I am so sorry this chapter came out so poor. I really was in a funk when I was writing it and it seemed to rush, especially when I went back through to proof read. I originally write all of these chapters in notes on my iPod, so please excuse the lack of everything

P.S

Short masturbation scene. Ends quickly.


Chapter 4

John didn't move in right away, not feeling right about moving his stuff into a house that wasn't fully paid off. But when the house was paid for he began moving his belongings into the garage.

Although the house was nice, it was dark and littered with spiderwebs from one corner if the house to another. So he bought up as many cleaning supplies as necessary to prepare for his long task of making the house look liveable. The moment he got back he grabbed the broom and went to work, sweeping up the dust covered floors, then tackled the thick curtains of spiders webs that veiled the windows.

John was really quite surprised how much brighter the downstairs had seemed after the webs were removed and the floor was all swept. Grabbing a bottle of glass cleaner he began washing the windows of all of their watermarks, smudged finger prints and dust.

From there he grabbed a wash cloth and carefully washed the walls, making sure any dirt was clean from them only to reveal that they weren't just bare, they were wallpapered with white paper that had been scorched from the fire. He swallowed a bit, staring at the areas that were scorched and the other areas that were dyed by smoke. He'd have to paint over them. But later.

Once he was done washing the walls he went out and grabbed a few of his end stands and entertainment system. Carefully he dragged them in setting the end stands up against the longest wall and the entertainment system up against the opposite wall before he went back out to grab a few more things.

Searching through his belongings he grabbed some of his clothes and towels and brought them upstairs, putting half of the towels on the shelves in the bathroom then went to the master bedroom and placed his clothes on the bed. Turning around he saw that there was already a dresser, pressed up against the wall at the foot of the bed. A dusty vase sat on top of it with a ring of hard water stains. The dresser was a cherry wood, imported from what he could tell and intricately carved. He dragged a finger over the designs. Someone had taken good care of this piece of furniture.

Turning back to the bed he grabbed some of the clothes and folded them up, sliding them into the large spacious drawers. He hung up his suits and dress shirts and blazers inside of the walk in closet near the bedroom door then closed it.

Once he had put away all that he carried up he went back down to the garage, stuffing blankets, curtains and shower curtains into a large hamper and carted it all back upstairs. Stopping by the bathroom first he placed the curtain up around the claw-foot tub and dropped a bath mat just outside. Grabbing the curtains and curtain rods he turned to place them up over the glass wall of the bathroom but stopped. There was already a bar as to which he could hang his curtains on. Smiling he pulled the long bar down and slid his own in place before replacing the bar on their big brass hooks.

Grabbing the hamper he made his way to the bedroom and placed the folded blankets at the end of the bed. He would worry about dressing the bed later. Tucking the hamper into the corner of the room he made his way back downstairs and looked around the living room. He rubbed his hands together, trying to figure out what he should grab next. The only thing running through his mind was how dark it was. Then he remembered he had a few lamps tucked out in the garage. Turning he made his way out and grabbed them, bringing them back in.

He placed them on the floor and grabbed a container of Lysol wipes. Pulling a sheet from it he wiped all of the collected dust from his end stands that had stuck to the surface from the mist coming off of the ocean then tossed the sullied clothes into a trash bag he'd used to collect the dust and spiderwebs from the floor and windows. Outside, the sound of a car pulling up brought a smile to his face. Setting the lamps on the end stands he plugged them in and turned them on. The room lit up fantastically, but the burnt wallpaper made him grimace.

"Hey, I'm here!" Harry called, the sound of her shoes hitting the porch steps as she climbed the porch.

"About time." He called back, trying to keep his smile from impacting his tone of voice.

"Eat me." She replied walking in. She looked around, her eyes on the wallpaper. "Jesus. It smells like Lysol and camp in here." She muttered, her nose crinkling.

"It won't smell like that after it's painted." He replied, not exactly disagreeing with her. He gave the wall a quick look over before looking back at her. She was donned in a baby T showing off her stomach and a pair of short shorts and sneakers, her hair pulled back. "Forget to get dressed this morning?" He teased, smirking.

"They're called 'work clothes'. Not everyone is willing to scrub walls dressed like a professional kitten hugger." She retorted, pulling the front of her shirt down a bit to cover up her stomach. He chuckled, nodding.

"So I was thinking...how about lavender?" He asked, staring at the wall.

"Oh sure, then you'll have plenty of light when you invite your boyfriends over for a tea-party." She retorted, looking at the wall in distaste. His forehead crinkled as he turned his back on the wall, his lips pursed.

"Lavender isn't a gay color."

"It so is." She looked at him incredulously.

"No, it's not." He shook his head, trying to defend it.

"John, lavender screams put your willy in my mouth," she rushed him, a smile stretching across her face.

"No-"

"Let me gobble it up-"

"No-"

"Omnomnomnom!" He stopped, his head tilted away slightly as he tried to hide his laughter behind his hand. She grinned, watching him. Pulling his fingers from his lips he waved his index finger at her, his mouth open as he tried to regain composure.

"No. Lavender is a spring color. It doesn't eat up light and it's calming." He explained.

"Then use cream." Harry insisted, grinning. John put on a mock grimace.

"But cream is such an ugly color." Her jaw dropped, a hint of a smile still in her features. Placing her hands on her hips she playfully glared at him.

"Well then someone needs to head upstairs and start burning half of his ugly jumpers." John rolled his eyes, chuckling before nodding.

"Fine, fine, cream it is." He looked around for a moment, a thud coming from upstairs. Harry jumped before her eyes slid to the ceiling.

"I really wish that cat would land a little softer." She muttered, her hands dropping to her sides. "Did you ever figure out how it keeps getting in up there?" She looked at him, her eyebrows knitted. Everything in her being screamed ghost, but she tried to look at things from a logical perspective. As John had said, ghosts don't exist, and it was already proven that it was the cat that made all of the noise upstairs.

"There's a leaning trellis against the back of the house. I guess she just uses it as a ladder to get up on the balcony." He shrugged, grabbing the bucket full of mop water that he'd used earlier and brought it to the dining room. "What do you think about the rest of the house? What should we paint the other rooms?" He looked around. The wall paper was black all over but it there was no actual damage to the walls that weren't fixed, luckily enough.

"I don't know. Purple?" Harry looked at the kitchen and dining area. He stood up straight, a look of appall on his face.

"For the dining room?" He looked at her his face twisted. "Purple is associated with foods people don't enjoy, like eggplants or purple cabbage. So psychologically it's an appetite suppressant. Warmer colors like yellow or red increase the appetite. Colors like purple should be used for creative areas, like the office or other rooms." He stopped, thinking it over for a second then bit his lip. "Actually, purple is kind of a bad color I guess. Blues are calming so you would put those in a bathroom or bedroom. Gold in an office." He explained. "I think a yellow would be nice." He turned his attention back to the dining room walls, his arm propped up to cradle his chin. Harry stared at him, her arms crossing. After she didn't reply or move he looked up, catching her pensive look. "What?"

"You are so gay." She dropped her arms, making her way for the door. He laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I lived with Mary for 6 years, Harry. You learn things living with a woman. Of course I shouldn't have to tell you." He followed her.

"Of course. In your case you learned how to put high heels on and paint your fingernails." She teased, heading out the door. She made her way down the steps, heading for the garage.

"I told you those were Mary's nieces. It doesn't matter how manly you are, if a little girl tells you to let her paint your nails and have a tea party with her, you do it." He followed her as she made her way for the couch set up off to the side, but unburied so they could grab it.

"What were the high heels for then?" She grabbed one side of the couch, bracing it tight and moving it over so she could get a good grip.

"New Years party, they were arguing about how women complained about trying to impress men and how being a woman isn't that hard. So the women forced us to wear their shoes." He explained, walking around to grab the other end of the couch.

"Be sexist," Harry looked at him. Leaning down she grabbed the couch and lifted. John lifted from his end as well and started walking, making sure to support most of the weight so she wouldn't hurt herself -after all, she was sick.

"I'm not sexist," he grunted, being careful not to run her over as they made their way across the yard. He stopped as they got to the porch. "Step up." he said, tilting his head to the side to peer around the sofa, looking at the steps behind her. He waited as Harry stepped up onto the bottom step of the porch, taking the stairs carefully so as not to knock herself over. "I was one of the only men who knew just how hard women work." He explained, keeping his eyes on the steps. "Ok that was the last one." He winced as she hit the top, his arms starting to hurt.

"Then why did you have to wear the shoes?" Harry questioned, hurrying so that John could climb the stairs and they could get the couch inside.

"All of the men had to," he wheezed a bit, taking the steps, almost tripping on the last one. "Put it down." He leaned down, putting his end down. Harry followed suit, panting a bit. "It was a...collectively suffer for the stupidity of a few type of thing." He huffed, bent over, his hands on his knees.

"Oh yikes." She grimaced. "Well, men deserve it for being sexist bigots." She replied. He stood up, rubbing his arms for a second before pointing at her.

"Now you're the sexist bigot."

"What?" Her forehead crinkled. "No."

"Yes, yes you are." He nodded, pursing his lips.

"How so?" She huffed.

"You said 'men deserve it for being sexist bigots'. You're pinning the blame on all of them. If you would have said 'they deserved it' then you would have been addressing the few idiots who actually were sexist bigots." He smiled. "It's important not to create a double standard. If you expect something from someone, make sure to do it in return." Shaking her head she leaned down and grabbed the couch.

"Damn feminist." Carefully she hoisted it up. Grabbing his end he lifted it up and helped her move it into the house and to the area where the end stands were, sliding it into place between them.

"If you think negatively about feminism then you haven't seen real feminism." He frowned. "Harry, feminism isn't just about equal rights for women, it's stopping people from using the word "girl" or "woman" as an insult. It's about respect for everyone, male, female, transgendered. Because believe it or not men are a victim as well. Being insulted and taunted for being too feminine because they like art by being called a pussy, or expecting women to shave their armpits because they're women and considered eye candy, or so that men aren't beaten up in the streets for being a nurse instead of a doctor." He spoke passionately, looking around the room as he explained. "Of course it's not as bad here as it is in the US, but still. You should be adamant about it."

She looked at him, her jaw taut as he spoke. She crossed her arms, not liking the conversation. "I just don't care about it. It doesn't bother me."

"So it doesn't bother you when a straight male asks you whose the man in your relationship?" He cocked an eyebrow. Her lips puckered, a look of insult in her eye. That's exactly what he was aiming for because he knew she hated that question.

"Come on, let's go grab your paint." She muttered, letting her arms drop again. Turning she made her way back to the door, her hand digging into her pockets to pull out her keys. He forced a smile and grabbed his jacket, following after her. You learn a lot about respect in the military. You're neither a man nor woman. There you're just a soldier, an ally, a friend. When he was deployed he'd learned that women were just as good as men. Running, shooting, giving orders. Women were just as good and it felt nice knowing that if there were no men around to help him, there would always be a strong, selfless woman behind him.

Getting to the car he slipped into the passenger seat and buckled up. He didn't say much as she pulled out, making her way to the nearest store, and it wasn't until they got there that she said something.

"Did you figure out the colors you wanted?" She asked, grabbing a trolley that was left by the entrance and pushed it through the automatic doors.

"Um, I think I have most of them. Yellow for the kitchen, light blue for the bathroom and master bedroom. Lavender for the guest room, a crimson and gold for the study's. Cream for the living room." He stopped as they reached the paint section, the associate refilling the color mixing machine. He approached the color samples and started digging through the color swatches, looking for the right colors.

"What about the halls?" Harry asked, looking through them as well.

"I don't know." He admitted. "Maybe a blue like the master bedroom?" He pulled out a lavender and cream color before searching for a red.

"Like this?" She pulled out a strip with a nice light blue. It was very calming and brought a smile to his face.

"That's a good one." He admitted. "I like that. Maybe I should change the halls to cream color?" He mused.

"Cream and white is nice. You'll have to paint the ceilings white." She said, not looking up from looking through the colors. John nodded.

"I have no problem with that." He admitted then smiled as he pulled out a lighter yellow color. Not super saturated but still colorful enough to make the room bright and happy. Digging through Harry found a nice gold and crimson color for the study and handed them to him.

"These it?" She asked, turning away from the samples, looking at him. Pulling away he took the cards and looked over them. Pulling a pen from his pocket he marked them blue= master bedroom and bathrooms, gold and red = study's, cream= halls and living room, yellow= dining room and kitchen, lavender= guest bedroom.

"Yep I believe this is good." He admitted. "I'm debating on putting siding up on the outside of the house as well. Or just painting it." He brought the swatches to the desk and waited as the associate finished what he was doing. "All semi gloss with primer in it please." He requested as he slid the cards forward. The associate nodded and turned, punching in the codes for each of the paints and stuck the buckets of plain white paint into the mixer to be mixed.

"I recommend siding, especially by the water." Harry said, looking through some pamphlets that were located off to the side of the counter for designing your house. "The water might not let it dry. Last thing you want is Nosferatu's play house to have bubbling monster paint growing off the sides."

"I thought so too." He admitted, chuckling. While the associate mixed the plates, John went and looked for some rollers and paint brushes. Grabbing a few of each and a couple paint trays he came back and placed them in the trolley along with some tape and a roll of plastic to place along the edges of the floor to keep from getting paint on them. After an hour the associate labeled all of the paints with a drop of paint on the top of the can, then handed them to John. Thanking him John loaded the cans into the trolley and made his way to the front of the store. He'd worry about looking for siding later.

"Have you been looking for a job?" Harry asked once getting to the check out. Grabbing a scanner John scanned all of the cans, the total coming out to 125.32 pounds.

"Not yet," he admitted, swiping his card.

"Card invalid, please use another method of payment." The machine crooned. John blinked, nodding, trying again.

"I know the card works," he swiped it again.

"Card invalid, please use another method of payment."

"No, it's a perfectly good card." He argued. The machine repeated itself, making him flustered as everyone in the check out around him looked up at him. Biting her tongue Harry stepped forward, grabbing for the card which John tried to pull away from her. Snatching it she pushed him off to the side and covered the card in the bottom of her shirt before pushing it through, then removing it she dragged it through and waited. The machine was silent, then processed, bidding him a nice day.

Pulling away she shoved the card back into his hands and grabbed the trolley, heading for the door. "How did you do that?" John questioned, following her, looking down at the card then back up at her curious.

"Sometimes dust built up makes it hard for the machine to read your magnetic strip." She explained, pushing the trolley through the doors and out to the car. "The tip is to not get mad at it. Because then you make yourself seem insane." Opening the trunk she put the paint in the back and shut the lid before putting the trolley in the corral.

John didn't say anything as he climbed into the passenger seat, wondering how come he'd never thought of that. Pulling out Harry made her way back to John's. No words were exchanged as they drove, John thinking about the task at hand, trying to figure out how much time it would take to finish each room.

When they got back to the house they pulled into the driveway, parked the car and got out. Harry climbed out first and opened the trunk, grabbing a couple of the cans of paint. Getting out John followed her lead and grabbed the last few, following her inside, tucking the painting supplies under his arm.

He opened the can carefully, then covered the borders of the floor with a foot wide strip of plastic so the wouldn't worry about getting it on the floor.

They didn't waste any time, painting the walls white first so the color would be even and vibrant, then carried on to do the same in the dining room as they waited for the living room to dry. Once the walls were painted white in the dining room, kitchen and downstairs bathroom they made their way back to the living room and poured the cream color into a tray and began painting the walls a light cream color. John couldn't help but smile as he painted, the place already looking much better.

Upstairs a loud thudding startled him a bit. Pulling away from the wall he turned and looked at the ceiling -which needed to be painted as well. 'What a noisy cat' he thought to himself, a smile on his face as he shook his head. Turning back around he pulled back startled, a large delicate hand-print pressed in the middle of the paint, just off to the side of his head. He smirked, rolling his eyes. Harry always did like to mess with him.

Grabbing more paint on his roller he painted over it, telling himself he was going to keep his eyes glued so she wouldn't do it again. After finishing the section he was working on he slid down, making his way around the room. A couple more thuds coming from upstairs but he ignored it. Once finished with the living room he rinsed the painting tray with the cream in it and poured in the yellow to start painting the dining room and kitchen -which only took the better half of an hour- then proceeded with the bathroom. Rinsing the tray and filling it up with the color respectively labeled 'Marine blue'. It only took 3 or 4 hours before the downstairs was finished. Once they had finished he stepped back with a smile, being careful not touch his paint covered hands to his face.

"How about we eat dinner on the porch?" He asked, looking back at Harry who had managed to splatter some paint on her leg. He was beginning to feel high from the fumes and he knew that fresh air would be welcomed.

"Sounds good to me." She agreed, putting the brush back in the tray and headed through the dining room to the front door. John followed but stopped off in the kitchen, telling her that there were a couple lawn chairs -from a couple camping trips he'd taken with Mary- in the garage that he could set up on the porch so that they could sit.

He didn't actually have any food yet, but he had bought a couple sandwiches and some crisps for when Harry came over to help -and an extra in case Clara had decided to come. Grabbing the two wrapped sandwiches and a couple small bags of crisps he walked out, being careful not to touch the door too much -which they had painted white.

Looking up he saw Harry making her way from the garage, holding a couple lawn chairs. He smiled and found a good spot to set them where they were overlooking the ocean. Putting the food under one arm he took one of the chairs from her and set it up before taking a seat. He sighed in relief. He had been working for at least 6 or 7 hours and the sun was starting to set, but he didn't mind.

Once Harry had claimed her seat he handed her her food. "Thanks." She smiled before looking at it. "John, did you get this sandwich from the Petrol station?" He started unwrapping his sandwich, looking up for a second then nodded.

"Yes, why?" She looked at him incredulously before shaking her head, unwrapping it from the plastic.

"Nice, first meal you have in your house is a shitty petrol sandwich." She muttered. He stopped staring at her just as he'd stuck a lettuce covered finger in his mouth.

"Well I don't exactly have plates now or a stove do I?" He turned his eyes back to his sandwich and took a bite. "Besides, it was on the way. Since when did you start hating Petrol food?" He snickered, chewing and swallowing.

"I don't, I just thought maybe you would have assembled a little nicer of a meal for the first time in your new house." She said, biting into her sandwich. "Like those cabbage rolls in the fridge." She reached up, covering her mouth as if trying to keep the food from falling out as she talked, the bread muffling her words a bit as she tucked the bite in behind her cheek.

"I guess I could have dirtied up some plates to eat cold cabbage rolls on the porch," he smirked, looking at the ocean. "I just wanted a sandwich." Not much was exchanged after that, both just sitting on the porch, looking at the ocean. John couldn't help but feel guilty and sad as he'd missed his visitation with Mary, but he knew it was a good thing. He needed to start letting go, and for the first time in a while he felt comfortable and content.

They watched as the sun began to set over the water. The blue turning a magnificent shade of purple and pink, but a black rain cloud cast a threatening shadow. In a matter of minutes, rain started to fall. A warm rain, comforting. It hit the water of the bay in ripples, stretching out far before colliding with another and vanishing, only to be replaced by another.

"I should get going." Harry said after a few moments. Pushing herself to her feet she took his garbage and balled it up, stuffing it inside her crisp bag tightly. "The walls should be dry by now. Sleep with a window open and the fumes won't bother you." She smiled, turning to face him. Standing he walked over, hugging her tightly.

"Thanks for helping. It would have taken me all week to get the downstairs finished." She hugged back.

"Oh don't I know it." Pulling away with a smile and patted his arm before turning and making her way to the front of the porch. "Sleep well, I'll be over in the morning to help you move the rest of your stuff in and paint the halls." She covered her head with the garbage, making her way down the steps.

"Do you need an umbrella?" He asked, standing by the railing, looking after her concerned.

"No I'm good!" She called back. Running to her car, she grabbed the door she pulled it open and threw herself in, slamming it behind her. He leaned against the post, then waved as she looked up, the car roaring to life. She waved back before backing up, turning around and driving out of sight. He stared after her for a bit before looking at the garage. With a sigh he stepped off the porch, making his way across the quickly puddling ground. He was soaked before he got to the building. Grabbing the door he pulled it down and locked it. He had too many valuables in there, he didn't want them getting destroyed or stolen.

Turning he made his way back to the house, enjoying the warm rain, but something out of the corner of his eye stopped him. He looked up at the balcony, his eyes squinting as the rain raced down his face. There was a dark figure, like someone leaning against the corner of the house looking at him. His heart jumped as he blinked the water free, but when he opened them it was gone.

He stared up at it, his mouth hanging open. He had no idea what it was, but for some reason it unnerved him. Turning he made his way back to the house and walked in, ignoring the smell of paint, or the fact he was dripping water on his floor -but he did remove his muddy shoes.

Grabbing the door to the office he pushed it open and raced through, running up the stairs taking two steps at a time. Hitting the top of the steps he waited, listening carefully. He made his movements quiet and still. The thing was, with old houses like that it was hard to move silently in, but John knew where to step -courtesy of military stealth lessons.

He carefully crept in through the guest room, barely making any noise at all, keeping his ear open. He would know if the person was moving from the sound of the floorboards.

Getting to the opposite side of the room he grabbed the door to the balcony and opened it, looking out. There was no one. Slipping out onto it he kept his ear open still, but it would be a bit more difficult with the sound of the rain. He moved quickly, looking into each of the study's, the bathroom and master bedroom. When no one was found he straightened up and stared out over the ocean, rain pouring off of his face. He felt stupid.

Sighing he turned and pushed the door open, walking into the bathroom. Grabbing his soaked jumper he began to pull it off as he shut the door with his foot. Dropping the shirt to the floor he started to unbutton the soaked white button up he had on underneath when the sound of the cat meowing reached his ears. He turned, looking out onto the balcony. There, drenched, was the cat. Walking over he pulled door open, letting her in.

"Wet, huh?" He grinned. She rubbed against him, purring, meowing over and over again. "Well don't yell at me for it, you're the one who wanted to be on that side of the door when it started raining." He smiled, shutting the door once again.

Walking over he grabbed a couple of towels he'd brought up and leaned down. He draped one of them over the cat, rubbing it to dry it off. The cat stood still, purring as the towel mussed up her fur. Occasionally she meowed at him, making him laugh. "Oh yeah?" He smiled. Once the cat was thoroughly dried he stood and went back to unbuttoning his shirt. "My turn."

The cat meowed at him before turning, walking in circles. John stared at her as she ran in circles as if at someone's feet. She stared at the ceiling, meowing over and over again. "You're a mental one." He grimaced before the shirt plopped to the floor. Turning he turned the shower on, pulling the curtain closed. He stood there as the hot water began steaming, the steam filling the bathroom. He grabbed his belt and pulled at it, pulling it free from his belt loops. Folding it he put it on the counter.

John stared at the fogging mirror, his eyes tracing over his pale body but as always, stopped on the scar on his shoulder. He was discharged as an army Doctor after he'd been shot, and that scar brought so many memories back to him. He lifted a hand, a finger tracing it, then suddenly something caught his eye. He quickly looked down. There in dried cream paint was a big hand print. He sighed and grabbed his pants, pulling them off, boxers and all.

"Son of a bitch." He muttered, holding them up to get a better glimpse when an image of a man standing behind him in the mirror caught the corner of his eye. Gasping he dropped the pants and whirled around, looking all over the bathroom, but there was nothing there. John stared, swallowing hard as a cool breeze dragged itself across the front of his body. A draft. Possibly from the door. It made his already cold skin prickle as his heart raced.

Leaning against the counter he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was being ridiculous. He was tired and he was seeing things. It was Harry's fault for telling him it was haunted when he knew it wasn't, but he never fully dismissed the idea that it could be, so it was haunting him now. He shifted a bit, feeling a strange sense of excitement at the prospect that he could have actually bought a haunted house.

Another breeze rolled across his body, causing his goosebumps to get bigger, but that wasn't all. Looking down, he noticed that somewhere in either the fear or excitement he'd gotten half of an erection. He sighed, shaking his head, then with a stern look he glanced at it. "Shut up." Off across the bathroom the cat looked up from her nose buried in his wet jumper, kneading it and screamed at him. "Not you." He looked at her before turning to the shower.

Grabbing the curtain he pulled it open and stepped inside. The warm water felt like fire against his cold skin but he welcomed it. He closed his eyes, letting the water rush over him. He didn't have any of his toiletries with him, so he would have to do without for now. Carefully he ran his hands over his body, scrubbing at certain places, then grabbing the drain stopper he placed it in, turning the heat up.

Bending down he grabbed the sides of the tub and lowered himself so he was sitting. He let the water rain down on him as his eyes closed. He'd always wanted a tub like this. Something relaxing, something big...

His mind started to wander, wondering what it would have been like if Mary and him had moved in here. She would have loved the view of the ocean from the balcony. The wrap around porch.

Soon his mind drifted to the tub. He imagined both of them sitting side by side, the hot water pouring onto them. The drops of liquid running down her shoulders and chest from the strands of hair she got wet. The slight pool that would collect as she held her legs together, her knees drawn. He closed his eyes imaging her hand running down his chest, cold, not yet warmed by the hot water. The curtain opened a bit but he ignored it. It was probably the cat.

He went on day dreaming, imagining her lips at his neck, her body shifting to wrap around his. He took a deep breath, his eyes opening as he looked down at his lap. His half mast stiff was standing at full attention now. The slight breeze that came in through the opening in the curtain was welcome as he tilted his head back, spreading his legs. His eyes closed as he grabbed himself, rubbing his thumb up and down the shaft, his mind replacing it with his wife's hand. He moaned, feeling a bit of shame course through him which he justified it with the thought "she's my wife, I can wank it to her all I want!"

He closed his eyes again, his hand sliding up and down his shaft, tugging a bit. God it had been a long time since he'd gotten laid. A two months before Mary died was the last time he's seen any action. He moaned, picking up the pace, his minds eye running down the beautiful frame of his beloved, dearly departed wife. A passionate fire ignited in his loins, his legs quivering as he squeezed, pulling. The hot water from the shower mirroring the very warm and inviting cavern of the woman he missed dearly. In his mind, he heard her moans, her breathy sighs with each pump of his fist. A cold hand traveling down his chest to his hips. His breathing came, short and shallow, his hips rolling as water splashed up the sides of the tub, rushing over his stomach. With a deep satisfied groan, the fire traveled from his loins, through his shaft. His breath hitched, his groan turning to a whimper as his pleasure splashed up his stomach in the form of a thick blanket of white that washed away with the pounding water.

He stared down at his member, his hand shaking. A tear hit his cheek. Reaching up, he wiped at his eyes, not bothering to hold back the tears. He missed his wife. He missed her more than anything in the world. He covered his face, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he sobbed openly. "I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do anything."

Reaching forward he pulled the drain plug from the drain and shut the water off cutting his relaxing shower short. All he wanted to do now was sleep. Pushing himself to his feet he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around himself, ignoring the howling cat that followed close behind.

Getting to the master bedroom he flopped down on the bed. He ignored the folded blankets at the bottom. He laid there, his wet hair drenching his pillow beneath his head. He ignored the canvas feeling of the mattress below his shoulders.

Suddenly there was a thud. He groaned, wondering what the hell the cat was jumping off of to make such a loud noise, when footsteps followed. His eyes snapped open, his heart stopping dead in its tracks. They were light footsteps, but they didn't belong to a woman.

He sat there, his fingers twitching a bit as the footsteps came to a stop just outside the door. The cat meowed. But it was what followed it that frightened John. A soft whispy, other worldly voice. Deep and rich hushed from the hall. "Ssh."

He stared, his heart leaping into his throat. "Nope." John got up and grabbed the first thing he could, slipping into them. His sadness he had been feeling a moment ago, brought on by his quick pleasure session completely gone. "Nope, nope." He made for the door, shaking his head. Pushing it open he rushed down the hall and for the stairs. The cat howled, following after him. Reaching the bottom of the stairs John whirled around and screamed. "Stop following me!" The cat stopped, staring at him confused. The house was silent for a moment when footsteps started up again. John laughed, feeling as if he were losing his mind and screamed. "Nope! Nope nope nope!" He turned and ran for the door, grabbing his car keys on the way through. He didn't even bother shutting the door as he jumped the steps and raced for his car.

He ripped the door open and threw himself in, slamming the key in the ignition. Turning it on he slammed it in reverse, the headlight illuminating a figure in the window which hovered there, staring out at him. Then in a minute, it just vanished, disappearing completely. John stared at it in petrified awe before slamming on the gas, the car jerking backwards. He spun the wheel, the car spinning in the mud. Stopping he slammed it in drive and slammed on the gas, racing down the drive to the main road. Speeding along the road until he could no longer speed, heading for his sisters house.

Harry and Clara were just about to get ready for bed when the sound of a car door slamming shut stopped them, followed by a frantic knock at the door. Sharing a concerned look with each other they raced downstairs. Harry pulled the door open, shocked to see John standing at the door, drenched, pale as a ghost. He stared at her, his eyes slightly bloodshot as he panted. "My bloody house is fucking haunted!"