dared in my bare feet. I went at least a hundred yards before stopping to dress, not bothering with underwear. Bending to put on my shoes, I found that I had only one. Slipping it on, I again looked for her. She was nowhere to be seen.
Entering the house, my mom came out of the kitchen. “A swim. What a great idea,” she said, but then her brow wrinkled. “Are you alright?” She reached a hand up to my forehead. My legs buckled and I crumpled. Only then did I notice that I was hyperventilating.
“Albert, help,” my mom screamed, dropping down next to me. “It’s Jessa.” A moment later, my dad was there. “Get her to the couch. I’ll find a thermometer.”
My dad stooped to pick me up. I threw my arms around his neck. He placed me on the couch, but I wasn’t about to let go. He was forced to remain on his knees.
“We should call 911,” my mom announced after determining that my temperature was normal.
“I don’t need 911,” I said, attempting to sit up. Swinging my feet to the floor, I continued, “I’m leaving. Where are the car keys?”
“Honey, what happened?” my dad asked. At least he knew I wasn’t sick.
“Nothing. Just give me the goddamn keys.”
He pulled them from his pocket. I grabbed them and stormed out. After slamming the rear hatch, I climbed into the driver’s seat. But my dad was there, his body blocking me from closing the door.
“What happened, Jessa?” His tone was soothing, his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m leaving. I fucking hate Vermont.”
“You’re in no condition to drive.”
He was right. I handed him the keys as I leaned toward him, falling back out of the car. I started sobbing. Finally tears. He carried me back inside, this time going upstairs. Moving my suitcase, he placed me on the bed.
“Don’t leave,” I whispered before letting go.
“What’s wrong with her?” Mason, my kid brother, laughed from the doorway.
“Get the Fuck outta here,” I screamed.
He raised his hands in surrender, retreating back from the doorway.
My dad, bless his heart, shut the door in his face. He then returned to my side. He took my hand. “You’re shaking.”
I knew that. Shaking, shook, shaken – all of the above. Inside and out.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I considered telling him about the girl. “Just don’t leave,” I mumbled.
My mom slipped into the room carrying a glass of lemonade and her cell phone. “We really should call 911.”
My dad looked into my eyes. “Jessa. Talk to me. If you don’t tell us what happened, we’re calling.”
“Don’t call 911.”
“What happened?”
“I went skinny dipping.”
My mom looked at my feet. I was still wearing only the one shoe. My other foot was bleeding. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You’re not wearing a bra. Were you raped?”
That made me angry. I had a short fuse when it came to my mother. “Fuck, no! I wasn’t raped, but I ran. There was this girl.”
“A girl?” my dad asked. “What did she do?”
I rolled to face the wall. “Leave me alone.”
“But you said not to leave you alone.”
“Yeah, stay here,” I said rolling back toward him and grabbing his hand.
A minute later, I was sitting up, drinking the lemonade. My mom and dad were talking, acting as if I couldn’t hear. They were trying to decide what to tell the operator when they called 911. Did they need the police or an aide car?
I decided to go downstairs. If I acted normal, maybe they’d stop talking at me. And if I hung out in the living room or kitchen, they could do whatever and I wouldn’t be alone. I needed time to think. I’d seen a ghost. Only ghosts didn’t exist. A fucking naked ghost! Goddamn it – who would believe me? Why naked? I’d seen ghosts in movies and on TV. They were never naked.
After dinner, I had my dad move my mattress into their room. Sleeping on the floor would be better than being alone. What if she’d followed me home?
~ ~ ~
The next morning, I woke up half thinking that I’d imagined it all. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was this what it was like to go crazy? I’d been going over and over what I’d seen. I didn’t know what to think. I decided on a shower, almost asking my mom to come in the bathroom with me. But that would be weird.
Stepping out of the shower, the girl was there – again naked. Our eyes met. “What the fuck,” I shouted at her. Wrapping a towel around myself and fleeing back to my room, I slammed the door.
She was in our house! I paced back and forth, letting my heart rate settle. A minute later, I’d dropped the towel and was looking in my drawers, trying to decide what to wear. Glancing up, I saw her near the window. The morning sun was shining through her legs. Our eyes met.
“You can see me?” she asked.
“Put some goddamn clothes on,” I yelled as I started to dress.
“And you can hear me?”
When I next glanced up, she was gone.
Downstairs, my mom was making an egg and bacon breakfast – just like Aunt Bee – everything falling into place. I walked out onto the front porch. It was another beautiful day. I sat on the bottom step and Mazzie came over. Petting her, I noticed her food and water bowls. “Mom, why are you feeding Mazzie outside?” I yelled back into the house.
“She won’t come in,” she replied, stepping through the doorway.
I chuckled. I knew why. It was a fucking haunted house.
After breakfast, I decided to walk into town. Maybe the library would be open and I could do a little research. If there were frequent ghost sightings in and around Stonefield, the librarian would know.
There was information on ghosts, but nothing specific to Stonefield. I was also unable to find anything helpful when searching on the internet for information on naked ghosts.
Walking back, I couldn’t decide what to do. At least this ghost didn’t seem threatening. Should I tell my parents – or leave? But I couldn’t leave without telling them. I also couldn’t stay, nor could I do any painting.
That afternoon, after doing some prep work – getting next to nothing accomplished – I decided on the boldest move of my life. I was going back to Bates Pond – time to confront my demons.
It was warm. I did want to swim, but that wasn’t why I was going. The girl – had she drowned? In my mind, she’d be there and we’d talk. I was doing my best to convince myself that she didn’t mean me any harm. Hadn’t she been just as frightened of me as I of her? Even so, I told my mother exactly where I was going and when to expect me back.
She grilled me, and after listening to my non-answers, she tried to talk me out of it. “At least don’t go skinny dipping,” she said, realizing she was fighting a losing battle.
“I won’t. I promise. I have to find my shoe.” Funny – she’s worried about me swimming naked and I’m worried about – God knows what. What could a ghost do to a living human being?
In the end, she let me go, but I was hardly a kid.
“Why don’t you take Mason along? He needs to get out of the house.”
I’d already considered that – for like a tenth of a second. I didn’t need to put his life at risk along with mine. And having him with me would surely keep ‘my’ ghost from making an appearance. “Maybe next time,” I told her.
Keeping my eyes and ears open, I made my way cautiously to the place where I’d first seen her. It was easy to find – my shoe.
My heart pounding in my ears, I stood there, turning slowly. “Let’s talk,” I called out, my voice faltering. I cleared my throat and tried again.
After a bit, I took a seat – just a short distance from where she’d been. Thinking about how one might encourage a ghost to show herself, I would occasionally say things, trying out this idea and that. I found it comical that I was doing my best to appear nonthreatening. I mean, what could I do to a ghost? She was dead, right?
Eventually, it was time to admit defeat. ‘My’ ghost showed up when she wanted to. But if that was true, why had she looked so surprised?
Switching to plan B, I started stripping. The water was looking awfully inviting. As my panties landed atop the rest of my clothes, I turned. She was there.
“Umm … hello,” I said, placing a forearm across my breasts, a palm over my pussy. She didn’t show any bashfulness whatsoever when it came to being nude.
“Hi,” she said. We were just a couple of body lengths apart – a normal distance for talking – except there was no normal given the circumstances. My skin was crawling. I could faintly see the pond through her body.
We both just stood there, scrutinizing one another. “What took you so long?” I asked. “I’ve been here at least a half hour.”
“I’ve been here the whole time. I walked out here with you.”
“You did? But you waited until I took off my clothes? That’s just plain weird.”
She pursed her lips but then smiled.
“You look oddly familiar,” I remarked. “What’s your name? Did you drown here?”
“We’re related. I’m your great aunt. Your grandmother’s little sister.”
I looked at her. We looked alike. “Wow. Now I know why I recognize you. You’re me.” And she was – a slender blonde – my same boobs.
“You’re twenty-five. I’m twenty-five. You age. I don’t.”
“But why are you naked?”
“What do you recall of my story? I’m sure my sister, Patricia, talked about me.”
“I remember hearing about you,” I said nodding. Truth be told, I remembered very little. My grandmother had spoken of a younger sister. I’d seen photographs. I’d never been very interested in family stuff.
She laughed. She was on to me. “Your grandmother was thirty-five in 1985. That’s when it happened. I was twenty-five … forever twenty-five. She and I, ten years apart.”
“When what happened?”
“My family never found out. I was engaged. My whole life ahead of me … or so I thought. But raped and murdered. Does that still happen? I assume it does.”
“It does. Life sucks,” I nodded, blinking to keep my eyes from growing moist. Murder, not to mention rape – so sad. I’d never spoken to a murder victim. Of course, I hadn’t – they were dead.
“Don’t let it get to you. It was so long ago. I don’t think about it. I don’t want to think about it. I refuse to let it change me. To make me bitter.” She paused. “So does that explain my lack of clothing?”
“I guess.”
“But it’s something about the clothes,” she said. “That we are closely related, and maybe because we’re the same age. But also, the clothes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Put something back on,” she suggested, gesturing toward my pile.
I decided to give it a try, picking up my panties. She disappeared as I slid them up my legs. With them on, I turned looking for her. “Are you there?” I asked, but I was alone, or at least seemed to be. I removed the panties and she reappeared.
“Could you hear me?” she asked.
“I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t hear you.”
“Strange,” she remarked. “Dirk doesn’t have to be naked.”
“Dirk?”
“My fiancé. He’s sixty-five now, just as I would be. He’s been the only one. And now you. Suddenly, twice as many people can see me.”
At that juncture, I decided to turn around and make sure that we were alone.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Umm … that I’m standing in the open. That if someone comes, they’ll see me.”
She looked back in the direction of the houses. “Not something I worry about. I’ve been naked my whole death. One gets used to it.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t imagine getting used to being naked. “Maybe if I was invisible, but even then…” I paused, but she didn’t reply. “Want to go for a swim?” I asked, thinking that we could talk in the water and I wouldn’t feel so exposed.
“I’m not a very good swimmer.”
“You don’t have to worry about drowning, right?”
“I guess not,” she said, turning and looking toward the pond.
A short time later, we were both waist deep. I bent my knees to hide my breasts in the water; she didn’t. I’d wondered if it would look like there was a hole in the surface of the pond where she was – to others – to me she just looked like another woman, albeit not completely opaque.
“Catherine,” she said.
“Thanks. I was racking my brain.”
“It’s fine. After forty years, I don’t have any expectations. The police have given up.”
“They didn’t catch your killer?”
“They actually arrested Dirk. There was a trial. Idiots! As if the man who loved me, the man who asked me to marry him, would kill me.”
“Was he convicted?”
“No. There was no body. Pretty hard to convict someone of murder when the jury isn’t convinced the victim is dead. A few of them thought I’d simply left town. I listened in on their deliberations … so I could report back to Dirk.”
“Where is he now? Does he live here?”
“In Stonefield? Hardly. A lot of people think he’s a murderer. An even greater number think he’s crazy. He used to talk about ghosts. He learned his lesson, quickly in fact, but the damage was done.”
“So, I shouldn’t mention you?”
“Best not.”
“So where is he?”
“An institution in Montpelier.”
“Is he confined there?”
“Essentially. The course of his life was altered by what happened … just as mine was. I don’t know how to help him. Closure. But that’s been elusive for both of us.”
“So, if not Dirk, then who?”
“I wish I knew. I could have given that information to Dirk. He could have told the police.”
“So, a stranger?”
“Probably, but it was dark. I didn’t get a very good look.”
“Did he call you by name?”
“Not that I recall.”
Sometime later, I walked home – alone – or what seemed like alone. I’d dressed. As much as I wanted to keep talking to Catherine, I couldn’t very well go around undressed. I especially couldn’t show up at home butt naked. My family was there. They had started working on the house.
That evening, I asked my mom where grandma’s photo albums were. She showed me, and I pulled out the ones that predated Catherine’s death in 1985.
I wanted to ask my mother questions, but I decided to hold off. She was acting suspicious enough as it was. Catherine was her aunt and had gone missing when she was young. I knew she had memories. I was hungry for information, but first things first.
I spread the photo albums out on the dining room table, hoping that my mother would join me and start volunteering up information. She didn’t. I imagined Catherine looking over my shoulder. That was funny to think about – a nude woman in the room with me.
At long last, I could stand it no more. I took two of the albums upstairs. After getting my dad to help carry the mattress back, I pushed my bed in front of the door to keep Mason out. I then stripped everything off. As I’d hoped, Catherine reappeared.
“I couldn’t wait for you to take off your clothes,” she said.
“Careful … you sound like a lesbian,” I quipped in a hushed voice. “And … shhhh. Thin walls.”
“Oh, they won’t hear me. They might hear you.”
I nodded. I assumed that was true.
I sat down cross-legged on the bed, my back against the door, an open album on my lap.
“You have no hair down there,” she remarked, indicating the juncture of my legs, even though at that moment it was hidden by the album.
“It’s called a pussy,” I whispered so as not to be overheard.
“I know that. It’s not a word I use.”
“Why not?”
“I consider myself a lady.”
“Ladies have pussies. And these days, most women shave … some or all. I like it this way. Bare as a baby’s butt. It looks nice. It feels nice.” I shifted the photo album to the side and tilted my pelvis enough to make my slit visible.
“Now look who’s the lesbian?” she said, averting her gaze. Was she blushing? Could ghosts even do that?
“Is that what my bush would look like if I never shaved?” I asked, nodding my chin toward her crotch.
“Let’s look at pictures,” she said, taking a seat on the bed, close but not too close.
We looked through the albums, Catherine reminding me who the people that I didn’t recognize were. I let her do the talking. It was better that way. But if Mason were to hear me, he’d likely guess I was on my phone.
Toward bedtime, I got dressed and went downstairs. I needed to keep up appearances. My parents had all kinds of questions. They still wanted an explanation for my behavior the day before, but they were glad I felt comfortable enough to sleep in my room. I dodged most of their questions by staring at my phone. They were used to that. Mason did it too.
At bedtime, I again stripped off. Even though I wasn’t very comfortable being nude, I was probably less comfortable with the idea of being constantly watched by an unseen ghost woman. At least naked, I could watch back.
“Which was your room?” I asked when she reappeared.
“This one.”
“Was this your bed?”
“It’s the same bed, but that’s a different mattress.”
I suspected as much. She’d been dead forty years. The mattress was old, but not that old. I started to consider sleeping arrangements. It was a small bed. Had she already slept with me?
“Don’t worry,” she said as if reading my thoughts. “I don’t really sleep. Maybe I’ll go visit Dirk. I haven’t been there in a long time. I can’t wait to share all that’s happened.”
“You’re going to tell him … about me?”
“You don’t want me to?”
“Well…”
“Don’t worry. He won’t tell anyone.”
I lay down and we talked a while longer, but eventually I fell asleep.
~ ~ ~
It came as a surprise to be naked when I woke up. I generally wore panties and a nightshirt to bed. Looking around the room, I saw Catherine. She was studying one of the photo albums. It was open on the floor right where I’d left it. She couldn’t turn the page, but she could look.
“Sorry,” I said, getting up. I pulled on a nightshirt and went down the hall to pee. A minute later, I was back, quickly shucking the shirt to be able to see her.
“Good morning,” she said. “Dirk sends his greetings.”
“Oh, he does?”
“We should go visit him.”
I nodded, trying to imagine what that might be like.
“Don’t worry. You won’t have to be naked. Only if you want to be able to see me while we’re there.”
I considered her words. It was bound to be an interesting summer – not at all the lonely one I had anticipated.
“But I’m not sure how to get you in. I expect they have rules. I go where I want, when I want. No one ever says anything.”
“I can probably research that, but not today.”
“Yeah. Don’t you have to paint?”
“Hmm…” I did have to paint – at some point. “Can I call you Cathy? Or … what do you prefer?”
“Patricia went by Patty. But I didn’t let people call me Cathy.”
“No problem.”
“Patty called me, ‘Cathers.’ She was the only one. She and I … we were so close.”
“Could I call you Cathers?”
“I think I’d like that.”
“It’s not a nickname I’ve heard.”
“My sister made it up. Just Catherine shortened. Nothing special.”
“It sounds special.”
“I guess it is. She made me feel special.” She paused. “Jessa. Is that short for Jessica?”
“No. Just Jessa. I always tell people, ‘Jessica, but without the ick.’ That gets a chuckle. Helps them remember. It’s an uncommon name.”
She smiled.
I had so many questions. It made me seething mad that this woman had been violated, that her life had been cut short. Rape and murder had always been utterly abhorrent, but this was personal. She was my kin, my age – she looked like me. My nature made me want to fix this. Only, there was no fixing murder.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“How much I hate whoever did this to you. It’s so sad, and I like you.”
“I like you, too. I’ve only had Dirk. I can’t begin to tell you what it’s like to have someone new to talk to.”
I attempted a smile. “You said your body was never found. That must mean you don’t know where it is. Because you could have told Dirk, and he could have…”
“…told the authorities. He could have led them to my body.”
“Exactly.”
“And then he would have been convicted. We talked about it. It would have meant closure for my family – the body – but he would have paid the price. The a-ghost-told-me defense is surely a weak one.”
“So, if you don’t mind … you do know where your body is?”
“I know where it was. An old junkyard. In the trunk of a car. I’m not sure I could find it, it’s been so long.”
“How were you killed?”
There was a knock on the door. “Just a minute,” I replied, grabbing the nightshirt and pulling it on over my head. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to pick my cell phone up from the top of the dresser.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. It was my mother. “Hi, mom.”
She was trying to see past me. I was standing to block her view of the room even though she wouldn’t be able to see Catherine.
“Who were you talking to? Who was killed?” she asked.
“Oh, that was just Tyler,” I said, turning my cell phone over in my hand. “He was bragging about some new video game.”
She nodded, but looked unsure. “Breakfast,” she said, turning to knock on Mason’s door.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I said, closing my door and removing the shirt.
“That was close,” Catherine said.
I nodded. I knew better than to reply with my mom in the hallway.
After breakfast, I went up for a shower. Before getting in, I talked to Catherine, using the noise of the water to mask my voice. I invited her along on an afternoon drive. Visiting my grandmother was one of the first things I wanted to do, and as I’d hoped, she liked the idea of going to see her sister.
I thought Catherine would be curious about why I wanted to wait until afternoon, but if she was, she didn’t mention it. I had a surprise in mind; although, I had very little ability to surprise her. Even if I couldn’t see her, she could see me. After my shower, I pulled a couple of photos from one of the albums and headed into town for a haircut. It was going to be a show of support similar to how friends of cancer patients will sometimes shave their heads. I expected that Catherine was tagging along, but I wasn’t going to strip just to find out. And I wasn’t going to give Catherine the opportunity to talk me out of it.
Fortunately, she hadn’t gone in for the big hair that the eighties was known for. She’d worn a style that was much more timeless. But even though I would do the hairstyle, I wasn’t going to grow out my bush. There were limits.
I found a salon and showed the stylist what I had in mind.
Back home, my mom was quite surprised. “Jessa, your hair! I didn’t know curtain bangs were back in style.”
“Actually, they are,” I lied. But it didn’t matter. It was a cute hairstyle. Overall, I’d lost about ten inches in length. My bangs tapered down, passing just over my shoulders. My hair still extended down my back, but now only three or four inches. It would be a comfortable, easy-to-maintain style for summer. Now, Catherine and I were really twinners, not that anyone other than she and I (and possibly Dirk) might ever see us together.
After lunch, I told my mother of my intentions to drive over and visit grandma. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been living in the Stonefield house. She’d grown up there, and then she’d moved back in late in life – after inheriting the place. She was now a resident in an assisted living facility across the state line in New Hampshire.
“Great idea,” my mom said. “Take Mason.”
“Next time,” I said.
“But you like your brother, and it’s been so long since mom last saw either of you.”
“Next time,” I said, giving her my patented ice-cold stare.
“Okay, next time,” she agreed. I’d been a monster in high school. She knew not to cross me.
A short time later, I merged onto I-89. I imagined that Catherine was in the passenger seat, but I hadn’t seen her since my shower that morning. Deciding to touch bases with her, I pulled into the first rest area, parking at the very end, as far from other cars as possible.
Still behind the wheel, I disrobed. It seemed pretty safe, but I was wishing the windows were tinted.
“Why did you change your hairstyle?” she asked as the last item, my bra, came off.
I shrugged. “It looks good on you. I thought I’d give it a try.”
“But how will we tell ourselves apart?”
I knew she had to be joking. “Easy. I can’t see through myself.”
“You can see through me?”
I nodded, surprised that she didn’t know. “I want to try something,” I said, slipping my foot back into one of my shoes. Catherine disappeared. “Dang,” I said, popping it back off.
“What was that all about?”
“Wishful thinking. It’s not why I got the haircut, but I thought that with the two of us looking more alike, I might be able to keep my shoes on.”
Checking the perimeter around the vehicle in the mirrors, I pushed the button to lower the seat. “Well, here goes nothing,” I said, starting the car and putting it into reverse.
“You’re going to drive naked?”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” But even though Catherine didn’t answer, my mind was busy generating disagreeable scenarios – from getting pulled over to being involved in an accident.
Merging onto the freeway, I set the cruise control for the speed limit. A short time later, cars were passing us. I hoped no one would look over. My nipples were below the level of the sill, but not by much. I tried to imagine that I looked normal, like I was wearing something strapless, maybe a tube top.
“So, Cathers, tell me about my grandmother,” I said, hoping for something to take my mind off the fact that I was naked. This was certainly something that I’d never imagined doing.
My nipples were painfully erect. Glancing down, I saw just how far they were sticking out from my chest – embarrassingly far. Why did they have to do that? Fortunately, Catherine didn’t seem to notice just how pointy they were. She acted just as comfortable with my nudity as her own. She seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to.
I was listening to her, but I was also paying attention to the road. Looking in the mirror, I saw a semi change lanes to pass. “Shit,” I mumbled, sliding just a little lower, the feeling of the seat against my bare skin reminding me that I was butt naked – as if I needed reminding. Fortunately, it was leather and not vinyl, so I wasn’t sticking to it.
“What’s wrong?”
“A semi,” I replied, leaning forward to look in my side mirror.
She laughed.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome. I haven’t felt so alive in years.”
Something about her words made me happy, but it was bittersweet – a reminder that no matter how ‘alive’ she felt, she was in fact dead. Nothing would change that.
“Our exit,” I said, putting on my turn signal. I stopped along the shoulder, well back from the intersection. Over half an hour naked, but now it was time to get dressed. Before doing so, we discussed the upcoming visit. Sadly, Catherine wouldn’t be able to talk to her sister. I could relay messages, but that would turn it into a séance – and require that I be nude – not something I was going to do.
A few minutes later, I pulled into a spot in the parking lot. Signing in at the front desk, under ‘number of visitors,’ I wrote ‘2.’ The person behind the counter didn’t notice.
As it was my first time there, the receptionist found someone to show me to Grandma Patty’s room.
She was delighted to see me. I plopped down on an overstuffed chair, my legs curled under, and started filling her in on all that I had been up to that year. She was sad to learn that Tyler and I had broken up. She didn’t mince words. She was ready for me to get married and ‘make some babies.’
“Grandma, tell me about Cathers,” I said to change the subject.
“Cathers,” she said pensively, turning and looking out the window. I could see the clock in her head winding back, way back.
“Your sister. My mom said you called her Cathers.”
“I’m surprised she remembers.”
“What happened?”
“You’re going to make me cry,” she said, although there were already tears in her eyes.
I grabbed a box of tissues and moved over onto the couch next to her. A moment later we were hugging and both going through tissues.
“I loved Cathers,” she said, her voice failing her.
I pulled one of the photos from my pocket, handing it to her. It was of the two of them together – outside, in front of some trees.
She cradled it lovingly. “This was near Mount Washington. Have you ever been there?”
“You took me. We went up The Cog.”
She smiled, giving me yet another hug. “So glad you remember. Why do you have this?”
“From one of your albums. I took it to get my hair cut.” I stood up, taking a step back.
“Oh, my God, Jessa. I didn’t notice. You look just like her. She was so beautiful.”
“What happened to her?” I asked. I wanted to hear it straight.
“I’ll tell you what didn’t happen. It wasn’t Dirk. If anyone loved her more than me, it was Dirk. He was devastated, but such a good man. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Was she murdered?”
“For a long time, I kept my hopes alive. We were going to find her. I thought she’d been kidnapped or had simply run away … although that seemed unlikely. Eventually, everyone else concluded that she was dead. We were all searching for a way to go on with our own lives. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. I miss her so.”
“I wish you would have talked about her more.”
She studied me, a puzzled expression on her face. “What was there to say? There was no reason to burden a young girl with my heartache.”
“Well, I’m older. I want to be burdened. I need to know.”
She squeezed my hands. “I’ve always wanted for her to be alive. Now I know that she is. I know it in my heart.”
“She’s alive?”
“Because that’s what I want to believe. She’d be … hmm … sixty-five. She could be happy. That’s my dream for her. That she has a husband, kids, even grandkids. That’s what I want … for her. She was such a beautiful person.”
“Grandma, can I use your restroom.”
She pointed. As soon as I’d locked the door, I ripped off my clothes. Catherine’s eyes were as red as mine. I wanted to hug her, but truth be told, I was still a bit freaked out by the ghost thing.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For?”
“For this. I visited her countless times. I’ve watched her clean house, read books. I couldn’t see into her thoughts. Today I heard my sister say she loves me. Those words … worth the world to me. I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’d walk out there naked if I thought she’d be able to see you. That the two of you would be able to talk.”
Catherine started laughing through her tears.
When I exited the bathroom, Grandma Patty had a photo album open on her lap. There were photos of the two of them. She then started showing me photos of Mason and me, when we were little. I could tell that they were special in her eyes, but that wasn’t where my mind was.
After several more inquiries about Cathers, she produced a folder with news clippings. Not wanting to read them there, I asked if I could borrow them. I felt the need to know everything.
I drove home lost in thought. I knew that Catherine was with me, but I wasn’t in the frame of mind for driving naked – too stressful. As impossible as it seemed, I started trying to figure out how to go back to my prior life – a life in which ghosts were fictional. But, as hard as I tried to think about other things, my plans for my dissertation, for example, my thoughts always cycled back to my grandmother and her sister.
Was Grandma Patty happier not knowing – imagining that Catherine was out there somewhere? Would learning the truth open up old wounds that had all but healed? Raped and murdered. Closure maybe, but horrific news. Could I do that to her? If it were me, would I want such news, or would ignorance be my preference?
Suddenly, I wanted the boring, lonely summer I had anticipated. If I kept my clothes on, I could have it. Out of sight, out of mind.
At home, my mother had all kinds of questions. “How does grandma like her new apartment? Does she cook her own meals or eat in the cafeteria? Does she have friends? Play bingo? Work puzzles?”
It was awkward. None of that had come up. “She’s fine,” I told her. Eventually my mother decided that I was in one of my moods and left me alone.
Late that evening, I snuck out with a bottle of wine, a glass, and a blanket. A full bottle was a lot for someone who tipped the scale at 110, but it had a screw cap. I didn’t have to finish it. At least that was what I was telling myself.
At Bates Pond, I spread out the blanket. I was sure Catherine was there. I imagined that she wanted me to strip, but I wasn’t going to. I needed to be alone. I was at a crossroads. Keep my clothes on and paint walls or continue taking them off and fall further down the rabbit hole.
What would Alice do? I didn’t know, but I knew exactly what Sherriff Taylor would do. Why, oh why had I watched so many seasons of The Andy Griffith Show? But Grandma Patty was to blame. She’d gotten me hooked on the reruns. Breaking Bad, Parks and Recreation, How I Met Your Mother, and Big Bang Theory – that’s what I should have been watching. But I watched those, too.
But the real question – could I return to my pre-Cathers life? Did I want to? It was quite a decision. Somehow, I finished the bottle, the tough choices still hanging in the balance. At that point, even though skinny dipping hadn’t been something I’d been considering, I started pulling at my clothes. Going back to a ghost-free existence would mean no skinny dipping – never again. But stretched out on my back on the blanket, I kicked off my panties. They arced up and away, disappearing into the darkness.
After struggling to my feet, I started toward the shore. I was weaving a bit, but enjoying the feel of the cool grass between my toes.
Suddenly Catherine was there. She was in front of me, pushing on my chest, both of her arms straight. I started laughing. I couldn’t even feel her. She was trying so hard, and I was shoving her across the grass.
“Don’t. Not in the water. You’ve had too much.”
“Boo!” I shouted, wondering if it might scare her.
“Please, Jessa. It’s not safe.”
“Lighten up, ghost woman,” I laughed while continuing to stumble toward the pond.
“Please. Come back tomorrow.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Just because you’re not a good swimmer?”
“It’s that you’re drunk.” She was still trying to block me from reaching the pond.
“It’s swimming, not driving. I’ll be fine.”
“Not a good decision. You’ll drown. As in … dead.” It was comical, She was getting so worked up.
“So what?”
“Take that back. You don’t want to die.”
“But then we’d be together. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, it’s that there’s an afterlife. Something to look forward to.”
“Don’t joke about that. I want what you have. Don’t even think about throwing it away.”
“You can’t stop me.”
Tears in her eyes, she started to panic. “No, no, no. I can’t let you.”
I was beginning to feel bad, but I laughed anyway. “Fucking powerless. That’s what you are,” I said, reaching the water’s edge.
She collapsed, all but disappearing down into the reeds. “Please, Jessa.” Her body was quivering. She rolled such that she was facing the ground – her legs curled up under her – as if she couldn’t bear to watch. She continued to sob, but quietly.
Suddenly, I was regretting my words. Did I really need to put her through this? Stepping out of the water, I tripped. Crawling over next to her, I said, “I’d be fine, but if it means that much to you…”
She looked up at me, worry evident in her big eyes. She nodded solemnly.
A few minutes later, I was barfing in the bushes. Good friend that she was, Catherine was there trying to comfort me. Again, there wasn’t anything she could do.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Follow me. I’ll get you home.”
But feeling a bit better, I went back to my blanket. After wiping my face on it, I stretched out spread eagle, exposing my bald beaver to the heavens. So many stars. The milky way. Never like this in Arizona – at least not where we lived.
~ ~ ~
There was a knock on the door. “Jessa. Breakfast.”
I lifted the covers and looked. I was naked. Glancing around the room, I saw Catherine. She was atop the dresser, sitting in the lotus position, her hands on her knees, palms up.
“You’re welcome,” she said, coming out of her trance.
“But how?”
“It wasn’t easy. You’re an obstinate drunk. And don’t scare me like that again.”
I rolled over to go back to sleep, wondering if she’d saved my life. I’d been pretty damn wasted.
~ ~ ~
“Why are your feet so dirty?” my mom asked, once I was up and about.
I looked down. At least I’d brushed the vomit out of my hair. “It’s summer. Who needs shoes,” I snapped.
I walked away, feeling a bit sorry about my tone of voice. But being treated like a teenager brought out the teenager in me – a vicious cycle.
A while later, I slipped out and made my way back to the pond. Everything was there, but finding my panties took some doing. It reminded me of a crime scene or the site of an orgy, a woman’s clothes, scattered about. Seeing my panties in the bushes brought something else to mind. If I’d gone home naked, had Mason seen me? I was horrified to think that he might have. My parents would have been in bed, but my brother was a night owl.
I had intended to just pick it all up and head back, but instead, I decided on a swim. That would at least get my feet clean.
“So, how did you get me home last night?” I asked as we waded into the cool water.
“You got yourself home.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just asking.”
“You sound mad.”
“I’m really not mad. Maybe a little upset, but at myself.”
“You should be. Without me, no telling where you would have woken up. It certainly wouldn’t have been your bed.”
“Almost always a whole bottle, but two people. You weren’t holding up your end of the bargain, Cathers.”
“I’d love to drink with you, Jessa. In another life, you and I would have so much fun.”
I smiled. “You know it, ghost girl!” I’d always been amazed by how much clarity getting wasted could inject into one’s life. And then it hit me. I’d touched a ghost! I’d actually touched a ghost! I considered reaching over and touching her again. Instead, I dove forward into the water, putting my head under to rinse out the smell of barf.
~ ~ ~
I spent a few hours painting. My mom couldn’t believe I was actually painting. In reality, I was just stalling for time, still struggling with the monumental decision before me. But that afternoon, I pulled out Grandma Patty’s file and dove in. The articles were so sad. “Local woman, 25, missing. Search parties being organized.” “Stonefield man detained, being questioned on disappearance of fiancée.” “Dirk Landers charged with murder. Trial date pending.”
The articles weren’t extremely detailed. Much of what they contained, I already knew. I did pick up a few tidbits of information and started making notes. One thing that Catherine hadn’t mentioned was that she’d gone to bed that fateful night, presumably in my same bed. That was kind of freaky to think about. But then she hadn’t been there in the morning. She’d gone missing overnight – no signs of a struggle.
That had led to speculation that she had known her abductor – if there had been an abductor – or had simply run away. However, she’d taken little or nothing with her – not her toothbrush, not her purse. No wonder Dirk had been a suspect. I was definitely going to have to hear the story directly from Catherine.
I was racking my brain trying to think of a better place for the two of us to talk. Outside was too risky, but so was the bedroom. I thought about the basement, but it was dank. And it was surely no more soundproof than the bedroom. In the back of my mind, I knew I had made my decision. I couldn’t walk away from this. There was a murderer on the loose. Maybe he was old. Maybe he was dead. But I was coming for him. Cathers and I, we were coming for him!
To Be Continued…
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A really new interesting take on the novel. Interesting idea . I look forward to the next chapters. I hope that the will to talk to the ghost will provoke more nudity. Of course it’s wonderful if they lead to embarrassment etc. I think the family will eventually discover a frequent shortage of clothes. Some explanation will be needed. The story is almost complete from what you say. I wonder which way he will go. It is a pity that your previous stories are not here.
My first reader post – ever (on this site). Thanks so much optima!
Glad to hear that you are looking forward to more. Yes, more nudity (and surely some embarrassment ahead). How else might Jessa be able to work with Cathers?
Yes, a pity that my other stories are not here. They are near and dear to my heart – my children. As a matter of fact, they aren’t available anywhere right now. I hope everyone understands that I did not plan it that way. Through no fault of my own, the Indian Outlaw site went away taking my stories with it. I’ll bring them back. That’s a priority (not as high as driving Jessa Meets Her Match through to completion, however). But to me, since I imagine I am now a better writer, those stories need work, a little editing at the very least.
Again thanks for this (again, my first post!). Please stick around and comment to your heart’s content.
Blair
Honestly, I’d rather have the authentic original – warts and all, rather than a purified remix. Give me the thumb-print of the original Blair, back on Friday June 24th, 2016 at 2:40 pm in the afternoon. That’s what the authentic collectors will be looking for and treasuring.
In general, it’s a mistake to judge one’s early works as anything less that a perfect, pristine capture of one’s self at that time in history. To think of editing that is not only unwise, it’s down right blasphemous. I would think stamp and coin collectors would agree. And not something that is conducive to moving forward with writing.
I imagine a super fan enjoying to compare the differences in writing as the writer evolves, enjoying to see how things evolve. And horrified at the thought of a re-write. At least, that’s my personal opinion, lol… I could be wrong, right?
What about a revised version of a novel by the author himself?
Le marquis de Sade re-wrote three times the same novel about Justine’s story: (Sorry, it’s in French language: “Les infortunes de la vertu”, “Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu” and “La nouvelle Justine”).
I’m an absolute fan of “Summer at Cache-Lake” and, as I told him earlier, in my opinion, Blair should have ended his novel just before his heroine Jill left home to her new life at the University.
Then, if he would agree, Blair wouldn’t have to rewrite his novel, just review some parts, but with his actual style. Would it change really the plot?
Helen.
To me it seemed like Blair was prepping for a potential part 2. But yes, if he decided to nix that idea, then Helen’s suggestion has some merit.
Interesting story BP. This is a plot hook I’ve never seen before. Having read the first part I’m hooked now. I guess Jessa will be sleeping nude for now on. It kinda reminds me of a story about a superheroin that only has super powers when she is completely naked.
Thanks orflash64!
I’ve been having fun bringing these characters to life, especially Cathers! Hahaha!
Same here. It’s not a ‘plot hook’ that I’d seen anywhere before either. Truth be told, the spark of inspiration came from a children’s book. As you can well imagine, there was no nudity there … no murder, etc. Frankly, almost none of this. But there was a ghost. Funny where inspiration can come from, right?
Well, please stick around! I know that, like me, you’ve fallen for Emi. I hope that Jessa’s very different path continues to draw you in.
Blair
Looks interesting so far.Some years ago, I started a story based around the UK TV series Being Human in which ghosts are doomed to remain in the clothes in which they died, and a woman dies skinny dipping. She meets a female werewolf who has just finished her weekly transformation and is still naked. Never finished it.
Maybe it’s time to come back to this story? And naturally share what’s written …
I just checked. I abandoned the story eight years ago after three pages, mainly just introducing the main characters. There was also a vampire policewoman involved. And like Cathers, the ghost was a murder victim. But I can’t now remember how I was planning to continue the story.
Also, it’s been eight years since the show was on the BBC and I can’t remember all the ins and outs of the Being Human universe.
Seriously?! You abandoned a story with a vampire policewoman? You should be flogged!
It just wasn’t working.
For those who never saw the BBC series, there were a number of vampires in the police. Useful for covering up strange deaths. I can’t remember if this featured in the US version, some of which was shown over here.
I think I vaguely remember that show. Oh well, at least we have Jessa and Cathers now. And they are ‘coming for him!’
Dormouse!
An ASN veteran! I recall fondly some of our interactions back on the ol’ site. Your story, “Beach Patrol,” for example (I hope I have the title correct). And ‘Tumbling Tumbleweeds.” At least someone knew what I was referring to. And then, because of your UK connection (and Cricket) you had heard of Trinidad. As I recall, that came up because one of my readers hadn’t.
Well, your witch-werewolf story idea does sound like it has potential. “…her weekly transformation”? Likely a typo. Monthly, right? I haven’t yet seen you post a story here. My apologies if I missed it. I’d pause at this juncture and go look, but I’m not comfortable enough with the ‘new’ software to do that. So I’ll post this comment and then go look.
Be well!
Blair
Yep, a typo.
I posted a couple of stories early last year – The Real Exhibitionist Girl and Naked from the Stars – but I had an operation at the beginning of this year and have still not fully recovered. I started a story before Christmas, but then I fell ill. A couple of weeks ago I restarted but stii have a fair bit to write.
back in the IO days i came up with one like this. but not a writer. same plot but the ghost was also a witch. and every time she would get her naked going out of the house the witch had her in ,naked, another woman. in different places and time. and got to see what happens to woman back in time. she would have to make it back to house to get out of it. this would go back to caveman days. finally the young woman found out how the witch did it and she did the same to her. it was since she was burnt up to what a naked woman can get away with today. how many chapters could this be??
Hey diego,
Thanks for reading and thanks for sharing that plot idea. It does sound interesting. I’m sure you or someone could turn that into quite an interesting tale. No witch here, but I see the similarities too. How many chapters could that be (assuming you are talking about your plot idea)? I’m guessing quite a few. All the way back to caveman days? Okay, more than quite a few. Stick around and share your thoughts with us again!
Best Wishes,
Blair
This was a powerful beginning. Full of excellent drama and naked antics. But the writing style is different. Something we haven’t seen from Mr Clavel before. It’s extra close, intimate, lively, full of spunk, and definitely – next level. I can say this because I now qualify as a writer. I am in awe at this technical skill, the descriptions, storytelling, and characters and conflicts… it all melds into one very organic fast-paced chapter, full of surprises and potential.
It starts seemingly quietly: a walk and then the swim at Bates Pond.
But then, all hell breaks loose. It was 911 worthy. The action and drama with the parents were so good as they scrambled to figure out what happened.
I loved the unique encounter. This person that Jessa meets seems awesome, maybe a little transparent – definitely a most ambitious character. I was entranced as things unfolded.
After things settled down, the visit to grandma was enlightening, and the risky driving was fun. I loved the revelations. This chapter has so many wonderful dimensions. It was a surprisingly touching scene.
Later back at Bates Pond, Jessa was drinking, troubled. One of my favorite scenes. My feelings were all over the place. Another powerful scene.
The cliffhanger was breathtaking, reminding us again who is at the helm here!
Blair is writing! 🙂
Hey ReaderMan!
Yes, you certainly DO qualify as a writer now! Your input was always thoughtful (in the days before Emi), but I imagine that, as a writer, you now see story writing in a different light. I can’t tell you how much I value your feedback/input and hope for it in the weeks to come.
So, my writing style is different — next level? I expect that I have become a better writer. I’d really like to think so — because it is something that I have been working at. That said, it’s probably not that different. Maybe the biggest change is that (like you), I am writing first person POV for the first time. And I really did try to figure out a way to write that sentence with just one “first.” I gave up. Other versions weren’t as clear.
I had fun with that 911 scene with the parents. I thought this was a pretty good line:
Thank you for your comments on the other scenes you mentioned as well. The scene with grandma, the drinking at the lake. Not your usual ENF fare, I imagine, but I’m not trying to write a typical ENF story. This story, as you’ve probably already guessed, involves a plot in which the nudity is ever present (well, occurs frequently), but secondary to some other elements. It’s my goal to write a story that is enjoyable and satisfying on a number of levels.
You and I had so much fun back on the IO site. I’m imagining a lot of fun ahead, especially now that we are both posting stories. You and I can trade barbs (and hopefully praise) much as Molly and I did back when she and I were posting simultaneously
Your friend and colleague,
Blair
Thanks. Yes, things are much different now. Before it was simply emotional engagement that I cared about. Now it’s all about the mechanics that cause such emotional reactions as well.
Yes, the first person is a factor. But also you are much stronger now and this chapter has more emotional range than any first piece you have ever written before. We got boredom, surprise, freak out, fear, emotional, excited, exposed, embarrassed, curious, touching, irritated, disgust, angry, denial, doubt, drunk, nausea, hung over, life saving gratitude, and fierce determination. Wow… and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was another dozen (or more) feelings that I missed mentioning.
There were too MANY good lines. Way too many to count. I think you were brilliant picking a young, defiant, emotional young lady. It makes for very lively reading!
Indeed. That’s the joy of writing. You can make it as rich as you please.
I know, right! This is so cool and don’t worry, I’m not going to side with Molly about that Mayberry RFD stuff that had me also scratching my head. The rest was was too amazing to even notice that minor blip in your opening sentence. (Regardless, the attitude of it carried though, that’s the important piece.)
Your friend and colleague,
ReaderMan
This is certainly different. Nice scene setting, some skinny dipping, and then something quite unexpected.
Now that I’m writing myself, I’m noticing different things. For example, how you’re introducing Jessa, let us become a little familiar with her character through this chapter. ‘Show, not tell’, right? It’s so well written.
This made me laugh. Not only is it funny, but it tells us a lot about Jessa in just two simple sentences, while it would be so difficult to describe her character if you’d try to tell us how she is through direct character description.
She gets the shock of her life, out there while she skinny dips at Bates Pond. Her reactions feel so natural.
Yes, in shock, she didn’t feel this, only now sees it. That whole scene in the house, fits the situation so well. Her parents’ worries, her responses, even the kid brother.
This made me smile, her response already fits so well with what we know of her character. Another shock, but this time she wrapped the towel around herself before running out of the bathroom.
Even though it’s a tense situation, I laughed so hard at this.
Listening to her non-answers. Brilliant.
There are so many good lines in this chapter. I find myself already liking Jessa. She’s feisty, she has a ‘fuck the world’ attitude, but she also cares about others, for example:
-Poor Dirk… losing Catherine, but apparently he could see her from early on. It must’ve hurt so much, for both of them.
Indeed.
I loved how Jessa got a haircut, in support of Cathers. Again, it shows us what sort of person she is. Poor grandma Patty… that was a such touching scene.
lol. Clothes scattered about, a drunken Jess kicking off her panties. Such a fun picture.
Jessa is a bit of a mean drunk…
Nice.
A unique story, definitely, and I am already enjoying it tremendously. 8 weeks? I am looking forward to next week, wondering where the story leads us from here.
Cave!
I am so excited that you are giving this story a try! That means that you and I have come full circle. I saved my Summer at Cache Lake comments. Your first post on that thread occurred on Jan 15, 2019 (maybe it was your first post on any story?) I’m going to indulge myself and paste it in here (removing the center section, because it is Jill specific):
Well, like I was saying, we’ve come full circle, you and I. You read my story. Then roles reversed, and I have been reading and enjoying your story, Discovering Melanie. And now we are back to where we started, you’re reading a story of mine.
Thank you for your ‘rich with comments’ post. By the way, I’m glad that you like the method that I employed to introduce Jessa to readers — mostly that it apparently worked. You wrote:
That’s exactly who she is. She’s a smart, self-assured woman. She’s also a bit rough around the edges. She does care about people, but she doesn’t mind coming across as abrasive. She gets along okay with her father and brother, but not with her mother. That surely all came through.
Thanks for sharing the lines that you selected and commenting on them. That makes for a very fun post to read. The last one, the one where she tells Cathers that she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. So that came across as mean. Hmm. The intent was for Jessa to be saying that as a bit of a joke. I might edit that, adding “I quipped” to get my intended point across. I am imagining an out-of-control drunk, but not a mean one. After all, she did ultimately decide to not go into the water because it was important to Catherine, sparing her the anguish.
Again thanks Cave. I really like that I have a few writers reading my story — four by my count: you, ReaderMan, Dormouse, and Molly. Thank you all — readers and writers alike!
Blair
Yes, it was my first time (commenting). Thankfully you were gentle (in your response). Only 2 years ago? It feels like a long time.
Oh no, I did like that joke, but I see that I did some unfortunate editing there. I don’t think you need to edit this in any way.
I meant Jessa’s mean comments while she was drunk, though I understand now that you did not intend these as all that mean either. Things like this:
Because of the ‘laughed anyway’ and the nature of what she says, this does come across as mean to me. If that is not intended, it might need a small correction.
Cave
Hay Blair! Nice to have something new from you to read. This first chapter is very well written and has an interesting premise. I am also intrigued by why you chose to place it just four years in our future. I guess I will find out in due time.
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Here are some notes I took as I went along:
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The opening reference to “Mayberry fucking RFD” would be really funny to whatever percentage of your readers make the connection. Sure, everyone is familiar with “Mayberry” because the Andy Griffith Show has been in reruns continuously across generations. But “Mayberry RFD” is a much more obscure reference to a sequel that has not been all over cable like the original.
Reading this makes me wonder if perhaps you began this story in 2015 and neglected to update this passage for your current draft. Because I find it really hard, in 2021, to imagine exactly what “new America” Jessa is feeling so darned swell about. All I can say is, some really great stuff must have happened between 2021 and 2025.
This is an example of one of the challenges of writing in the first person. You, the author, want to describe the character to your readers, but people don’t usually remark on their own hair color within their interior monologue. You have to work such details in at an appropriate time — like when the character is primping in the mirror and fretting over various details of her appearance.
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Jessa’s initial reaction to seeing a ghost is believable, but I did not find it as convincing that she would decide not to tell anyone afterwards. Although I have never seen something quite this explicit, I’ve had a few weird experiences and I’ve known others who have, and I think the normal impulse is to excitedly tell people what you have just seen. Since for storytelling purposes you don’t want her to do that, I think you need to lay some groundwork to explain her reaction. Perhaps in that spot where you are telling us all about her non-wokeness and police/military fangirlhood, you could also reference some past mental health issue or trouble she once got into with her parents over drug/alcohol use — something that would motivate her not to tell them what she just experienced.
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When she does start talking to Cathers, Jessa asks lots of questions about how she died, the family etc., but I would have expected her to soon escalate her line of questioning to more ontological matters. Is this what happens when people die? Are there other ghosts? Is there a deity behind all of this? Have you SEEN that deity??
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Although I find it appealing to imagine that a ghost is naked because she happened to die that way, it’s difficult for me to groove on the sexiness of that if the REASON she died naked was that a vicious rapist ripped her clothes off. I don’t know to what extent that fact is essential to your story, but it’s kinda putting a damper on my erotic appreciation of the otherwise appealing idea of a perpetually naked ghost chick.
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I realize that this is apparently Jessa’s first experience driving naked, but she does have her clothes right there with her in the car so when the semi is approaching to pass she could grab her blouse and drape it over herself. And here’s a little fashion tip she may find handy in the future: Get a big square silk scarf and wrap it around yourself as you would a bath towel. It can pass as a slinky sleeveless summer dress but you can whip it on and off really quickly when you want to . . . you know, see a ghost or something.
You are missing a couple of words at the end of that sentence.
The hell they are. Bangs that don’t go past your eyebrows are fine, but any strands of hair that are long enough to flap into your eyes yet NOT long enough to tie back in a ponytail are not actually a great choice for vigorous summer activities.
Wait — who the hell is Alice? Omigod, PLEASE don’t tell me this is a specific character from “Mayberry RFD” that maybe 2 percent of your readers have any hope of recognizing. Yeah, THEY’ll appreciate that joke.
Yeah, too bad ya weren’t curious enough to ask any actual questions about it.
Molly!
How delightful to again be crossing paths under these circumstances (one of us posting fiction). There was a time when we were posting simultaneously and commenting back and forth on each other’s stories. Those were the days! Thinking back to that period of time, inspired me to do a bit of data mining (I saved posts on my stories back then). Here is the first post that I found where you mention my story. This is in response to a comment of mine on one of your stories:
And the next day you posted this over on my thread:
I can’t begin to describe to you how your “Paying It Forward” made me feel. First off, I had read most of what you had on the site at that point. I held you in such high regard (still do). Your talent, skill and acclaim made me surprised that you would engage with the likes of me (a newbie).
And from there, we traded hundreds and hundreds of comments, many of them for fun, but also relating to the craft of writing a story in this genre. As a writer, I feel as if I’ve come a long way. Much of my progress I owe to your encouragement and tutelage. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
To a couple of topics you raise:
I don’t have any great reason for placing this story just a bit in the future. Initially, I did it so that Covid would be history (hopefully). I went to a year ending in ‘5’ to make all the math easy to comprehend. To make the timeline easy for readers to wrap their brains around, all ages and dates end in ‘0’ or ‘5.’ Cathers and Jessa are both 25. One was born in 1960, the other in 2000, and the story takes place in 2025.
Mayberry RFD:
Yes, most (in the US anyway) will know of the The Andy Griffith Show — Mayberry because that was the town in that show. I threw in the RFD, not because I was wanting people to think of the sequel — because I wanted them to know for sure that I meant THAT Mayberry. I don’t see it as more obscure, but opinions will differ.
Frankly, you might be misreading what is intended (which probably means that my writing still needs work). Here, I’m simultaneously introducing my lead character and the small town setting. I’m not going to go so far as to claim that she is an unreliable narrator; however, it should be apparent that she is a very cynical one. Lines like, “God I loved Vermont — almost as much as sarcasm,” should indicate that her words can’t always be taken at face value. In my opinion, she takes a dim view of both America and its woke critics — always imagining herself an independent thinker.
Curtain bangs:
I fully understand that they don’t work for you, but I stand by what is asserted in the story. This article, for example, says that they are both low maintenance and lazy girl approved: https://maneaddicts.com/4-things-you-need-to-know-about-curtain-bangs/
And the Alice mentioned — an Alice in Wonderland reference. There was a paragraph break in there, but the words immediately before, ‘What would Alice do?’ were “…fall further down the rabbit hole.’
As regards lack of discussion about the afterlife — it’s not that I wasn’t curious about it, it’s that I decided it didn’t fit the scope of my story. God knows I can crank out wordy fiction. This time I’m doing my best to limit what’s in the story to just what matters. At several junctures, the story mentions that Jessa and Cathers continued talking. In my mind, the discussions did likely take place. I have to admit that I am happy that for once you are talking more about what I should have included than what I should have excluded. Maybe I don’t yet have the balance quite right, but I’ve made progress — thanks to you and the others who read and commented on ASN.
Your other points, duly noted. Thanks so much!
Blair
I always enjoy it when you share your research.
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On a related note, another challenge of writing in first person is readers can’t always tell when your narrator is being sarcastic. But it’s possible I overlooked some nuances in this chapter because I read it on my phone in the car at night — and had to keep looking up to drive (just KIDDING; it wasn’t night).
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PS — Hey, how do you get those lovely doublespaces between your paragraphs on this site. I always have to put in a character to force it.
Funny, but please don’t — eyes on the road! However, if you insist, do it naked. That way you can end up like Cathers — naked for all eternity.
Okay, the double spaces. I sure have struggled with this. A mutual friend, RM, schooled me. If you need more help, that’s where to go. But here is what works for me — maybe it’s enough. I’m glad to see that you’ve got the quote block thing working.
When you hit “Post Comment” the software (bless its heart) removes the paragraph spacing. To put it back in, I hit edit, and then find the spot, and then do about what you must be doing to end up with the dashes, but in their place put: (those six characters). With copy and paste, you can quickly pop in as many as you need.
I’m not making this up.
That supposedly means, ‘non breaking space.’
I’m not making that up either, lol!
And for some reason, it doesn’t work if you do it initially, only while editing.
Again, you just can’t make this sh-t up, right!?
Yep.. that’s right Blair. Molly doesn’t need to change her current 2 step process. But when she goes back in to adjust the “-“, after she has it on it’s own line, she could replace each dash with – “ ” Then the – would be gone, vanished, just like a ghost – leaving just the empty space. Or if one just has a single paragraph after each grey bar block quote, then we don’t have to do anything special.
Thanks, guys. Yes, I’m familiar with the nonbreaking space HTML tag, but it didn’t occur to me to try that. Hmm, makes one wonder if <p> or <br> would also work.
Speaking from experience, $#?!^*$& and *>$#@*&+^ didn’t work. I tried all of those. Fortunately, I no longer have children living at home.
Ha-ha. By the way, thank you for your kind words at the beginning of that post. That was a fun time when we were both posting. And I have to credit you and RM for inspiring me to finish What a Girl Will Do for Love. I had let it go dormant, but then you read it and commented and I went back to look at it again and found I had a partial chapter that had never been posted.
It was the scene of Betsy jumping on Dean in the rain and his new phone gets squished between them and starts vibrating, etc. You and RM gave me just the response I needed to go back to it — and there turned out to be a whole lot of story left to tell. That scene in the rain ended up being only about 25% into the finished story.
So thank you for that.
I am quite into science fiction and fantasy, so I really loved this story about a naked ghost. Funny thing was that although nudity is an extremely important part of the story, for me it moved a bit into the background because I was hooked on the story itself with all the murder mystery, family drama, well written interactions with family members (living or dead). Strange, isn’t it?
Having said that, it doesn’t mean I forgot about the nudity (how could you), I just put my main focus on other things.
But I guess this shows how well written the story is, that it works on different levels.
But how on earth did you come up with the idea that a naked ghost can only be seen by naked people! Amazing, I really love it.
Hi arthwys!
I’m delighted to learn that there might be an audience for this tale after all. I had worried about that. For Cathers to be both young and naked (and for my plot to work) it seemed as if my story required both the M-word and the R-word. Molly mentioned that aspect, saying that it made it difficult to “groove on the sexiness” of “a perpetually naked ghost chick.”
I don’t doubt that. From my point of view, it was unavoidable (collateral damage). My story does not hinge on how sexy Catherine might or might not be. As you remarked, there is much more to this story than nudity. I was so glad to read that you found yourself “hooked on the story itself.” That you didn’t forget about the nudity but that your focus ended up being on other things. Love that! Thank you so much for paying me that compliment.
How did I come up with “the idea that a naked ghost can only be seen by naked people”? First off, a minor correction to your wording (probably not your understanding) — it’s only a naked Jessa that can see her (because they ‘match’). It’s just an idea that came to me a couple of years ago, based exceedingly loosely on a children’s book (which of course didn’t include most of these elements – nudity especially – but also the crime aspect). I fell in love with the idea and wanted to bring these characters to life (well, Jessa anyway — haha) because my heroine (a smart, attractive but also shy woman) would have a reason to get naked – a compelling reason. No one has to push her. She’s got things to accomplish. Because there is a murderer on the loose, and she and Catherine, “they’re coming for him!”
Blair
PS: I sure have been enjoying your involvement over on the TRA thread! Talk about a girl who has a reason to get naked, right?!
Wow, another great start that immediately pull you in. I tend to hop sites, which often allows at least a few posts to accumulate and comment volume to point to meatier stories.
When The Exhibitionist Next Door came out I was strangely fortunate to be busy traveling and with other things to only read shorter stories and let the bulk of the posts pile up. That wonderfully allowed me to read most straight through in fact I paced myself so I wouldn’t have to wait, but in the end couldn’t hold myself off to not end up waiting for the last few posts.
That isn’t going to happen with this story. Thanks to an invitation, I got to start at the beginning. I will therfore be eagerly waiting for each installment. But it will at least let me be a part of the conversation as I mostly missed that earlier.
I enjoyed this intro with a very interesting main character and a wonderfully intriguing mystery to solve.It is telling that much of the concerns are the obscurity of references and the advisability of bangs. Fully involved readers. I am sure this will be “appointment television.”
Hey Dimitii,
I’m so glad that worked. Welcome! In all, I sent out 35 emails to former readers this week (with a link to this site). My list was primarily composed of people who had asked to be kept informed. I suggested that readers do that (send me their email), if they wanted to hear of future stories on different sites (at the time that ASN was about to disappear forever). So far, I’ve received replies from eight individuals, but you’re the first to comment!
I hope you enjoy Jessa’s story! It’s headed in a different direction than my past efforts, as you’ve surely noticed, but I’m really enjoying writing it. I hope it is a fun read. I expect to put up another chapter later today. It looks as if it will be entitled, The Stairway.
Best Regards,
Blair
wow! I just discovered this story and I love it! Once again you have created colorful and complex characters. The story idea is MARVELOUS as well – interacting with the spirits of deceased relatives while having to be naked is very clever indeed. It is a shame your older stories aren’t archived somewhere as they are too good to be lost to future generations. Anyway, on to the next chapters!
Hooked6
Hooked6!
I’m delighted you found Jessa (and her somewhat transparent match, Cathers)! I’ve been having so much fun with these two. It’s been a few years for me (writing enf). It feels great to be back. This story has been a reunion of sorts — especially gratifying now that you’re here. Writer’s from the old site, many of them are here — ReaderMan, Molly, Dormouse, others. Cave is here — she’s crossing over (from reader to writer). You’ll want to check out her story, “Discovering Melanie.” ‘Discover’ it for yourself. ReaderMan too — he’s writing (as you surely know). His story, “The Resort Ambassador” is here. Initially on ASN, continuing here.
My older stories. Not lost, but not currently available. That wasn’t the plan. I didn’t expect for ASN to go dark. But I’ll make it happen somehow. Nate and Dale. Jill, David and Ryan. They are too important to me to leave in ghost status. Somewhere, someday, I’ll bring them back to life.
I sure hope you enjoy this story and I love to see you again writing sometime soon.
Your friend and colleague,
Blair