My Brother, the Incubus

This story contains descriptions of close family members engaged in entirely inappropriate activities that some may find either disturbing or hot. If you find family members fantasizing about or taking liberties with each other or otherwise behaving in naughty ways, then you probably should stop reading right about…now.

All characters in this story are fictional and are eighteen years or older. Any resemblance to any real person, living, dead, undead, returned from the dead or under the age of eighteen is in your own dirty little mind. Sadly, most of the events portrayed in this story are not based on true events. Then again, it may include my post-death plans.

If you are still reading and are not offended by BILF or SILF and believe siblings behaving in very naughty ways is hot, I hope you enjoy this story.

It happened the same time every night.

Sometimes I awakened in a full-blown panic–sweating, breathing hard, confused about where I was. Other times, I simply woke up while it was still dark. Eventually, I stopped looking at the alarm clock, because invariably it read the same exact minute.

1:13 am.

This time was burned into my mind. Digital numbers clicked over to this time in the grainy B&W video, the one which, once seen, could never be unseen. Played on the large screen TV in the courtroom.

Hal, my brother, was waiting for someone beside his car. According to the date stamp at the bottom, he arrived at 1:37. For 3 minutes he waited. A Mercedes pulled up, and Stitch got out. Stitch was his street name, a drug dealer and known thug with a rap sheet a mile long. The sort of person who my brother was familiar with, but a different circle than I hung out with.

For thirty seconds, the two spoke. For the next fifteen seconds, they argued. Then, in one final second, Stitch pulled a gun from a holster tucked behind his back and, without hesitating a second, shot Hal in the face.

It did not seem real when the prosecutor played it at Stitch’s trial, my brother’s body collapsing like a rag doll on the cold pavement. He never moved again. Not when Stitch drove off, not when a large black puddle of blood grew in the parking spot beside my brother.

After the trial, the prosecutor gave me his phone, no longer needed as evidence. It was in his pocket when Stitch shot him in the head, and the text messages between Hal and his killer were evidence at the trial. They had opened it with his fingerprint, taken from the morgue, and installed a password instead, so I could search his life through the photos and videos inside.

“Be careful looking at his media,” the prosecutor said after the conviction. “Some you will probably find disturbing.”

It was the only thing I had of my brother. His apartment was ransacked by the time the police got there. Sure, they found some of his clothes, some of which still had his scent, and were in a box in the corner of my bedroom. But his phone chronicled the last year or so of the life of a guy who was not on social media because–well, let me tell you some more about Hal.

We grew up as opposites. Hal was 5 years older than me, so I was always a kid to him. While I was a good student, a nerd, shy and awkward, he was a vision of beauty, grace and trouble. He was a typical bad boy, and was constantly in trouble during high school.

His real name was Halloween, named for his birthday. I never understood our parents’ sense of humor. When your name is Halloween, two things happen: you use a nickname, and you grow up tough because you will be picked on every day of your life from your first day at school.

After high school, he moved away, and rarely came home to visit because our parents did not get along with him. Hard to blame them, with all the trouble he caused, but he was always nice to me, protective and fun. Women loved him–girls back then–and he treated me as well as the gorgeous girls he went out with before my parents gave him an ultimatum, which he took by moving to Florida.

The next time I saw him was when, a few days after my 18^th birthday, our father lost control of the car on an icy road and plunged down a hillside. They did not find our parents’ bodies for 3 days. When they did, Hal returned home for the first time in years, to help me sort out their affairs. Hal held me when I cried, comforted me, helped me through those dark times.

“You really turned out pretty well,” he said.

“Thanks,” I answered, not sure what to say after he said two of those five years he spent in prison for some unspecified crime he didn’t want to talk about. He was even better looking in his early 20s, just as charming, and probably much more dangerous.

“No, I mean it.” He pushed my hair back from my face. “You are about a hundred times prettier than I expected.”

“Stop it! No I’m not!”

“Seriously, no joke. You can try to hide it, but I almost wish you weren’t my sister,” he said.

Funny, he was reading my mind. Not many guys had complimented me for anything other than my academic achievements. I was too skinny, too shy, my eyes were too big and I still looked 12, even though I was a legal adult about to graduate from high school. While I was grateful for his help, the one thing constantly in the back of my mind during the month he stayed there was how much I wished this gorgeous bad boy was anyone other than my brother.

He took thousands of dollars from my parents’ estate with him when he left.

It pissed me off at the time, written out of the will as he was, but I supposed he deserved something. Hal was their only son, and I had enough to pay for college and then some from what was left. So, I forgave his theft. After all, what else did I expect from him?

Two years passed, and we rarely talked. Occasionally he sent me a new phone number, but never kept one for long, so I eventually stopped trying to keep up.

My info was in his phone, though. That’s how the police found me when he needed someone to claim his corpse from the morgue.

The weird thing was, the first night I woke up in a cold sweat was not when I saw the video, or when the detectives told me the details. No, the strange thing was, I woke up in a cold sweat at 1:13 am the night he was killed. At exactly the moment a 9mm slug tore through his beautiful face and his lifeless body collapsed on the ground.

After my parents died, I retreated into a shell, where I remained for most of my freshman year in college. During my sophomore year, I took a few tentative steps out, and soon found myself with a group of friends, a boyfriend and a pretty normal social life.

Death has a way of changing people. My brother’s death hit me like a runaway train. I did not retreat to my shell, I crawled under a rock, instead, and there I stayed. I withdrew from classes for the term, which the university allowed me to do both because of the bereavement but also to attend the trial. It started right away, primarily because prosecutors had the whole thing on film and they took the death penalty off the table because–well, my brother was a thug, too. And no one gets a lethal injection for killing another asshole during a drug deal.

Somewhere along the way, my boyfriend ditched me because I lost what little interest in sex I had before my brother’s brains were blown out. Which was fine with me, because the last thing I wanted to see then was his naked body, and dumping me in my time of need reinforced my feeling that guys suck. The only one I ever really cared about, other than Daddy, had a bullet hole in his face until his body was cremated.

His ashes were in a small box next to the box of his clothes in the corner. I didn’t have the energy to put them away in a closet somewhere. Someday I would spread them on some beach or mountaintop, but I was not ready yet.

I don’t remember exactly when the sex dreams started. After my boyfriend dumped me, that much I am sure about. And around the time I decided enough time had passed to risk opening his phone.

In the time he had this last phone, Hal took a lot of photos with a lot of women.

A lot of women.

Parties, bars, outdoors. Selfies and group shots, virtually every one featured a beautiful woman. They were all over him in the pics, and he was all over them. Arms, hands… One, obviously at a Halloween party where he was dressed as a pirate–of course–a wench with impressive boobs popping out of a low-cut top and a witch with skin painted green all the way down to her cleavage were both kissing him. One of his hands held each girl’s ass.

Not nearly as bad as the prosecutor made me worry about, but I did not see them all. And I was afraid of the videos.

My first dream was not such a big deal. I was running around my house nearly naked in lingerie. I hated my body because it made me look like a middle school girl–an underdeveloped one, at that. My tits stopped growing at A. At 5’6″ and barely over a hundred pounds, when I say there was not much to see, I mean it literally. My nipples were rosy and they were okay, if too big for my tiny titties. Everything was backward! Why didn’t I have big boobs and small nipples?

But in my dream, it wasn’t so bad. It was like I was watching myself in the apartment, undressing, taking a shower, sleeping in the nude. In real life, I never slept nude, even with my boyfriend, so after dreaming it thought, why not?

That’s when I woke up, and was laying there with a pleasant feeling. Turned on, which was weird.

My phone buzzed with a text.

It was 1:13, so I almost ignored it since there are only a few reasons for someone to text at this hour. Drunk dialing or an even more drunken booty call. Or an emergency. That last possibility made me roll over to snag my phone from the bedside table.

Hi!

It was from Hal. I must still be dreaming. Hal was dead, his brains blown all over some parking lot, and his phone was about all I had of his. By the time the cops searched his place, while someone had emptied it of almost everything, no one bothered to take his phone off his corpse lying on the pavement.

I stared at it, trying to make some sense. His phone was on the dresser across the room where I left it after perusing his photos. My eyes went there, and saw the glow from his screen. That made no sense, either, because I made sure to turn it off. I had no charger for his, which was different than for my old phone.

I got up to turn it off to save the battery, wondering if he sent it months ago, and somehow it was delayed, because nothing else made sense. As I started to power his phone down, I decided to check the history.

There it was, an outgoing message to me. Hi. At 1:13 today.

Gooseflesh covered my entire body, and I powered that damn phone down fast as I could before crawling back into bed. And there I cried, because as much as I hated what Hal had become, I still loved him and missed him. Eventually I cried myself to sleep.

The next night, I had pretty much the same dream. I was behind slightly foggy glass in the shower, washing my disappointing body. Well, at least I have a nice ass, I noticed when I turned around. I watched myself drying off, walking naked to the bedroom, and had a strange sense of déjà vu. In the bedroom, I recognized myself picking out the clothes I wore that day. The same bra and panties, the same tight jeans, the same pink top. Exactly as I had that morning.

I awakened feeling like I was tied to the bed. I could not move. I could feel my arms and legs, but they were uselessly lying there with me. Only my eyes worked, which is when I saw the clock. 1:13. I felt like a rat on one of those glue traps, completely unable to move a muscle of my body no matter how hard I tried. My eyes scanned the room, because that was all I could do other than lay there staring up at the ceiling.

There, by the bathroom door, was a shadow. A person. The shadow moved.

I tried to scream, but like my petrified arms and legs, my vocal cords did not work, either. The shadow moved again, and as I watched in horror, it began walking slowly toward me.

Halfway across the room, the shadow faded. As it did, whatever held down my arms and legs and prevented me from moving my head released its grip on me. I leaped up and turned on the light, but I was alone in my room. Panting, drenched in sweat, but alone. I checked all the doors–which were locked as they should be–then crawled back into bed, covering my head with my blanket and shivering myself back to sleep.

The memory of that dream left me terrified the following day. That night, I had every light in the house burning. All I could think of was Hal, how he used to protect me when I was a kid. For some reason, I pulled up his text and sent a response.

I miss you.

I went to his phone, turning it on. My message buzzed, but I ignored it. I flipped straight to the videos.

Naked feet and legs walked across a floor I did not recognize. But I heard Hal’s voice, obviously filming himself. And his dick came into frame a couple of times. Why do guys enjoy filming their own dicks? It was hard, too, which–um, okay. Hal called out to someone, and a girl showed up around a corner.

“Hey, I need your help,” Hal said.

The girl was gorgeous, vaguely reminding me of someone although I could not think of who, and she looked down below the phone as he got close. His hand reached behind her head and pushed her bleached-blonde head down until she was on her knees before him. She didn’t say a word, just started playing with my brother’s cock, caressing it, then licking, and I almost switched the damn thing off, but found it oddly fascinating.

That girl started sucking my brother’s cock, and let me just say, she was a damn pro. I was impressed, and a bit embarrassed. I had not sucked many dicks, and when I did, I sure did not have this girl’s technique. Impressive as she was, it seemed to take forever. Suddenly, my brother pulled his dick out and came all over her pretty face.

And the girl laughed as my brother covered her face with goo. It was disgusting and disturbing as hell. And, I had to admit, a little hot.

Although I knew my brother had always had more than his fair share of women, it was nice to see him enjoying himself like this. About a billion times better watching him come in some slut’s face than the last video I saw of him, when he got shot in the face.

I shut the damn thing off and got ready for bed. I still felt like shit, so threw on some comfy cotton panties and one of his old XL tee-shirts, which I had slept in for years since he abandoned it at our parent’s house when he left. I crawled into bed.

Lying there in the dark, the image of that blondie sucking my brother’s cock played over and over in my head. How long had it been since I last sucked a guy? It had been soooo long since a guy played with my junk.

Next thing I knew, I was tickling one of my titties. They might be way too small, but they were oh, so sensitive. My enormous nipple drew up, hard between my fingers through the cotton fabric. I heard myself moaning, and it felt so darn good! Then, instead of that girl, Hal’s face appeared in my mind’s eye, those beautiful eyes, that relaxed smile.

“Oh, Jesus,” I said aloud, and stopped playing with my nipple because… I can’t do that while thinking about my brother!

My mind was so occupied, it pushed out thoughts of that shadow person in my room the night before, because otherwise, I probably would never have gotten to sleep.

1:13, and there I was awake again, frozen like one of those fossilized bugs encased in amber. Scared shitless, petrified. The shadow was there, too, and again he was moving toward me. I could not move, could not scream. All I could do was follow him with my eyes. As he came closer, he began to take shape, his outline more defined with the first traces of features coming into view. Slightly familiar, which somehow made the vision more terrifying.

It was Hal. The moment my mind accepted it was him, a different type of fear took hold. One more real, yet with a sense of calm because I knew my brother could never harm me. In life, he may have hurt who knows how many people but even dead, the one thing he never would do is hurt me.

But he was dead and he was walking toward me, which was about as scary as anything my mind had ever imagined. Ghosts were the thing that terrified me most in horror movies because they were more likely than the other horrible creatures on film to be real. Surely this is all a dream, which explained why I could not move a muscle.

I was asleep and dreaming about the brother I adored because I never had the chance to say goodbye. So my grief brought this dream to me, a psychic way to say goodbye in my sleep, a substitute for missing out in real life.

There Hal stood, at the foot of my bed, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Hi, Sis.”

My entire frozen body tingled. I wanted to answer him, to hold him, to scream and turn on the lights in the hope light would drive him away.

Hal reached over me and pulled down the blanket, which I thought was weird until he said, “I remember that shirt. It was mine, wasn’t it?”

My voice gone, my head refused to nod, so I tried to communicate with him using my eyes.

Hal bent down again, this time grabbing both my ankles and he jerked me toward him down the bed. I felt his hands on my skin, the power of his grip. My body dragged limply, my arms at my sides staying put and as my body slid down, flapping up beside me like wings as he dragged me down. Friction from the sheets caught the shirt, as well, and I almost pulled out of it as he tugged my body near.

I remember feeling embarrassed that he could see me in my panties. When my butt reached the foot of the bed, just before I was about to slide off onto the floor, he stopped. My feet fell to the floor.

As much as I wanted my brother to speak to me, to say something to ease my guilt at letting him drift away like I did, he had other things on his mind.

The hem of my shirt had ended up around my lower ribs, exposing my body from my stomach down. Hal reached up and pulled my shirt–his shirt–up the rest of the way to my shoulders, exposing my breasts.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “You’ve grown up.”

This dream was getting too weird, and inside my brain, I began screaming at myself to wake up. But I did not wake up. I could not, for I was already awake.

My brother pulled down my panties, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I was completely naked before him, the shirt only covering my shoulders. Hal would never do this, a thought that terrified me even more. Was he a demon assuming the form of my own brother to manifest himself to me?

Again holding my ankles, he opened up my legs wide, then dropped them onto his shoulders. And then, he ravaged me. He was inside me, fucking me. I saw it–I felt it!–and it was as real as any other time I had sex, even though there was no way it could be happening. It was more horrible than anything I could have credited my mind for conjuring up. At the same time, about the time the abject shock of it all began to wear off, another sensation replaced it.

The pleasure of sex. I was enjoying it, sick and repulsive as it was to do so. Oh, damn it felt good! Better than any of the previous times I’d ever gotten laid. Better than any of my boyfriends had made me feel. Hal bent forward and took one of my girlish boobs in each hand and squeezed them, and I no longer wanted to scream in fear. I wanted to scream in the most exquisite ecstasy my body had ever experienced.

This was not a spirit, a ghost. This was a man. My brother.

Hal was fucking me like the monster he was, rough and primal, and it was the best thing I ever felt in my life.

I was coming, and he must have been coming with me because he began wailing, the most frightening, wonderful sound I ever heard, my silent scream of pleasure accompanying his wail inside my brain.

And then he was gone.

I lay alone in my bed, naked, fully awake and my mind as terrified as my body was sated with the most profound sexual experience imaginable.

Of course, it was all in my mind. All of this could easily be explained. It was a dream. In my sleep, I slid down the bed. I took off my panties. I probably diddled myself in my sleep, or maybe it was merely a wet dream. A sick, perverted, demented wet dream, but a wet dream nonetheless.

I was still laying there, now wide awake and covered in sweat, panting, heart beating so fast it felt like a drum roll inside my chest, when my phone buzzed.

Before even looking for my own phone, my eyes went to the dresser, where I’d left my brother’s. It was on, light from the screen glowing on the wall.

“What the actual fuck?” I said it aloud as I reached for my phone.

Thank you.

I stared at the message, and somehow my heart beat even faster. I’m sure the rate would have terrified a doctor, because a normal heart is not supposed to beat this fast.

Fuck you! You’re a goddamn monster!

It’s about time you met who I have become.

You raped me.

It’s not rape when you wanted it as much as I did.

Fuck you!!!!!!!!

Just before I smashed his phone against the wall, something inside checked me, and I held onto it. This phone was my only way to communicate with my brother.

Somehow, I knew this was far from over.

My days were like a dream, my poor brain constantly replaying the night over and over no matter what I tried to do at work. I saw it when my eyes were open and when I clenched my eyelids shut to try to close it out. My mind was full of contradictory thoughts: hatred of my brother, guilt for enjoying the feel of him inside me, fear that I had lost my mind.

The one thing I was sure of, I never wanted to see my brother again. He was dead. Maybe this was my brain’s way of absolving him of the guilt of growing apart, because seeing him as a monster sure accomplished that.

But I had plenty to say to him. On my way home from work, I stopped to buy the specialized charging cable his phone required.

Hal, are you there?

My text to a ghost went unanswered.

Of course it did, because ghosts don’t text, you silly moron!

I often wondered what it will feel like to go insane. Mental illness plagued my family. Both our parents suffered from it, probably was the reason their car crashed that night, so ever since I was in high school, it felt like an inevitability. I really didn’t expect it to show up in such a perverted form as it did, though.

I was so afraid of what another night like the last would do to my fragile psyche that I slept out on my couch that night. With the goddamn lights on. And I pulled on an old camisole not because it looked good on me–it did–but because it wasn’t my brother’s shirt, and there was no way I was making that mistake again.

And I left both phones locked inside the bedroom, nowhere near me.

It probably was a terrible idea to sleep on my side.

Without a clock, I had no way of checking whether it was 1:13, yet I knew the exact time the instant I woke up. Curled up in the fetal position with my face an inch or two from the back cushion of the couch, the only part of the world I could see was about 6 square inches of leather cushion. There was not a sound other than the usual light, late-night traffic outside, yet I knew I was not alone.

A hand touched my hip, but I could not turn to see whose hand. Even frozen as I was, I recognized the touch of my brother’s hand. My panties began to slip off my hips, down my thighs, off my feet.

Oh, please Hal, don’t ravage me again, I thought, trying to beg telepathically to him. His hand caressed my skin along the curve of my hip, lightly, tenderly around my derriere. Squeezing so softly it ignited every nerve in my body. His ghostly touch terrified me because how easily he filled me with forbidden desire, the kind a nice girl like me never should feel from her brother.

And the one thing I did not want him to do is fuck me from behind like one of the sluts in his videos. Because, I had watched a few. And they were disturbing.

His lips followed the path of his hands. First he kissed my hip, moving down to my butt cheek. My brother was kissing my ass! Are you kidding me?

He was just getting warmed up. His tongue flicked out into my butt crack, and he started licking my ass! Nobody–and I mean nobody–had ever licked my asshole before, and if anyone had asked, I’d have thought they were one sick puppy and gotten far away as soon as I could. But I could not leave, could not beg him to stop. And it felt a million times better than anyone could have convinced me it possibly could.

Although the power of speech was taken away from me with this night paralysis, from somewhere deep down, a sound like a moan came out of me. My brother’s ghost had his tongue up my ass, and I was loving it. Only seconds later, my muscles tightened and I felt an orgasm welling up inside.

Once that orgasm subsided, I waited for his big, hard ghostly cock to butt-rape me, because now I knew how much of a degenerate my brother was. Instead, I felt something tickle my labia so lightly, it felt like a feather. But it was no feather, this was my brother’s gossamer tongue running up my vaginal lips from one end back to the other. Laying there on my side with my knees drawn up exposed my snatch from behind, and he took full advantage. Each time he licked me with incrementally more pressure.

Oh, Hal, please don’t make me come again! This is insanity!

My softest lips fell open, and I felt warm liquid flowing out of me like the Bellagio fountain. My brain wanted him to stop to save my last bit of sanity while my body wanted his tongue up inside me. I imagined it a forked tongue, like a snake. Oh, it felt so wonderful!

Of course, Hal did what my body yearned for. His tongue was absolute magic! It went around the outside, plunged inside, went everywhere! When he came upon my pink button, an electric bolt of pure pleasure shot through me to my core. And his tongue circled and licked up and down, back and forth.

I came so fast, primed as I was from him licking my asshole, and although I could not move, my whole body began to shake involuntarily from the most ridiculously powerful orgasm. Even more powerful than the night before when he raped me. I shook and shook, and he kept licking. Wave after wave carried me away, until I no longer wanted him to stop.

Hal rolled me over onto my back from where, for the first time, I could see my brother’s handsome face between my legs. And he dove back in and started eating me again.

The pleasure was so intense it almost became torture. He just kept going, licking deep inside me, finding new spots from this different angle to torment my soul with his unholy ecstasy. My body quivered with a second orgasm–technically my third–and still he kept on licking me. When he sucked on my secret pearl, I came again. Each time seemed to spur him on.

Before that night, probably the longest anyone had gone down on me was five minutes; ten tops. Although he had licked away all sense of time, it had to be a half hour or so. I guess being dead leaves plenty of time to eat vagina. It was crazy, but it was all inside the head of an insane woman, right? Had to be, because none of this could possibly be happening. There are no such things as ghosts, and my brother had not returned from the grave only to have insanely intense sex with his sister. Right?

After tonguing my ass, then my vajajay, I figured he was licking a yeast infection into me, which I richly deserved and could never explain to any doctor or anyone else on the planet. Served me right. My entire body began shaking again with yet another orgasm, powerful and soul-crushing.

The most intense sexual experience of my life cannot possibly be with my brother, much less his spirit haunting my vagina.

My head cranked up against the arm of the couch like it was forced my chin down to watch the whole thing, though, and his eyes burned up at me the whole time. When the wave of that last orgasm faded away, he started kissing my bush, my stomach, my navel, slow as a glacier, back and forth, kissing my skinny little body everywhere until he reached my breasts.

First he kissed one, then the other. I felt literally on fire inside. Then he stopped and his eyes bore into mine. “You have the most beautiful breasts!”

As he returned to my tiny titties, I knew this was all in my warped, demented head, because that is what I always yearned for someone to say to me. And the only guy on the planet who appreciated my boobs was my brother. And only after he was dead. So, it had to be my sick imagination.

But the pleasure of his kisses, his tongue burned me alive, building and flowing through me. He treated each nipple the same as he did my clitoris, licking, circling, nibbling, sucking. Squeezing one breast with his cold hand while his mouth worked its unholy magic on the other. It happened again, for what, the fifth time? Sixth? I didn’t care, I just wanted my brother to keep giving me orgasms until I died of pleasure and could join him in whatever hormone-filled afterlife he had stumbled into.

After that wave crashed ashore, he looked me in the eyes. I began to see things through him–the edge of the ceiling, furniture, a picture on the wall. I wanted to say something to him, but he faded from view.

He was gone, and left me feeling more satisfied than my mind could conceive, more spent than if I had run a marathon.

When I realized I could move, and was no longer too exhausted or paralyzed to stand up, I ran into the bedroom. His phone was on, and mine had a message waiting for me.

I love you, Sis.

What is this, Hal?

I came to you, just as you wanted.

I never wanted you this way!!!!!!!

Yes, you did.

As a kid, I hated when he was right. I almost hated it now, too.

Veronica opened her door and smiled when she saw me. “What are you doing here, girl? Why didn’t you call?”

“Can I ask you a big favor?”

“Whatever it is, the answer is yes,” she said, which I knew ahead of time, because Veronica is my closest friend. If I asked her to let me sleep with her boyfriend, she’d say no, but she’d think about it. Not that her boyfriend would, because Veronica has an almost perfect balance of adorable and sexy. Her mother is Vietnamese, so she has that hot little Asian thing going on, which she does so well.

“I need you to hang to something for me for a few days,” I said once inside.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, shit–is it drugs?”

“I won’t touch the stuff, you know that.”

“Whew! For a second there, I wondered if you got your hands on some of your brother’s stash and needed a place to hide it.”

“Nothing like that.” I reached into my bag and pulled it out. “I just need you to hold onto this phone for a while.”

“Okay, spill it! Whose phone is this?”

Sigh. “Well, it’s a long story, and I’ll tell you in a day or two when I pick it up.”

“This I cannot wait to hear. Maybe I’ll just open it up the second you walk out the door and find out for myself.”

After the cops used my brother’s dead thumb to unlock his phone, they set the passcode to a number. When they gave it back to me, I changed it to Hal’s birthday, 1031, which I had never told her. “It’s locked, and don’t ask for the code, because that’s the whole point. I just want to see if anything strange is going on.”

This was my genius plan to prove I was suffering from multiple personality disorder. Because, that’s exactly what I was doing. I was texting my “brother,” then psycho me was dissociating and replying. Then, I’d forget all that and answer. And I needed to shut up before Veronica started getting too curious.

“How strange?”

“Look, just leave it off and I’ll explain everything later.”

It was with a sense of guilt that I left the phone with her, because it might just prove something else. From the videos I had been obsessively consuming on his phone all day, I discovered he had a thing for Asians, who appeared in disproportionate numbers in his videos and bedroom. While it might be possible to find a hotter Asian girl than Veronica, finding one would take considerable effort. So if his horny spirit had attached himself to his phone, Veronica was in for one wild and fulfilling night.

I noticed something else, too. Several of the girls he filmed himself having sex with looked like me. A lot.

Although he banged a few with impressively large boobs, more had tiny titties like mine. Many had black hair, a few even shoulder-length, like mine. Some even resembled my face. That blondie he shot a load into her face did, which I realized is why I thought she looked familiar when I watched it again.

I dressed for him this time. On the way home from Veronica’s, I stopped at Victoria’s Secret to buy a sexy, silk nightgown that looked fantastic on me. Before going to bed, I made sure I did not look like an idiot in it. The fabric hugged my nipples, poking through, and my hips. I felt like a supermodel, even if I was only a little twig.

As long as my dead brother liked the way I looked, I would make the best out of what little I have. And, I have to admit, this midnight blue silk did wonders for my body.

In my silky, sexy new outfit, I drank a whole bottle of red wine. Two glasses make me tipsy, a third stumbling drunk. I had never finished a whole bottle off in one sitting in my life. I bounced off the walls on my way back to my bedroom. Somewhere I had heard that ghosts do not appear to drunk people. And if my brother was going to haunt me, I needed to be drunk. Good as the sex was–fantastic, mind-blowing as it was–it was still my brother. AND a ghost!

This was some fucked-up shit, so I intended to be shit-faced when it happened because, to tell the truth, this scared the hell out of me.

Of course, I was still drunk as hell at 1:13. Awake, paralyzed and terrified drunk. My eyes panned around the room. There was his shadow again, but he stayed away. I waited, wondering if the wine somehow kept him from coming into contact with me. From touching me.

It is scary as hell for a ghost to have sex with you, but it is absolutely terrifying for a ghost to be staring at you in the dark.

In the blink of the eye, he was above me, ten feet closer than he’d been a half-second before, and I could see him. Half his head was gone, and there was a bullet in his face an inch below his eye. Part of his skull hung down over an ear, flapping slightly as he moved, held on by a piece of his scalp.

It must have showed in my eyes. Inside, I was screaming. Literally screaming, yet no sound came out of my lips. I could see my brother’s brain inside shattered skull bone where there should be nothing but hair!

Hal did not waste any time. He grabbed me and rolled me over, face down, away from that sickening image of his beautiful face shot off. He pulled me to the side, so my feet tumbled off the bed onto the floor, and pulled up my beautiful nightgown over my hips.

Oh, my god! He was still going to molest me! If I had any idea he would appear to me with a quarter of his head gone, some of the rest hanging on by a flap of skin, I would have worn panties. His tongue licked me again, but all I could see in my head was the horror of his mortal wounds. I wanted him to stop, because he looked so… dead!

But my brother did not stop. He came for only one thing, and that was my body. A shot of something powerful swept through me as his throbbing, rock-hard cock entered my vagina which–as you might expect–was hardly lubed up after seeing his head blown off. Even after he licked me. Still, he forced his way inside me, and at first it hurt.

Then, it felt incredible.

I hated this dead monster fucking me from behind, and I loved him because he was still my brother. And I loved him because he made me feel amazing sensations that probably no woman has ever experienced. If they have, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves so they didn’t get locked up in an insane asylum.

As he thrust into me, deeper and deeper, filling me with his phantasmal cock and more pleasure than any woman can stand, I imagined blood dripping from his gory wound, splattering on my ass and back. No matter how hard I tried, I could not run, could not scream in either terror or ecstasy. I could only let my dead brother use me any way he wanted.

Oh, did I come! With tears falling onto the sheet my face was pressed against, I came. My brother’s ghostly hand held my hips and kept ramming into me with the ferocity of that first night, inflicting the most savage pleasure into me. The room filled again with his ghastly wailing. He continued thrusting into me until my body stopped quivering with a thunderous climax.

When he was gone, I cried myself into a boozy, dreamless sleep.

Sometime later, I woke up again, this time feeling the wine coming back up. After a round of projectile vomiting in the bathroom, I grabbed my phone and drunk-dialed my dead brother.

What do you want from me?

The same thing you want from me, he answered.

I’m so sorry, I typed out.

For what?

The image filling my brain was his shattered, destroyed head.

For everything.

I returned to pick up Hal’s phone and prove my insanity once and for all.

“It was weird as hell,” Veronica said soon as she practically dragged me inside. “Woke up in the middle of the night, and this damn phone was on and beeping with message after message. I turned it off to shut the damn thing up, but it kept coming back on. No wonder you want that thing out of your apartment. It must have some kind of glitch that makes it power up whenever it receives a text. One night of that shit was enough for me–I need some sleep.”

Somehow, I had come to grips with seeing his ruined head, from having sex with a corpse. Even better, I had remembered enough to not write anything incriminating in my messages. I turned on the phone.

“Check his texts,” I told Veronica. I needed a witness, either to prove myself insane or …

“Are you sure? It’s probably one of his drug-dealing buddies who hasn’t heard what happened to him.”

“Probably so,” I answered. “And if it is, we should notify the cops, right?”

She shrugged her shoulders, turned on his phone and handed it to me to type in the PIN. “Holy shit, these are from you–and he answered! Wait a minute, that does not make any sense! How did anyone answer from this phone? It was here all night. I heard it when these messages were coming in. Saw it. Hon, I didn’t touch this phone other to try to turn it off–swear to god!”

So, I was not insane. Someone was communicating with me from this phone, and the only person on earth with access to it was my brother. I was not typing to my split-personality. I was sending and receiving messages with a ghost. Hal had chosen to haunt me, and was not a spirit somehow trapped inside his phone.

The same ghost who was screwing me each night.

There was only one thing I could do. Well, two things. I was definitely not going to drink again, because the first time I did, he showed up with part of his head gone.

I set up the phone on a shelf and hit record.

Hal came to me again, of course. His wounds were gone, and he was beautiful. When I woke up, he was already there, and he started eating me right away. This time, though, he only licked one orgasm out of me before resting my ankles on his shoulders and sticking his hard cock inside me.