WREN WE GO A-HAUNTING.
By Way Zim.

Post Possession Depression.

On Halloween night, two men: or one man and one who might be, if only for that raspy guttural voice beneath the shabby pitch black hood, sat dejected in Uncle Berry's bachelor pad, each muttering to themselves about girls. Well, it was actually one girl in particular, whose inquisitive brain was as desirable to them as her naturally curvy figure and sweet dimpled face.

Wren Adams, with her wide fluttery eyes and innocent personality, had a literal open mind: not only for new opportunities but to controlling spirits as well. Whether by talisman or lightning strike, or even alien portals, though mostly from incredibly horny psyches, Poor Wren was becoming a favorite puppet for their puerile sexy fantasies.

"Wren and Halloween. " moaned Uncle Berry, who was less an uncle than a lecherous admirer: especially when he got into the mood of the season. "Stockings & garters, bustiers and bras ... "

"When did she start wearing garters? " His Name is Not Important interrupted as unseen ears perked up from under the concealing hood at this news. "And why wasn't I told? I miss all the good stuff. "

"It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter anymore. " the sad-faced man whimpered rather selfishly - and repetitively. "I've been in the dog house since that awful three-way with those assholes. Three guys fighting over occupying one luscious body, and she didn't get busy with even one girl. "

"You're right. " His Name is Not Important decided gruffly. "I gave over the ultimate tool of control to you, and what did I get in return? One public striptease, a bikini carwash, a little fashion spree at some lingerie shop, mostly feeling herself up and perhaps some action in the bathroom ... oh, wait. That was someone else. Still, it's just pathetic. You're worst than those weird computer nerds in that 80's movie ... "

"You're right, we are. " Uncle Berry announced with a sudden finality as he tried to slam down an entire can of beer, failing even at that as he spat most of it right back up. "So maybe I should just call it quits right now. Hell, it's the right time of year, and as a ghost I couldn't get any less action ... "

"You'd be surprised at how many spirits think that. " chuckled H.N.I.N.I. before those shaded eyes opened wide. "No, you're right. It should be in keeping with the spirit of the season. And I know just the spooks to help. "

"Well, I guess that let's me off the hook. " Uncle Berry sighed with some relief, before he saw H.N.I.N.I. meaningfully look his way. "Ok, let me get a glass of whiskey, a bullet and a ... "

"No, not that you idiot! " hissed the cloaked figure with unconvincing evil. "I will need you to make a call though. Wren Adams is singing tonight? At some little pub? "

"Which I'm banned from, for other reasons. " Berry countered sadly. "I was doing something sorta naughty. Normally naughty, but the bouncers must have been gay the way they wrestled me out the door. And I'm not that convincing with the lying ... on the phone or otherwise ... "

"If you call her, she will come. " insisted the hooded man, before pausing to suck up the microbrew without a single pause, then crushing the can rather decisively. "Especially if you sound like someone else. Someone she trusts. "

Do Ya Wanna Party?

At the Bend: Over 21 club, Wren plunged into her short set enthusiastically, getting back the usual mixed reaction from the costumed crowd. Mostly they were bemused by her songs, though Point The Gun actually got respectful applauds all around. The guys (clearly ) were more interested in her outfit than her music, which was a silvery sequined crop top complimented by a short black ragged hem denim skirt, with a matching beret ... and who would've thought straight men could be so into women's fashion?

Several of the girls, however, were deadly with their opinion of her performance, as many critically elbowed their dates for the night: which Wren totally understood since the boys were adorable - as a rule. Still, she had a few supporters along to back her up. There were some other musicians: generally men, but also a nice lesbian singer - although Wren didn't swing that way - who all wanted to play with her.

And they often handed her a tambourine or simply had Wren clap to the beat, though a macho band called Rooster's Doodle Dudes did have the girl coo her way through a sexy number which was oddly called Slammin Sister. And it sounded like they meant it too ... Ew.

In fact, they were so revved up by the finish, that Wren felt pretty much disgusted with the way this night was ending. Eventually she retreated to the bar to simply nurse a drink just as her phone rang. "Hello? Who is this? It's Kirsten? But I thought you were sick and couldn't come out to play. And why do you sound so different? "

"Uh ... " the caller hesitated, while some spooky voice in the background whispered something she couldn't quite hear. "Hmm ... I have a little cold, but I still want to have some fun. I'm not a creep pretending to be ... Ouch! I mean, I'm your best bisexual friend Kirsten, inviting you to a seriously hot after hours party. "

"Oooh, I don't know. " Wren protested rather meekly, as she could rarely refuse Kirsten anything. "I know it's Halloween, but I was just thinking about going home early, microwaving some popcorn and watching a few scary vids. "

"I could come over, and you can put on that short nighty that you mysteriously got in the mail, which you didn't tell anyone about and just happens to fit you perfectly ... Ouch! Again! " gushed the voice, which suddenly sounded exactly like Kirsten's. "I mean, this party will make me ... it will make you sexy ... feel better. So let me give you the address, OK? "

"Alright, I'll come. " Wren finally gave in, grabbing a pen and a note pad off the bar. But as she wrote down the directions, some doubt popped up from out of her boundless mind. "Wow! That is one creepy place! The old Bradbury Manor on Mocking Bird Lane, but wasn't it condemned years ago? Or abandoned, or something like that? "

"Oh no. " Kristen countered quickly. "It's a great possess ... party house. And you don't have to wear anything, uh ... because your costume's there. I picked it out for you especially. Uh ... so see you there? "

"Yah, OK. " the rather bewildered singer/web blogger answered back, as bright confusion won out over dim warning bells as she thought to herself. "Wow! This sounds very last minute! But if that's the case, how'd Kirsten get me a costume so fast? And if she's already at the party, why don't I hear any music or something? Well, my best friend wouldn't trick me - except maybe as payback for that embarrassment with her boyfriend & those nude pictures, which I don't remember doing - but still this might be a fun time. "

So Wren walked the fifteen blocks from Bend: Over 21 to what was considered to be the seedy section of town - which was actually not that much different from most other parts of town - where the Bradbury Manor was. For a potential firetrap it really wasn't in too bad a shape, even if the tall columns holding up the narrow second level balcony were only slightly less wobbly than the leaning tower of Pisa.

"I think some professor type once said that this place was a whore house ... like in the 1920's, maybe. " Wren thought to herself, before she braved the creaky front steps and squeaky porch to pull the ringer. "And I think a bunch of its customers supposedly died here, because of a gas leak. Funny that not one of the girls did. At least I didn't hear that they did. "

The sickly sound of the dying bell spooked her somewhat, and Wren gulped nervously as the oaken door silently opened to blackness beyond. "Right! Great Haunted House, Guys! " she called out with an attempt at a brave voice, even while taking a hesitant step across the threshold. "You can turn on the lights now. And what's that sound? More Booze, less Boos ... OK? "

"Less Boos ... yah, that's clever. " suggested a rude subliminal voice from above, as an otherwise translucent male face peered down through the balcony at the lovely view directly below him. "Hmm, more Boobs, though it's been awhile. Hey Tommy? How long since we had a nice rack like that come visit us? "

Another ghostly but otherwise regular guy adjusted his old-timey glasses to better see what his ethereal house-mate was gawking at. "I dunno, Jerry, those sorority chicks in 1966? They got plucked pretty quick, left without a stitch by the time we were done scaring them. Wait a sec, what about that parapsychology major from about 1978? “

“A Twiggy wannabe ... “ a fat balding sweaty spook in a wife-beater’s shirt and frumpy shorts grumpily interrupted. “And there was the girly assistant producer with that reality TV crew from cable, almost twenty years ago - was her name, Pamela? We barely got a touch of that, although she did turn a slit skirt into a split apart skirt running out the door. But anyway, forget the trip down mammary lane, what’s so special with this one? “

“She’s a gift from His Name - Blah, Blah, Blah. “ Jerry coyly informed his pals, with a tone that perked the porky phantom’s ears right up. “An honest to God open vessel, ready to accept all possessors, which by the end of tonight will allow us to ... Levi? What the Hell are you doing? “

Wren felt that now familiar bump take her over, which was like a bus making a sudden jarring stop, quickly followed by a breeze from nowhere as a faint echoing thought complained, “Man! For all that junk in the trunk and those headlights out front, ya’d think this girl could easily handle an extra large helping of ectoplasm. So let’s this caboose movin, sweetheart! We dead guys only have until dawn to get it done, after all. “

"I don't think I have any junk in my trunk! " She protested stoutly to herself, wondering just why she'd think of something like that in the first place. "And where am I going? Where's the party at? "

"The Party's in your body, and every phantom here is invited. " Jerry declared, even while giving Levi the spectral evil eye. "If some spook would stop being a Bod Hog! "

"Just hold your four horsemen. " Levi shot back, still getting used to the swing of Wren's sassy hips. "If every ghost is to have a go at getting what they missed while alive, we should at least dress her down for the part ... Right? "

"Ghosts? That's silly, I don't believe in ghosts. " Wren strongly announced, even if only for herself, as she was compelled to climb a narrow staircase just ahead of her. The house, while quite derelict, still had some of its original fixtures scattered about - with a grandfather clock near the door, a draped piano by a front window, and a satin settee in the middle of the parlor; which must have seen a lot of business in its time. And out from behind every bit of furniture, detached shadows now seemed almost to advance upon her.

And it appeared this parade of shades followed close as she was abruptly stopped on the second floor, spying an old fashion claw footed tub in one bedroom. "Time enough for a bath? " asked Levi of his audience. Whereupon for Wren, the silent chorus seemed to signal consent ...

BLINK!

"Wow. " Wren gasped some time later, feeling herself again as she leisurely dried off with a thick fluffy towel that seemingly materialized out of thin air. "That was some HOT bath ... although I'm not sure where the water came from in a deserted manor like this - or the luffa sponge - or how my back got so totally scrubbed - and I still don't know where Kirsten or the party is - or where my feet are taking me now! "

"I'm taking you to prepare yourself for all of us. Where before, we could do little more than simply haunt - " Jerry thought for his hostess with the mostest for the ghosties, as he took control so gently that it made her tingle in delight. "- now everyone who those whores left behind to die of asphyxiation, we'll finally get to finish what we came here for. "

"That's so creepy .. but kind of sad ... but still very creepy. " Wren decided as she was drawn into a velvet dressed bedroom. "I don't know how I know all this ... and yet those guys came for a good time only to get gassed to death. Ooh, and this was one of the places where it happened. "

Driven by both Phantom Jerry and her own natural curiosity, the towel clad girl opened a weathered old wardrobe to find sexy antique clothes inside, some so naughty it made her blush - all from a time you'd only see now on a certain cable series. "Wouldn't you like to dress up like a floozy for us? " he suggested with a nicely naughty mental nudge.

"I don't even know what that means. " Wren groused, though the allure of all this vintage fashion was really attractive to a young lady who liked to dress up. "But since there's no other soul around, and I was going to spend the rest of the night, Home Alone ... "

BLINK!

"What was that all about?! I didn't even know I could do the Charleston - if that's what that crazy dance is called. " the gussied up young woman declared proudly, even as she tried to preserve some modesty ( though from whom, she couldn't say. ) by pulling down the thigh high fringe dress to better hide her 20's style undies. Still, there was a satisfied warmth inside which in turn made Wren feel oddly pleased with herself. It was like she was making a lot of some-ones very happy on this enchanted evening ...

BLINK!

" ... I don't stay out late - Don't care to go - I'm home about eight - Just me and my radio.
Ain't misbehavin' - Savin' all my love for you ... " She found herself singing like Betty Boop to an old crank operated record player and a seemingly empty bedroom; though in Wren's mind there were definite applauds for her performance. And she was currently dressed down to a lace trimmed bra and panties, complimented by silk stockings held up by frilly garters, all deceptively covered by a sheer flower pattern robe.

The dusty but still fine bed sheets were turned back now. And there was an air of expectation surrounding the underdressed girl which made her shiver - though with delight or dread she couldn't say. But it almost seemed; on an already very strange Halloween night, that this would be the last thing asked of her. At least it would be from this place, and at this moment in time ...

"If she does this final act for us, we're done here. You do know that? " Levi interrogated Jerry, even as Tommy and the other spirits lined up to have Wren fulfill their special spectral requests. "We move on into the light ... and why does that sound so familiar? "

"Well, it's too soon for me, but that's what His - etc, said must happen. " Jerry agreed, already feeling an impatient tug from the other side. "But that's the price for getting our jollies ... "

BLINK!

Wren abruptly woke up naked beneath the satin sheets, still in the empty whore house with the late morning sun blazing through an uncovered window. She felt very exposed herself, as the wardrobe was now empty and her own clothes seemed to have vanished as well. Fortunately her small glittery clutch purse was laying on a table, and next to it was a rather battered calling card with one word written in formal script, which simply said: THANKS.

So Wren Adams wrapped the sheets round her several times, and while her figure firmly pushed through in embarrassing places, it was better than nothing at all. And for those interested pedestrians who kept staring at her as they passed by on the street, she snippily cracked, "What? You've never seen Cleopatra before? "

And when the girl got home at long last, she called her best friend to firmly demand an explanation concerning last night - and just what was that all about anyway? But when Kirsten finally answered, Wren was surprised by the intense sniffling and coughing at the other end, as well as the firm denial from Kirsten that she'd done anything but dope herself with cold medicine and go to bed early.

And once again, Wren Adams had experienced something really odd, and more than slightly pervy, for which she had no good answer - until that bizarre phone message from some lady professor at the community college: Sylvia Abercrombie. It turned out that she was the one Wren had seen lecturing on TV about the Bradbury Manor, and she wanted to meet with Ms. Adams ... at her earliest convenience ...

She's A History Professor?

The first thing Wren noticed when she'd arrived on campus, was the gaggle of boys loitering outside Professor Abercrombie's office. That was until a stern German secretary dismissed them, at which time the crew shuffled off with tiny sighs of disappointment. But as the young lady meekly started to explain she did have an appointment, this somewhat butch woman waved her through - with a lingering look of approval which followed Wren until she'd closed the door behind her.

And standing in front of that big oak desk, she could easily understand why those guys were so hot for teacher. Sylvia Abercrombie had a slightly mannish face and seriously amused smile, with a supermodel's body beneath the professional white blouse and fitted knee length tartan skirt. Those smoldering amber eyes behind the owl rims academically inspected the petite singer/web blogger.

"I suppose you want to know why I called you, Ms. Adams. " a very sultry voice inquired politely, and Wren imagined that her male students were always very distracted by the come-hither tone Sylvia used. "Well, we do have a mutual attraction here it would seem ... "

"Um, I'm flattered & you look great ... really great, but I don't play that way. " Wren blurted out before things got out of hand - or too far in hand. At her saucy interruption, there was another blink - but this time it was from Miss Abercrombie who now smirked rudely. "I'm talking about the Bradbury Manor? "

"Oh, that place. " the totally blushing younger gal answered quickly. "But I was there less than a week ago. How could you know ... ? "

"I'd been working on a campaign to have the manor registered and restored as a historic landmark. " Sylvia explained coyly. "And while I waded through all the paperwork, and an appalling lack of funds - I also tried to keep a watchful eye on the place. There are always Vandals, kids sneaking in to make-out or steal stuff. "

"But it's haunted ... isn't it? " Wren asked, and she expected the professor to snicker at such nonsense. To her surprise, Sylvia actually had the opposite reaction, adopting a sassy smile of her own as she pulled out a tall stack of photos from her desk. "That's the rumor. And by a unique gang of ghosts too ... all male, all moneyed - it wasn't called the Roaring 20's for nothing - all killed by a mishap with the gas main. "

"It wasn't murder? " ventured Wren, and Miss Abercrombie absently shrugged her shoulders. "Who can say? Perhaps only the ghosts themselves, which is an interesting thing by itself. Fifteen gents died that October night in 1923 - but the madam and her ladies did not. Still, from the handful of actual paranormal incidents I've uncovered so far, it was some motive other than revenge that was keeping them earthbound for so long. "

"Fifteen guy ghosts. " murmured the suddenly queasy girl, thinking about those suggestions in her head toward the end of the witching hour. "Stuck in an empty whorehouse. "

"Until they could find a way to satisfy their final desires. " Professor Abercrombie finished, echoing Wren's thoughts back at her. "Which brings us to the reason I wanted to see you, Ms. Adams ... um ... in the flesh. Like I said, I was looking after the place, and a friend had texted me that maybe someone had broken into the manor on Halloween night. It's a great place to scare up some spooks for All Hallows Eve, yes? "

"Ah, I was invited to a late party and got the wrong directions - I guess. " Wren lied, to which her interviewer clucked a tongue in a stern rebuke. "Or the right address in spite of yourself, even if you don't think so. It seemed there was a party, although whether you were a guest or the favor ... well, I guess that doesn't matter. In either case, when I got the word in the morning I rushed over. I was just in time to spy a pretty girl wrapped up in fancy bed sheets, hurrying out the door and down the street ... "

"Yep, somehow I was overcome by a sudden case of nudity. " Wren finally admitted. "But as for the rest of that night ... "

"Which I'm sure was as confusing to you, as was your eventual state of undress. " Sylvia consoled her, giggling in a non-professorial manner. "But you'll be glad to know that apart from fresh water stains around an old bathtub, and a vintage box camera set up in the master bedroom, nothing else was touched ... "

"Wait! What?! A camera? How?" Wren stammered as Professor Abercrombie playfully turned a few of the sepia tint prints around so she could better see - at which point Wren turned several deeper shades of red as Sylvia critiqued both the photography and its attractive subject. "It's really arousing: historically speaking, of course. Every naughty pose from the enthused model was done in the exact style of that time period. Especially when you placed your hand right there - near to your ... "

"I don't remember doing any of that! I wouldn't do that! Yuck! " protested the now totally mortified girl, while the older woman smiled sweetly. "Maybe somebody photo-shopped my head onto old dirty pictures? Maybe it's just a lady who looks exactly like me? "

"Or more likely not. " the laughing teacher quite gleefully corrected her, even as Sylvia took a few fresh pictures of Ms. Adams with her own camera. "I had the paper tested, along with the emulsion and other aspects. It's not just that the materials were original 1920's stock, but the way the film's degraded? That confirms your boudoir shots were taken exactly ninety years ago. "

"So ... I can maybe have them now? " Wren requested casually, where upon her soft appeal the Professor immediately shuffled the photos together and shoved them back into a drawer as she said, "I'm afraid they're now the property of my department, sweetie, destined for the archives until the Bradbury finally becomes a landmark museum. Then they'll be openly displayed as part of an exhibit of the sexier side of that classic era ... "

"So I can't have them back. " repeated the musician/singer/web-blogger, if only to confirm the soon to be publicly viewed evidence of her latest humiliation. To which Sylvia cheerfully agreed with some weak consolations. "Well maybe once we have everything ready, you could become a reenactor for the cause? Since you clearly have a little experience in that area? But think of it like this, hon. In your own small way, just as George Washington did, where you slept will now be considered an important part of history. "

Wren wasn't that convinced by the other's mocking enthusiasm, wondering if one of her paralegal friends might help her sue the panties off this woman. But if she did then everyone would know about the pictures anyway, and it would be like free advertising for Sylvia Abercrombie's pet cause, so forget that. Well, at least there was a small consolation in all of this, as those naughty photos were out of sight for now, safe under lock & key ...

And while Wren Adams nursed her bruised ego over this Halloween's tawdry trick, across town Uncle Berry found a manila envelope with some interesting pictures inside, and a note which read, "Thanks for the phone help. I'm sure this will straighten you up as well. Signed; His - and so forth and so on.

Finis?