It's Beths fault (?/F)

Start Date: October 1, 2018
End Date: October 31, 2018
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RopeBunny
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It's Beths fault (?/F)

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Sarah is driving, mostly because she has access to a four wheel drive, which we expect to need tonight. In the backseat, beside me, Tasha, for the third time asks "Are we close yet?"
"Ten minutes closer then the last time you asked." Retorts Beth from the other front seat, maps spread out on her lap. This is her play, her idea, her mad adventure. Halloween night, we should all be out dressed as slutty witches or something, getting wasted, instead she's variously begged and bullied us out here, to spend a scary night doing a scary thing. We're off to see a ghost.

At a stop sign, Sarah turns left, beginning the climb up a steep hill, what we're seeking is, apparently, at the top. A hangmans Gibbet, near the village of Combe. I look out of the window, at a countryside devoid of any lights, not even a farmhouse. I shiver, suddenly feeling isolated, nerves starting to creep up on me. "Here. Turn right. Right." Beths shout makes me jump, as Sarah steps hard on the brake, swinging the big car in a tight turn, bouncing onto and down an uneven gravel track. She slows down, nearly to walking pace, and turns on the high beams. We all peer out of the front window, leaning forwards. Searching. Holding our collective breath. A fence appears before us, and Sarah brakes to a stop. As she does Tasha points wordlessly straight ahead. There, at the top of a small hill, sits the Gibbet.

It's tall, a skeletal wooden finger reaching into the sky. We all stare at it in silence, mesmerized. And then Beth claps her hands, making us all jump. "Fuck." Exclaims Tasha, whilst I, scared as I am, utter a small scream. Sarah kills the engine, but leaves the lights on, tutting at us all, then turns in her seat towards Beth. "Well? Here we are, miles from the nearest pub. What now?"
"Okay." Beth consults her scribbled notes, taken from a combination of books and online forums. "This isn't the original post. Some cult in the 50's chained a virgin up to it and burned her. Some kind of dark sacrifice. Her ghost appears, but only if you set a small fire using a combination of Willow and Cedar wood." She looks up at us, and scowls, catching us all on the verge of giggling. I feel bad, she really does believe in all this, but tonight will be the third paranormal no show. "Sorry Beth." I say, leaning forward to give her a hug. The other three mumble apologies. "Come on, I'll help you with the fire." She smiles. "Thanks Morgan." And we all get out.

Unfortunately, in all her research there's one important fact Beth missed.

We zip up hoddies, and stamp booted feet against the cold. Somehow, despite the wind, we manage to start a small fire using wood we bought with us, near the base of the post. Huddled together for warmth, we wait, and wait. Beth sighs, disappointed, and Tasha gives her a hug. I shake my head. Poor girl. The three of us turn around, putting our backs to the post, but before we can take a step Sarah is tugging at Beths shoulder. "Wait. Look." We turn, she's pointing, and our eyes go wide. Seeing. As though someone is turning a dial, fading her in, the ghost appears.

She's young, and several shades of white. Her dress, a simple slip on knee length, is brightest, her long curling hair is almost grey. As are the chains. They wrap her and the post, in crisscross patterns, holding her tightly in place, accentuating her curves as they lift her breasts or pinch at her slim waist. Part of the chain has been forced into her mouth, her white teeth biting down on it. She doesn't move, only stares. At us? Straight ahead? It's impossible to tell. Beths smile is huge, Sarah whistles through her teeth, I just shake my head, lost for words. Beth breaks the silence. "One of us needs to touch her." We all stare at her, horrified. "Just to see, you know. To make sure she's real."
"But if she's a ghost," Tasha whispers, "you can't touch them anyway. Right?"
"Beths right." Sarah is nodding. "Someone should check." We all look at one another, but even ghost hunter Beth seems unwilling to volunteer. So, after a moment of silence we all realise, the way close friends do, what needs to be done. We play scissors paper, and I lose.

The other three hang back. Is it a trick, or are her eyes tracking my approach? Face to face, I reach out, tentatively, prepared for everything and nothing. I touch her, and feel a surge race up my arm as her eyes go wide. The world turns white and I shut my eyes instinctively.

When I open them again, nothing makes sense. I'm staring at myself, watching as I smile back at me. Is it a mirror? I try to smile too, but can't move my mouth. I can taste metal. Somethings wrong, I can't move. I look down, at my white dress, then up, at the old wooden post disappearing skyward. I struggle, hearing the clank of the chains, feeling them digging into me. My friends call out to me. "Come on Morgan, we're getting cold, and Beths got vodka at home." The girl who isn't me, but wears my body, is still smiling. "Morgan, right." She mutters. Then, louder. "Give me a moment girls, I'll meet you at the car." They wave, and leave. My imposter leans in close, but doesn't touch me. "Sorry Morgan, but it's how I got caught too," she digs out my phone, checks the timestamp, whistles, "five years ago. You'll have to wait now. Just like me. And the girls before me." She looks down at herself, at my body. "Thanks for the upgrade." Looking down inside my hoodie. "What are these? An E? I was a B. Sweet. Anyway, got to go, meet your life." She grins. "My life." She blows me a kiss, and leaves, abandoning me. I struggle, but it does no good. As she reaches the car she says something to the others, the sound of their combined laughter carries up to me on the wind, as a light drizzle begins to fall, extinguishing the fire.
HomeIntruder
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Post by HomeIntruder »

Very well written horror story!
MaxRoper
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Post by MaxRoper »

Great story. Well done!
Thanks for posting.
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Nexus
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Post by Nexus »

Short. Simple. Creepy! Very well done!
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gaggednbarefoot
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Post by gaggednbarefoot »

Sensational
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