Midnight Feeding – Supernatural Style

Stevie was being haunted by his mother—or, at least, he prayed it was her. Alone in the big house, who else could it be causing the weird happenings.

Despite the odd occurrences inside the three bedroom, tri level house, on the edge of the suburbs, the thought of selling the house and moving never crossed his mind as he deeply, even after her death, still loved his mother and to sell the house and move would forever break whatever tenuous bond he still enjoyed with her.

The unsettling occurrences only seemed to be increasing as the one year anniversary of her death approached. Jessie, aged forty three when she passed from an advanced stage of breast cancer, had made him a solemn promise only a mere forty eight hours before she passed she would stay with him . . . even past her death.

The peculiar events started just a few weeks after she died. The first thing he noticed was how, in the upstairs bedrooms, the doors would swing open and shut of their own accord. Even stranger was how the curtains covering her bedroom window, in particular, would move even with the window shut and the A/C off.

Then there was the matter of how small objects: his wallet, keys, comb, toothbrush, etc. would suddenly go missing, only to reappear a few minutes later in a different location with no plausible explanation. Although he was never really scared, he was twenty years old and too old to be scared he told himself, still the odd events unnerved him.

Not all of the things happening inside the house were of a scary nature though. Some, in fact, were down right sweet. Two prime examples of this occurred a just few days before the one year anniversary of her passing.

First, he came down on an early spring Sunday morning to find the kitchen table set for him with his favorite cereal out and some fresh flowers in a vase in the middle of the table.

Remembering how his mom had a habit of celebrating the coming of spring by picking fresh flowers from the backyard, caused his heart to wrench with weary depression. Although it had been almost a year, Stevie, always a momma’s boy through and through, had not even come close to moving on from her.

Then, even more telling, the next morning he entered the kitchen to find a note pinned with a magnet to the fridge. The note was simple but spoke volumes. It was a crude drawing of a smiley face with four words scrawled neatly belong, in his mom’s precise handwriting: I miss my baby.

Later on, as he was getting undressed for bed, he felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched. He ignored the feeling and not wanting to show any fear, he continued to get undressed down to his boxers before slipping under the covers of his bed.

Just as he was falling asleep though he could have sworn there was the light touch of a soft hand carefully tugging the sheet up and around his shoulders—was she tucking him in?

This was followed by the gentle touch of fingers momentarily dancing in his long unkempt hair. Although he was already dozing off, he was still sure he felt something. His mom, they often cuddled on cold nights on the sofa while watching TV, had been prone to running her fingers through his hair in just such a manner. Sure it was her, if not it was a nice enough fantasy to think so, he fell into a deep sleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning, the very day before the one year anniversary of her passing, things took a seriously playful and somewhat naughty twist.

He was taking a shower in the upstairs bathroom when, after turning the water off, he stepped out of the shower to find the towel he left out on the bathroom counter was missing . . . along with the clean pair of boxers.

Having nothing to cover his naked body up with, he ventured out in the hallway, meaning to grab a fresh towel from the closet at the end of the hallway. He just opened the closet door, and was reaching up for a new towel when he felt someone lightly slap his bare behind before letting out a childish giggle.

His mom used to giggle just like that, all demure and childlike, especially when she was in a playful mood. Whipping around, he just caught a flash of movement, or so he thought, before whatever he thought he saw vanished into thin air.

Sighing, he wrapped the towel around his naked body, before trudging back toward the bathroom his heart beating wildly in his chest from that soft slap on his buttocks.

The next day, sadly, passed rather uneventfully. He was sure she would have tried to make contact since she died just a few minutes before midnight marking this day on the calendar as the official one year anniversary of her death.

He went to bed that night, earlier and more depressed than usual. Around ten forty five he awoke from a quiet slumber to the sound of crashing thunder.

The forecast for the evening called for heavy thunderstorms and apparently, for once, the weatherman was deadly accurate as first his room was momentarily lit up by a bright flash of lightning, followed bursa escort closely by a crack of thunder, literally shaking the old house to its very foundation.

Stevie sighed. Although not very manly, he always hated thunderstorms, especially at night. If his mother had been there with him, she would have been a source of great comfort, but as of yet there was no sign of her.

Climbing out of bed, he decided to head downstairs to get a glass of warm milk. Warm milk and some intense cuddling were both wonderful cures his mother in the not so distant past, used on him to help calm his nerves during storms.

Reaching over, he yanked on the chord of his bedside lamp. Nothing.

“Damn the power is out,” he muttered softly to himself as he reached for the night stand drawer.

Pulling one of the large taper candles out from the drawer, he kept a few there for just such occasions as the old house tended to lose power easily, especially after his mother passed.

After putting on a tee shirt and gym shorts, he lit the candle. With a heavy sigh, God he missed her, he trudged out in to the hallway and on down the stairs. For the moment his mind was focused on simply getting his glass of milk from the kitchen, drinking it down, and then returning to the relative safety of his bed.

The cuddling part of his mom’s cure was obviously missing which caused him to be more than a little depressed as he carefully navigated down the dark stairs holding the single candle aloft.

It seems that his mom, nothing short of an angel in life, had developed a bit of a devilishly streak in the afterlife as halfway down the stairs, someone or something, it had to be her he prayed, quickly brushed past him on the stairs while playfully blowing out the candle.

The stairs was plunged into utter darkness. Stevie froze. “Mom . . . is that you?”

When his only reply was a lonely silence, he started to turn, planning on heading back up the stairs, and back to his room to relight the candle.

Maybe it wasn’t her, he thought gloomily to himself. Maybe I left a window open before going to bed and it was simply a draft blowing past me on the stairs.

God knows it was certainly windy enough with the storm and all whipping around outside for this to be a plausible explanation.

But after taking only one step back up the stairs it happened. There was a quick flash of lightning and in that flash he saw her. Or thought he saw her. Or hoped he saw her and it was simply not an over active imagination playing cruel tricks on him.

The incredibly brilliant flash of lightning revealed a figure, she appeared to be clad in a tan nightgown, standing at the top of the stairs with a beguiling smile on her pretty face.

Jessie’s soft, motherly smile, it might have been her best feature on her slightly plain but still attractive face. Her short, fashionable hair, a light brown, was unmistakable even in the quick flash of lightening. The figure, as best as Stevie could tell, looked about the same height and size of his mother, five six, maybe hundred and thirty pounds, but it was that caring, motherly smile, speaking of enduring love, tender and kindness to him which was most evidence Stevie had the figure he spied was indeed his mom.

He knew that smile anywhere. How could he not considering it had ruled his life for as long as he could remember.

If that is not my mother, it’s the twin sister she doesn’t have, Stevie thought in the meager second and half this hauntingly beautiful figure presented itself to him. Yes, indeed his mother seemed to glow in unearthly beauty as she stood there at the top of the stairs, smiling down at him. If it wasn’t his eyes somehow deceiving him the fact was she appeared five, or maybe even ten years younger to him and abundantly attractive.

After the stairs nosedived back into utter darkness, Stevie stood frozen for a few long seconds, trying in vain to detect any movement at the top of the stairs. Finding none, he started to ascend the stairs once again. “It’s probably just my eyes playing tricks on me and some wishful thinking she was there,” he muttered to himself.

He managed to reach his room without further incident, and after lighting the candle once again, headed back down the stairs.

In a perfect case of déjà vu once again he felt something breezing past him, this time just as he was reaching the top of the stairs, causing the candle to first flicker before winking out.

“Christ, not again,” he muttered as he heard the door to his mother’s room open and then shut.

He considered chasing his playful tormentor into her room, but without the benefit of light decided against such a bold course of action. Instead, once more he scampered back down the hallway to his room.

After relighting the candle, his lesson learned, he took the book of matches with him before heading out into the hallway.

This time, unlike the previous two times, his playful tormentor, made no attempt at stealth. bursa escort bayan Instead, just as he was descending the stairs and was near the bottom, he heard the loud pitter patter of footsteps rapidly bouncing down the stairs behind him.

Before he could even turn around, he both felt and heard a loud puffing noise just before his candle flickered and then went out. This was directly followed by something a bit more ominous when his tormentor gave him a hard pinch directly on his butt.

Giggling, his attacker fled back up the stairs but not before Stevie was able to catch a glimpse of her as he, well prepared this time, quickly relit the candle, raising it just in time to cast enough light to catch a flash of color at the top of the stairs.

A flash of tannish color that is. Tan as in the same color of the nightgown he had thought he spied his mother wearing when the stairs were lit up momentarily by the quick flash of lightning.

Maybe she is real after all, he excitedly thought while again resisting the urge to give chase.

Instead, he continued on his journey to the kitchen, determined to get his glass of milk.

Leaning against the counter, candle in one hand, glass of milk in another, Stevie sipped on his milk as the house creaked and moaned while being lashed with the dual threats of both heavy wind and loud raindrops.

At least the thunder and lightning had ceased for the moment, he thought to himself as he drained the last of the milk.

Not ready to go back to bed yet, the warm milk needed time to work its magic, Stevie retired instead to the living room, cuddling under a heavy blanket he pulled from the downstairs closet.

Let her come to me, he thought wearily as he started to doze off on the comfortable sofa about ten minutes later.

He had just nodded off when he felt a soft kiss on his lips before a whispered voice was cooing in his ear.

“Search deep in your memories honey and remember a stormy night, just like this one, from the past, something both unpleasant and pleasant for us and when you do, and only then, come find me so we can both relive that night but this time . . . with maybe a happier ending for my baby.”

Bolting up from the sofa, he came instantly awake. Stevie knew the truth this time: it was her voice whispering softly to him which meant it was also her soft lips which caressed his just mere seconds ago.

But as beguiling as that kiss might have been, it was those soft whispered words about remembering the past that set his pulse to racing for his heart realized what they meant even if his brain, as of yet, wasn’t able to fully comprehend their meaning.

Wanting to follow her instructions exactly, he concentrated on the past. It didn’t take long for that night to come back to him. It had been both wholly wonderful and traumatic all at once.

He was eighteen years old and had just learned of his mother’s cancer not three days earlier, and how serious it was, when he experienced one of those god awful nightmares that can even scare older boys. That particular night, just like this night, was rocked by the crash and boom of thunderstorms.

The nightmare shook him enough where he was afraid to go back to sleep. Seeking comfort, from both the storm and the awful dream, he went to his mother’s room.

He remembered entering the room, she was at her vanity table brushing her hair, and very hesitantly admitted to having such a god awful nightmare he couldn’t get back to sleep. Smiling that soft smile of hers, she led him out of the room and downstairs to the cozy den, assuring him she had the cure for his awful dream.

While he started a fire in the old fashioned brick fireplace, she ran off to get a blanket for them to snuggle under. When she returned she was carrying not just the blanket but also a glass of wine.

He remembered how she quickly downed the wine before they snuggled together under the blanket. Wrapped in her tight embrace, he told her of his nightmare.

In his nightmare he was in alone in some unknown dark room with thunder and lightning crashing all around him on the outside. Suddenly his mom was there, across the room and crying. She was being assaulted by a skeleton type figure in a hooded black robe. He knew, with stark horrifying clarity just who her attacker was: the Grim Reaper himself.

Stevie jumped to his feet as the Reaper dragged his mother away. He recollected spotting a single word scrawled in sickly yellow across the front of his black robe: CANCER.

He needed to save her, but as he tried to catch them, it was like running in quicksand. The Reaper cackled; his mother cried as she was being dragged down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway a door opened. Beyond was a fiery room of dancing flames.

His mother screamed again as the Grim Reaper dragged her closer toward the flames licking out from that damnable room. Stevie redoubled his efforts, especially after he broke free from the sucking quicksand. escort bursa Running furiously he tried to catch them, but the hallway seemed to stretch out further, increasing the distance between them no matter how fast he ran.

It was all in vain. His mother disappeared into and beyond that wall of flame with the Grim Reaper still cackling manically. Stevie crashed against the door as it slammed shut. Beyond he could hear his mother’s pleading, crying voice, “Stevie save me, Stevie please . . .”

He woke up in a cold sweat then. His heart racing, tears streaming from his eyes. He knew then cancer was going to take his mother. The dream and then the retelling of it was the traumatic part of the night; the wonderful part was to quickly follow making it all worth it.

After he told her of the dream, he snuggled deeper under the blanket as he broke down in hot tears.

He remembered now her sweet whispered words and what happened next as if it just happened yesterday.

She raised his face up towards her, whispering, “Shhh baby, Mommy is here . . . Mommy is here.”

She then proceeded to patiently, to wonderfully, spray the entirety of his cheeks with light airy kisses before -blissfully—her lips found his.

They exchanged several kisses, her soft, sweet lips tasted of the red wine she just drank. He remembered how he wanted more, how those kisses make his cock quickly grow from soft to firm.

Sadly though, the firmness of his cock caused him to panic. Afraid of going too far, he pulled back, breaking off their kisses before she gently wrapped him into her warm embrace. Slowly his tear stained face sank down against her chest until it ended up squarely in the soft valley between her deliciously nice breasts.

God how he wished there was nothing between his cheeks and those lovely breasts of hers but there was: the pretty tan nightgown. Yes, the same nightgown he spied her wearing when the stairs were lit up briefly.

The past now properly remembered, Stevie rose to his feet, hoping, praying that is, she would be up in her room, waiting for him to come to her . . . and complain of being scared by an awful nightmare.

As Stevie slowly climbed the stairs he realized he would not even have to lie about having a nightmare as this whole past year, without her, had been a true living nightmare of loneliness.

Holding his lit tamper candle out in front of him, he slowed as he reached the top of the stairs. Turning toward her room, he noticed the door was shut tight now but there seemed to be just the faintest of light coming from under it.

He moved slowly toward her bedroom, pausing as he reached the door. He listened and heard nothing before slowly pushing the door open.

She was there; sitting at her vanity table, combing her hair out. She was wearing a tan nightgown. Assuming it was the same tan nightgown he spied her wearing earlier on the stairs, the same one she wore the night of his bad dream so long ago, he slowly advanced across the bedroom to her.

The faint light he spied came from several flaming small tea light candles spread out on the table in front of her. She continued to brush her gorgeous short light brown hair, apparently unaware of his presence.

Stevie had left his mom’s room totally alone after she died. He simply refused to get rid of any of her stuff. It just would have been too painful. Now he was glad as she sat there using the expensive Mason Pearson hair brush he got her as a Christmas present on the last holiday they celebrated before she passed.

Crossing the room some of the things he read about ghosts came back to him. How they often repeated their actions from when they were alive. This certainly seemed to be the case tonight as he recalled how his mom used to sit before going to bed, every night, brushing her hair in front of the vanity mirror. Often, even when the power was not out, she would brush her hair by candle light as she had a bit of a fetish for candles.

As he moved directly up behind her, he blew out his own candle before tucking it in the pocket of his gym shorts. She finally acknowledged his presence when she gave his reflection in the mirror a sad smile.

He returned the smile before whispering, “Mom . . . Mommy . . . I . . . I had a bad nightmare. It was awful.”

She stopped brushing her hair. Carefully, she placed the brush on the vanity table as their eyes met briefly in the mirror causing his heart to race.

Looking down at his feet, he shuffled them nervously, afraid this whole surreal experience was nothing but a dream itself. But if it was a dream it was very much threatening to become a “hard” dream as he was more than a little firm down there.

This firmness was caused by staring at her in her nightgown. The sleeveless gown, it was not, per se, sexy, as it wasn’t particularly tight, nor short, stretching all the way to the floor, but instead it was, like her, simply nice and pretty.

Adding the only color to the otherwise solid tan of the gown, the cups covering his mom’s nice 34 C breasts were covered with a series of beguiling, fairly wide, alternating dark pink and light brown stripes. Inside the stripes were a series of small heart shaped figures.