The Haunting of Twisted Oaks Inn (#10-B)

[Adelina]

Knowing she looked positively daft, Ivy gaped at the spectre as he stood calmly in front of a bookcase with a steady expression on his face. He looked completely at ease. How could he just stand there like that? Finding her tongue again, Ivy mustered enough wind to ask, “How…?”

“I was pretty shocked myself,” said Hurley. “I guess he really wanted this back.”

Ivy looked down at the desk, where Hurley’s fingers tapped the handle of the old paddle. Apprehension twitched at the back of her mind. Pointedly ignoring it, she felt her resistance warming up again. She set her hands on her hips and looked directly at Hurley through narrowed eyes. “So, what exactly were you saying about me?”

“You are the caretaker of my house.”

Ivy’s head whipped around to face the spirit. “You really need to broaden your vocabulary, Mister…Ghost, or whatever you are.”

Hurley cleared his throat and said, “His name is James, by the way.”

Ivy stared dumbly at James-the-ghost, feeling a bit sheepish that she hadn’t thought of asking his name before. Score one for Hurley.

“He seems to have some concerns about your housekeeping skills. And I have to say, given the condition of your office here,” Hurley said, making a sweeping gesture over her messy desk, “I second his motion. You need to learn a lesson, dear lady.”

Ivy’s incredulous expression was met with a barely-detectable wink from Hurley. So, this was his little game, then. May as well play along. Arms crossed and feet rooted to the floor, she cocked her head slightly aside and looked into Hurley’s dark eyes. “So… what are you going to do about it, then?”

A broad smile graced Hurley’s face. He answered easily, “We talked about that, too.” Hurley stood erect and looked down at the clutter atop the desk for a moment before brushing the whole heap over the edge to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Don’t worry about that,” Hurley told her, his smile never wavering. “We’ll take care of that later.” Hurley walked toward Ivy, stopping just a couple of feet in front of her. He leaned forward, setting his hands on his knees so as to look directly into her eyes. “First, we need to take care of you.”

Ivy felt that newly-familiar churning in the pit of her stomach as Hurley’s face hovered so close to her own. The subtle musky scent of his cologne made her head spin for just a brief moment. Frozen where she stood, she idly mused that this was not the way her plan was supposed to go. She was supposed to resist, to stand up for herself. How is it that this person, this Hurley, managed to dissolve her shield so easily? She’d had a plan, a clear plan. Alas, change of plan. Too fast, this change. Back up. Rewrite. Do-over!

Hurley was back at the desk, beckoning her toward him with the slightest twitch of finger. In spite of herself, Ivy felt her feet moving, then her hip touching the edge of the desk. “Good girl,” Hurley said softly, sending an unexpected shiver through her veins. She gazed in puzzlement as he rounded the desk to stand on the other side, facing her. Suddenly, she felt enveloped in chilly mist. James. She’d forgotten he was there.

As Hurley had done, James leaned toward her, bringing his ashen face close to hers as he spoke. “Let this be a reminder to you, to always keep my house in order.” Ivy nodded silently. She was feeling too numb with thrill to respond aloud. Her eyes followed the reach of his pale hand toward his beloved wooden tool as it lay on the desk; her stomach flip-flopped as he picked it up and brought it toward her chest, tapping her breastbone ever so slightly with a smoothly rounded corner. “You will get six, and you will count them.”

The fog lifted just a bit as she processed his words. That couldn’t be right. She raised an eyebrow at the ghost. “Just six?”

"Don’t be fooled, Ivy. This is not to be like the last. This is different.”

Ivy felt a twinge of uncertainty, but a quick glance at Hurley’s steady expression reassured her that she would be okay. She allowed herself to be pushed over the desk by frigid hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some sort of nodded exchange between the two men. Hurley’s hands then circled her wrists, pinning her to the desk. She looked up at him with alarm. He simply shook his head and continued his steady gaze. These two were complete synchronized in their intent, and it was clear to Ivy that she had no way out. She swallowed hard. No one spoke, and Ivy found her mind wandering, her eyes focusing intermittently on the grain of the wooden desk as she waited.

The blow came at once, without warning. It was like nothing Ivy had ever felt before. Pure pain, penetrating deeply, radiated from the curve of her bottom where the paddle had struck. A loud wail escaped from her lips. She instinctively flew up from the desk, only to be pulled back into place by her endearing captor. She fumbled in speech, managing to stutter a few choice curses just before the second blow came. At this, she found her voice, spewing various epithets in angry protest. She fought with all her strength against the grip on her wrists, but it didn’t help one bit. She was stuck.

“You are forgetting something.”

A pause followed. In her panicked state, Ivy honestly didn’t know what he meant. “What?”

“Count.” Another solid stroke found its mark, and the sound of it echoed around the room. “That’s one.”

“What?! No!” yelped Ivy in a fluster. “That’s not fair!”

“Fair matters not. I am in charge, not you.”

The paddle fell again with equal force. Through her pain, Ivy heard Hurley’s voice murmur from above her, “If I were you, I’d start counting.”

At this, real tears started pouring down Ivy’s cheeks, and she sobbed in earnest. Taking a deep, deliberate breath, she squeaked out in a tiny voice: “One.”

“Very good.”

The burn spreading over Ivy’s skin rapidly increased in intensity, becoming agonizing as the ghost continued his course of action. Stray thoughts flew about inside her mind as she struggled to maintain her position, even as she desperately wished for escape. She was not even aware of the violent shaking of her legs, consumed as she was by the depth of the ache. Somehow, Ivy managed to keep enough wit about her to utter the numberings… two… three… four….

“No more!” Ivy howled, panting heavily.

“Two more.”

“Noooooo!”

With the fifth blow, Ivy fell limp, exhausted and defeated. She buried her face in her arms, still held in place. Her count, buried within a muffled wail, brought the sixth and final stroke to its target, connecting with a thunderous crack. There wasn’t much reaction this time from Ivy, as she was already about as depraved as she could ever get. A swirling vortex of sensations surrounded her, covering her like a blanket. She felt entirely disconnected from her surroundings, and envisioned herself floating into some sort of emotional limbo where pain did not exist.

“She will be fine,” James said confidently to Hurley, who was gazing upon the sobbing form with some concern. “Emotions have taken over. It will pass.”

Hurley gave a dull nod in the general direction of the ghost. He let go of the girl’s arms, sliding himself over the surface of the desk in one graceful movement. Very gently, he lifted Ivy from the desk and carried her to a cushiony leather armchair in the corner of the room, where he sat and held her securely in his lap for a long while. Time ticked slowly by, marked by the clicking cogs of the clock on the wall. As she fell asleep in his soothing embrace, his tired eyes fixed on those of the ghost one last time.

A fading, raspy voice told him, “This is yours now. Take care of her.” And with a satisfied nod to Hurley, the spectre James set the paddle on the desk, turned toward the office door and left, never to be seen again.