Fighting Spirit
By SuperCat

1790
Abigail rushed up the stairs of the house at Beaver Hollow Manor, her speed borne of fear. She could tell by the fuzziness of his voice as he commanded her to come that if she displeased the Master of the House, she knew the consequences would be dire indeed.
As usual, she had been on the run since she had gotten out of bed, well before dawn. There were her morning chores to do, then to make Mr. and Mrs. Amberlane breakfast, then any and every household chore that could be done: polishing, dusting, mending, washing. Thankfully, this day she didn’t have to go down to market, her shoes were ill soled and the walk hurt her feet something fierce. It wasn’t like she was going to have any new ones anytime soon though. After her room and board was deducted by her “benefactors”, she barely had a scratching to put towards anything she might want to buy for herself.
At twenty, Abigail Goodson feared that her lot in life was never to be anything more than the household servant of the Amberlanes. She had arrived in the new country of America when her family had come south from British-owned Canada three years before. At seventeen and just heading into her full bloom as a woman, she had felt full of hope at the prospects of this new country where there was liberty and freedom. But within a year, both of her parents had died in an outbreak of fever and her brother had left to look for work in Philadelphia. She hadn’t heard a word from him in two years. His last letter had been simply
“I have had no luck as yet Abby, I hear there is an expedition to the western colonies where a man may find success in his own rights. I may sign on. When I can Abby, I will send for you. Know this and be strong for me dear sister.
Yrs
William Goodson”
She still kept the letter folded up in the small pile of personal effects she kept under her mattress in the attic of the manor house.
It was quite a bit of house for one small young woman to maintain, there were fourteen rooms in the main house, and Abigail was expected to look after the guest building on the South end of the land as well, where friends, family and other wayfarers would frequently lodge. The Amberlanes refused to take on any more help though, claiming poverty. The only other servants were the elderly groomsman who tended the stables, and Billy Banes, the groundskeeper, who had been disfigured from the pox when he was twelve. Neither of them were anybody with whom a pretty, unattended, servant girl would feel comfortable confiding.
But Abigail made do as best she could, she was all too aware she was trapped there unless she was to run away, and where would she run to? Any of the neighboring communities and she would be found, and in the wilds of central Pennsylvania she would not make it very far; Abigail was slight of build, only 5’3” and maybe a hundred pounds in all her dresses together, that and her utter inexperience with surviving in the wild would have meant a quick doom for her on her own. Her only hope was to find a man of marrying age to sweep her away from this life. She knew she was attractive enough, her long brown hair, when down, fell halfway down her back in soft curls, her face was still young and unlined, she had big dark blue eyes with hints of violet, and a full and sensual mouth. But she was considered frail for childbirthing, an important trait in a land where infant didn’t always live and children to help their parents were imperative to the lower classes. Abigail knew in her heart she would bear fine children though. Her thin frame had more muscle from her days of hard work than you would imagine simply seeing her in her dress, and she could feel the strength in her hips. She was sure, despite her age, that she would be a fine, loving, and devoted wife if she could find a real man to have her and hold her. If she could simply get some time away from the house just to court, she was sure she could find a suitor. She was even sure she had seen young Tanner appreciating her several times in the last few months when she went to town to do whatever errands were needed for the house.
But she was afraid in her heart that Master Amberlane wouldn’t ever let her go. That he and his wife planned on keeping her for her whole life. They were both harsh taskmasters, he was pig-like and a violent drunkard, she was pursed lipped and sour. How they had ever managed to make children was a mystery to Abigail, the mere thought made her shudder.
But worse than the screaming and the beatings, administered to the young woman from both the Master and the Mistress of the Manor all too often and with savage brutality, were the times when the Master had been drinking. Abigail would be awakened in the middle of the night in her attic room by his clammy, fishlike skin rubbing up against her and his sour breath in her ear, smelling of liquor. Or there would be days when the mistress would be sleeping away the afternoon and he would call her up to his study to do some menial chore. She would walk in to find him half naked and staggering. The ending to all these was still the same and there were all too many variations. Abigail would be forced to do repulsive, horrible things while she silently sobbed and hoped that he would just finish his business as soon as possible and leave her alone.
Going to the Mistress was no solution, Mrs. Amberlane would never believe her, and most likely would deliver Abigail a vicious beating for even suggesting her husband’s drunken infidelity. John, their son, was only thirteen and away at school. And even so, no help would be forthcoming from that mean spirited, wretched boy.
So she suffered greatly, and suffered in silence. She knew suffering was the way of the world, especially when you’re nothing but an orphaned, unwed housemaid. But Abigail still dreamed the dreams of freedom in this new America she had hoped would deliver her from exactly this sort of life.
Her only respites were the times when she could finish all her work early or even steal a moment when sent out to do something on the grounds like fetch milk or eggs. She would go sit under a huge willow on the western edge of the property out of sight from the main house, near to the Wassaponnax River. She would sit there and soak up the sun’s rays, often playing with the cats who would roam the property, Mr. Boots and Miss Furryknickers. She had also made friends with a couple of the less timid rabbits who frequently would come out of the woods to share some tidbits Abigail would sneak from the kitchens for them. But outside of these devoted furry creatures, Abigail did not have a friend in the world.
But she still had faith she was destined for a different place.
Today, it was a stormy afternoon in the middle of April. Spring was coming violently to central Pennsylvania, as it frequently does. The missus had taken to her bed with a headache the day before and had not risen, awakening only to scream for Abigail to bring her water or administer her tincture. Abigail unfortunately knew very well what she could expect when she got to the room at the end of the hall where the master was bellowing for her. She was embarrassed and completely disgusted, but she knew if she didn’t rush, or if she refused, she would find herself bleeding, senseless and sprawled on her back, the imprint of his hand still burning on her face, or even a swat with the hard ebony cane, and he would then take her by force anyway. It was simply easier to get the pain and humiliation out of the way as quickly as possible.
She was thusly not shocked when she entered the study and found Mr. Amberlane leaning back on his large desk; his left hand wrapped around a bottle of clear liquid that Abigail could tell from the stench was gin, and his right hand stroking his semi-flaccid cock.
“Wha…wha…wha took you so long, bish?” he slurred. She could tell already his eyes were dangerously unfocused and he was breathing heavily.
Immediately, she felt a twinge of outright terror go up her spine. She always felt fear when he forced himself upon her, the fear of any defenseless creature who knows it is about to be in pain, but only a couple times had she been in outright fear for her life. She also knew if she would be beaten to death, nobody would even know, or most likely even care. She would be buried somewhere, they would say she had run off to find her brother, and that would be that.
“I’m so sorry Master, I was in the back room preparing…”
“SHUT UP BISH! I’m…I’m…talking to yer. Now…what shall we do ta discipline yoush for not coming to sherve my…needsh…quicker. What shall we do ta yer…”
“I’ll never be tardy again sir. I promise.”
“I SAID SHUT UP! Wimmin…all yash, all the same. Nothin but a bunch of cock teasin whorsh, ya are. And YOU…you’re tha worsh. Alwaysh runnin around, showin a good man your skin like that…gets…gets…a mans blood angried up, it doesh. I give you a house to live in and food, and this is how you treat me, making me think…unclean thoughts…now, get over here, you slut, get over here and take your punishment, yes you brazen harlot, your…punishment.”
Abigail felt the tears come as she obediently crossed the room. She hung her head as far as she could so she would not have to look at anything other than her feet.
“Think about petting Mr. Boots, think of the sun on your face, think of fresh spring flowers, think of the good things in life Abigail, please, think of the good. Please God, please God help me and give me strength.”
But Abigail was used to her prayers not being received. Truthfully, she felt prayers were for the well off, since they always seemed to get theirs answered.
When she got close, Henry Amberlane grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor.
“GET DOWN THERE SLUT…get down there and take me like the shlut you are, the way Jeshush forbidsh...”
She choked back a sob as she got to her knees. A lock of brown hair had fallen across her lovely face; she brushed it aside and closed her eyes.
“It will be better if I don’t have to see…”
She opened her mouth.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD AND JESUS IS GOING ON IN HERE! HENRY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THIS JEZEBEL WHORE?”
Abigail froze, at that moment, she knew exactly how the mouse felt when Mr. Boots crept up behind it and swatted. At that single moment all the sound there was in the room was the rain splattering off the windows in its mad dance.
“Mrs. Amber…”
“Mary, the vile temptress bewitched me, I schwear. I think she put summthin in mah drink too. I tried to refush her slatternly ways but…”
“Shut up Henry. I’ll deal with you later…as for this temptress witch”…her breath came in shirt huffs as she worked herself into a fury “oh yes, oh yes I know. I know how she does. She puts it out there for any man to take, and any man can be led into temptation by a demon whore. They possess a man’s minds, his wants! His needs! The demon whores, they are VILE, VILE CREATURES! WELL, WE KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH DEMONS AND WHORES HERE! YES WE DO! YES WE DOOOOOOO…”
She strode over to the study desk and grabbed her husbands’ cane, which he had left leaning against the wood. It was fine, sturdy, and ebony-dark as the soul of Satan.
Lightning flashed outside.
Abigail raised her hands in front of her face; the only defense she could think of to save herself from what she knew was coming.
“No, please mistress, no! I never, please no!”
Thunder caromed off the walls of the sky.
The cane came down.
*THWOCK*
“Please…n…”
(Ohdearohdearwhyohwhywhatjusthappenedohnopleasegodsaveme)
*THWOCK*
(nogodpleasenoohthepainthepainmyheadmypoorpain)
*THWOCK*
(pleasegodletmegopleasegodtakecareofmyanimalsilovethempleasegodjustletmefeelthesunonmyface)
Lightning lit the room in its violent white glare.
*THWOCK*

1901
Victoria McClendon was glad to be rid of them.
She knew she’d have some explaining to do, it’s not like the local sheriff was going to just write off the two dead men in the front hallway, but she also knew in the end nobody would accuse her of any wrongdoing. She’d have to smile sweetly at some men to help convince them, perhaps, and the ladies of the town may whisper behind her back, but Victoria was very good at smiling sweetly, and the ladies of the town were no more than whispering ninnies. If Victoria thought any of them posed a threat...well, there were ways for a woman to take care of that, especially a young, wealthy and beautiful woman.
She descended the front staircase and strode down the front hallway towards the back of the house, stepping around the pool of blood. Wouldn’t do really to put her footprints in the stuff, now would it? Even so, Victoria had to resist the urge to kick both the idiots as she passed them: her idiot husband, who refused to play along and let her do as she wished, and her idiot lover, who couldn’t wait for her to take care of the situation in her own way.
No, instead the drunken fool had to come up to the house and instigate some sort of showdown with Davy. Davy was out back chopping some wood on this bright late September afternoon. Just enough of a nip in the Pennsylvania air to let a person know snow may be falling in a month’s time; high white puffy clouds dotting the incredibly deep blue sky. When he heard the violent thuds coming from the front door of the house, Davy had run quickly through the back room and the kitchen, emptying out on the front hall at roughly the same moment Fredrick Conyon kicked the door open and bellowed for Davy to come and fight.
Victoria knew that bastards drinking would be the death of him, and here he was. Not that she cared. After he had disposed of Davy for her, his usefulness would have been finished anyway.
But Victoria preferred to do things with a bit more calculation and style.
She had calculated her whole life to get where she was today, and these certainly were not the first dead bodies she had left in her wake in the short nineteen years she had been on this earth.
At nine years old she had two ten year old country boys fight each other to the death for her hand. She sat and watched, eyes glittering with hunger. In his thirst to win her attention, Caleb Murphy had smashed Michael Mumford’s head with a rock until the boy stopped moving. As his reward, she had touched him between his legs until he stiffened, and she had from that moment realized the effect she could have on men to have her will done. But before long on that afternoon he had realized what he had done, and Caleb Murphy had run away in panic and had never been seen in Beaver County again.
Victoria didn’t care, she went on.
As she played the boys of the town of Beaver Ford against one another, she had honed her streaks of extreme cruelty and violence to razor sharp edges. Oh, nobody noticed, because Victoria was also very calculating. It also certainly helped her that she was also known as the prettiest girl in the county too. She was 5’4” and had her curves in all the right places, including well formed, large breasts that she didn’t need any fashion help to show as formidable assets. Her blonde hair fell in ringlets past her shoulders, her blue eyes were lively and intelligent, and when she smiled she could disarm the thorniest man’s defenses.
So, when Victoria wanted something, she got it. There were no exceptions, whatever the cost. And when at 16 she had decided she wished to wed the 19 year old David McClendon, who was due to inherit the manor house and huge parcel of land his father owned out on Beaver Hollow, AND his family’s holdings in both the railroads and anthracite mines across Pennsylvania and the Eastern US, she got him.
It mattered not that Davy was to be engaged to Sally Ann Thompson, a pretty eighteen year old girl who lived across the Ford from Victoria’s parent’s home. Once she had decided she was going to wed Davy, she simply did her homework until she found the optimal times her flaxen haired rival would be alone, and then one summer day, she rose up behind Sally Ann as the girl drew water from the well behind her family home. Sally never saw who it was that sent the pillowcase with the brick inside crashing to the side of her head, and then as she lay unconscious, again and again to her face and then in an act of pure vicious savagery, into her crotch, ruining both of them. People may have whispered, but Victoria had discarded the weapons into the river that formed the east boundary of town and then bided her time long enough to give Davy proper time to mourn before it was announced she would wed him the day after her eighteenth birthday.
It was a fine match between two of the better homes in Beavers Ford, it was agreed. Before long, people simply forgot about Sally Ann, who entered a convent in Harrisburg not long afterwards, never to be seen again.
Two months after their engagement, Davy’s father caught pneumonia and died. Victoria was pleased; it saved her the trouble of removing the old man herself. She talked Davy into having his mother gift them the huge 150 year old Manor House at Beaver Hollow as their wedding present. Elizabeth McClendon went to live in a smaller house across the Ford, and had perished in the fire that destroyed that same house six months after their wedding.
Victoria was very careful to trick young Fredrick Conyon into killing the man she had tasked with setting that fire without the rough former miner knowing either that he was killing her previous lover or what the man had done.
Of course, while in town Victoria was a model of decorum and style, always gracious and giving as could be. When entertaining, she was a clever, creative, witty hostess, and kept her guests entertained always. But when the guests and staff had all left, she was screaming, often violent, towards her husband. She browbeat Davy into submission quickly, he was soon in fear of displeasing his utterly beautiful but completely soul crushing wife. So Davy began to seethe inside. He was by nature a gentle man, preferring to spend his days outside in nature, not given to fits of temper. But when angered by anybody other than his wife, he wasn’t afraid to take a stand. He was a large man, six foot one and broad of shoulder, but he wasn’t a stupid man, and he knew he was being cuckolded and he knew it was by the burley ex anthracite miner Conyon who Victoria had taken on to work the grounds of the large estate. Conversely, she had hired nothing but aged crones to work as cleaners inside the house. Victoria made love to Conyon any and every chance she got, using the man’s brute force to fill her own brutal needs. Victoria was smart though, and Davy never even came close to catching them, even when he would try.
Davy was probably not even surprised when Frederick Conyon kicked in the front door of his home.
Beaver Hollow Manor was still a wonderful example of colonial era architecture, it had been owned well and kept well as it passed through three families in this hundred years. The outbuildings had been redone in the 1830’s and again after the War, and the main house itself had major renovations three times, once in 1820, another just before the Civil War, and again when Davy’s family purchased the house in 1878. The beautiful willow tree on the western edge of the land by the bank the Wassaponnax River had died in 1830, to be replaced by another by Arvid Farnton, he of the family who purchased Beaver Manor from the bank after it was taken due to the debts of the Amberlane Family in 1814. The 45 acres of land still rolled through soil that was quite arable if one should choose to farm, or used for raising horses, which was mostly what had been done there over the years.
The place had also gotten the reputation for being haunted.
Very haunted.
People had been seeing the ghost of the Indian ever since the place had been built. He would show himself, most often standing in the corner of the basement, but he had been seen in every room at least once over the decades, and was also seen on the grounds themselves. He was neither a figure of menace nor peace, he was noted simply to observe, and then walk away through the wall. Some said his face and eyes had a half smile, some said it was sadness. He was by far the most commonly seen ghost of Beaver Manor.
Rarer were those who saw the girl.
She could be seen most often in the afternoon hours, but sometimes in the light of dawn. She was apparently rushing through the kitchen and dining room then up the front stair case with a harried, concerned and sad expression on her notably beautiful face. Other times she was seen on the grounds on a sunny day, sitting by the river where the old willow used to stand. When people saw her outside, they noted a sense of good feeling and contentment coming from her.
It was often assumed she was the spirit who could be heard sobbing in the attic as well; you could clearly hear the sobbing spirit in all the upstairs bedrooms. The woman was obviously crying the tears of unfathomable loss. Nobody had any idea where these two wayward spirits had come from, people speculated the Indian may have fallen in a random battle on the land hundreds of years ago, and the only person anybody could possibly think of for the identity of the rushing, sobbing spirit was a nameless serving girl and maid who rumor had it had disappeared over a hundred years before. It had been assumed the girl had run off to find her brother. That was what the Amberlanes had attested.
But nobody knew for sure.
Victoria had seen both spirits face to face, multiple times. She had sneered at them and told them in no uncertain terms to stay out of her face. The Indian looked at her with his depthless eyes for a moment, and Victoria was sure she could see a hint of a smile on his mouth as he turned and walked away. The girl had looked at her in shock and horror and cowered as she edged around the blonde girl. Victoria made as if to hit the spirit, and the dark haired girl had disappeared and ever since would not reveal herself to the mistress of the house. But the crying in the attic grew stronger. Often you could hear sobbing even on sunny days.
In fact, Victoria could hear the stupid bitch mewling as she sat in her day room on the second floor when her drunken idiot lover had decided to kick her front door in. She had been musing that she had half a mind to go up there and knock the tramp into heaven, hell or wherever just to shut the bitch up. She was giving Victoria a pounding headache.
She had taken her time coming to the top of the stairs intentionally, if this had to happen, she decided her wisest course of action would be to wait it out. But as she reached the top of the long staircase, she had been in time to see Fredrick Conyon enter her home, pistol drawn.
She had been in time to see Davy meet him in the hallway still holding the axe he had been using.
Fredrick fired.
Hit in the left side, Davy fell forward and to the right. He swung his axe down violently as he fell.
The axe lodged itself in the left side of Fredrick’s neck, nearly severing it.
Fredrick fired again as his body convulsed.
He dropped straight to the hard wood and began twitching.
The wild shot took off half of Davy McClendon’s head. The body spun to the front hallway floor.
Victoria couldn’t help but smile.
And the stupid bitch in the attic had finally shut up.

After she had gone to the kitchen and eaten an apple, Victoria considered her options and got her story settled for the local law. It seemed pretty cut and dried. Hell, if she had to she would seduce sheriff Doyleson. She knew the old pervert would forget this ever happened if she were simply to kneel before him for five minutes. It would be a formality.
But the fact of the matter was: IT WAS ALL HERS NOW! IT WAS ALL HERS, SHE INHERITED EVERYTHING! THE HOUSE, HER HUSBAND’S HOLDINGS, EVERYTHING!
She decided the best thing she could do was to go have herself a nice long soak in the tub upstairs. “Oh sheriff Doyleson, I was asleep in the bathtub having my daily when I heard all the commotion, something about Davy not paying Fred for some work he had done...by the time I had gotten myself together…oh poor Davy!”
Victoria made her way past the bodies again and crept up the stairs. She needed this. Looking back down towards the hallway, she saw from above the spreading pools of blood. She had not disturbed a thing. Good.
But she saw the Indian staring back up at her from directly underneath her.
She gasped, startled. The first time the old spook had gotten to her.
He smiled, clearly this time.
“To hell with you, this is MY house now, GET OUT!”
He turned and walked through the wall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Victoria let the now tepid water flow over her as she soaked in the tub. She had been in there a good half an hour and she knew she must get up if she were to make it to town in time not to arouse suspicion by letting the bodies get too cold. She sighed, the price one has to pay. She wetted her beautiful blonde hair one last time, dropping the chips of soap into the tub.
She smiled.
She was beautiful, rich, young, and free to do as she wished.
It was time to start enjoying it.
Letting the stopper out at her feet, Victoria waited a moment for the water level to drop. When it was halfway gone, she stood in the tub as she had done dozens of times before.
She grabbed onto the rail that held the drapery that shielded her private moments from prying eyes. She had left it drawn back because the only eyes in this house besides hers would not be prying again.
She reached for her towel on top of the sink.
(I WON, WON WON! WHAT A WONDEFUL DAY!)
Her right foot stepped on a small sliver of soap that happened to be in the bottom of the tub.
Just a sliver.
(OH WHAT A WONDERFUL DA-huh?)
Her foot scooted out behind her and she fell forward, pulling the rod from the wall at the top of the bath.
(WHAT, I’M FALLING?)
Her temple connected with the hard porcelain of the sink.
*THWUNK*
The voice in the attic started weeping softly again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2011

The House was known as the most haunted in Central Pennsylvania.
And Pennsylvania is one fucking haunted state.
There had been TV programs made by every charlatan on cable, and a couple people who actually had real abilities in the paranormal, about the “Four Ghosts of Beaver Hollow Manor”.
They were all in agreement that there was something there.
But of the legendary “Four Ghosts”, not all the spirits were always accommodating.
In fact, since one of them was incredibly hostile and incredibly strong, it was better when you did not contact it at all.
You see, even in death, she thought it was still her house.
Of the Four, two of the spirits, well, there was no doubt who they were.
Little Jimmy Masters was six years old when he had fallen from the second story window one day in 1937.
When, not too long afterwards, people started seeing a small blonde boy running around outside and sitting in what is now the front bedroom looking wistfully out the window at twilight, then the sound of chiming laughter would ring out coming from the upstairs hallway, it wasn’t hard for people to note it was little Jimmy still playing in the big old house he had loved.
Jimmy was a very benevolent spirit. In fact if his laughter bothered you at night, you could just ask him to please stop…and he would. When people saw him, it was considered a good omen.
One would normally think seeing a beautiful blonde girl would be a good omen as well.
But the spirit of Victoria McClendon was as malignant in death as she was in life. And in her malignancy, she had power. Victoria was strong enough to physically interact with the living, and occasionally hurt them. Victoria hated everybody who visited in general, but especially anybody who she thought was trying to take over HER house. When she was around, for Victoria’s spirit often did not appear for years on end, she would do anything to run whoever was living on the property away, and she was always successful. People who saw Victoria’s spirit generally didn’t like to talk about it.
Of course, there was still the Native American spirit, who would stand silently and observe from any part of the house nowadays, but more commonly in the basement and in the front room. He was still as much of a mystery as he had been for the last two centuries. It was assumed he had fallen in battle, but no amount of digging had ever unearthed any bones to account for his presence. People called him “Injun Joe”, perhaps not the most politically correct name ever, but it was agreed he was as much a part of Beaver Hollow as the front staircase.
The poor girl who was still crying in the attic and rushing about to do her chores was still a mystery as well. For hundreds of years, people had wondered who she might have been, a nameless dark haired girl of obvious beauty rushing about the house in a white work dress. The Amberlanes had left no records of their servants until after 1801, and no females were accounted for who could be a match. It was no wonder the girl seemed sad, people noted, nobody even knew who she was. She was seen as a reminder of the facelessness of humanity. But even though her spirit seemed sad and harried, people who encountered her felt an undeniable presence of general “goodness” from her.
There were four spirits living in Beaver Manor, and in general they all stayed out of each other’s way. Or, more accurately, they all avoided Victoria.
Now, dear reader, there are, of course, many other planes of existence than this one, hundreds in fact, maybe uncountable millions. But most spirits do not mingle or interact. Most are too hung up on their own compulsive episodes to think about anything else. Many more are simply antisocial or angry and have no wishes to interact with their own.
But they can in fact interact if they choose to do so.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
June 2011
“Looks like we have some new folks coming.”
On this humid, overcast late-spring-going-into-early-summer day, if somebody, perhaps one of the strong men who were pulling up to the front of the house in a large truck, were to look hard into the window of the room to the left of the entry on the second story, they might have seen the face of a pretty young woman with ringlets of brown hair looking back at them.
Abigail may have been a sad spirit to those who saw her, but she truly loved it when people lived in the house. She liked it best when it was a lively and loving family. She loved the sound of children in the hallways, the sound of music in the air, people talking and enjoying the joys of everyday life.
She knew her compulsive behaviors as a spirit often frightened the living, but there was nothing that could have been done about that. Some things are the way of spirits, and Abigail had been doing her morning chores, standing by the riverbank in the sun, and crying in the attic for over 200 years now. Not that she knew of time, she only knew she was dead and it was eternal. She had seen the way out as her living body was broken by the descending cane, but in her anguish and terror, she had not known what to do and had hidden from it.
Even in death she was afraid.
She had had a long time to think about this.
Abigail hoped these folk would stay for a while. Most didn’t. She knew the spirits who lived there with her frightened people away. She knew sometimes it was herself who frightened people away. But she also knew some would stay longer if it wasn’t for the screaming evil blonde demon spawned bitch who would do anything to chase those who lived here from the house she considered hers.
She could feel Victoria nearby; Abigail thought she was in one of the other bedrooms. The woman’s anger radiated out in huge waves across the spectral plane. She didn’t bother to hide her emotions; they were an open challenge to any spirit in the Manor who would try to stop her.
None had tried.
Abigail bitterly regretted some occasions where she had wanted to step in to try to stop Victoria, but had been too timid, frightened.
Like the day Victoria pushed little Jimmy out of the window.
Or the day some thirty years later when Abigail watched in horror from the hallway as the ghostly form threw itself over the infant sleeping in the crib in the northwest bedroom.
Abigail would have shed tears if she were able. But she realized that would have been a waste anyway. She tried to take care of the little boy’s shade as best she could, and infants were accepted into the light unconditionally. All she could do was to hope that if the situation arose again, she could do better.
In her heart she knew it would, it was herself she was unsure about.
Abigail stepped back from the window, still looking down into the front yard. She had noticed that the new visitors had brought their servants. At least that was who she assumed the three Negros standing under the large maple tree were. It was odd that the servants would have brought their child though, unless they were to be living herein quarters on the grounds.
“Oh wouldn’t it just be delicious if they were my new visitors!” she smiled, a shimmer across her liquid gray features. “Imagine that, negro folks living in Beaver Manor! All those folks through the years who lived here with hate in their hearts for those people all because they have different skin. Shameful, truly they we…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`~~~~~~~~~~~~
“NIGGERS!?”
The blast of power and anger coming from the other room almost scattered Abigail for a moment.
Victoria was one of those people. Naturally.
The smile vanished from Abigail’s countenance. This could be troubling. Victoria made life here unpleasant when she was around and she DIDN’T have a concrete reason to be angry and vengeful.
And this family had a small child, a girl who couldn’t have been more than six years old. She was standing under one of the shade trees out front, wearing a pair of blue coveralls over a Penn State t-shirt and holding a stuffed rabbit in her hand. Her face was joyous with the wonder of the newness of it all.
She thought of Billy and the nameless baby.
“I can’t let anything happen to her. I WON’T. Damn you, God, I WON’T.
This has gone on long enough.”
For the first time in her entire existence. The timid housegirl felt a spark of anger.
“I WON’T!”

“GOD DAMNED NIGGERS, LIVING IN MY HOUSE!
MY HOUSE!
I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS! I WILL NOT! NIGGERS HAVE THEIR OWN PLACE, AND IT IS NOT MY HOME!”
Victoria had no doubt they would not be staying long.
People who Victoria did not want living or even visiting her home very rarely did.
She remembered the time the people had brought in the priest. They had gotten the idea from a motion picture Victoria had heard them discuss. They were going to try to “exorcise” Victoria.
Their arrogance.
They thought God was religious.
That nonsense only worked on the weak minded spirits who believed in it.
She strode up to the priest as he thrust the cross at her and intoned some nonsense in Latin.
The blonde ghost grabbed the crucifix and simulated fellatio with it, and then she smacked it out of the priest’s hand.
The look on his face was priceless.
Then she rose over him and came for him.
He was out the door in seconds. The family who had been living there and had called the priest was gone within a week as Victoria rampaged at the sheer annoyance of it.
The house had stood vacant for 15 years after that.
If anything, death had magnified the anger and violence of the gorgeous blonde spirit. On top of her innate nature, Victoria now felt cheated. She had it all, she had won. And then to crack her skull open and bleed out when if her husband had still been alive, she could have been saved…
She raged at any and everything she could over the injustice of it all. Especially the living, and especially the weak and the children. Victoria took a special pleasure in tormenting children; it was so…satisfying to her to hear them scream.
And in her hatred and anger, she thought she found power.
She decided who stayed there and for how long, the only times there were extended periods of peace in the Manor were years when Victoria was discovering and exploring even more planes of existence.
She even exercised the power of life and death.
Victoria ruled the Manor completely; the other beings in the house were nothing to her.
A stupid mute Indian?
A child she had killed herself (and now annoyed her to no end. Honestly, Victoria would have rather just scared the brat insane if it meant being rid of his noise)?
That brown haired crybaby slut who cowed away and disassembled every time Victoria made to move towards her?
Like to punch that annoying slut in the face, she would.
She had drawn the bad card when it came for companions in this afterlife in her opinion.
And this, of course, also pissed her off.
But all the slights and all the injustices she had faced in these worlds, none of those were ANYTHING as opposed to a bunch of no good dirty Negros invading HER home as if THEY were the masters of the Manor.
After several minutes of raging, Victoria pulled herself together.
“I’ll deal with these uppity trespassing niggers as only I can. Those coons will rue the day they set foot in MY house. The little one. Yes, the little bitch will do nicely.”
Her blue eyes turned hard and sharp.
A wicked smile curled up from her lips.
She disappeared in a cloud of smoke and a waft of air so cold it would spot freeze.

“Larry, I thought I just heard something inside. And I swore up in that win…oh Larry, please, are you SURE this is a good idea?”
“Birdy, baby, you know I’m a Professor of History, the story of our collective past, and this house…this house IS history. 253 years worth. Those walls and what they’ve seen, the opportunity we have to hear them speak. It’s a once in a lifetime chance to get this property. Birdy, you know how I am, ever since we were at Temple, I’ve been talking about doing something like this.”
“But Larry, baby, this house…”
“What Cheryl? Is haunted? Stories Cheryl, nothing more. Figments of the great imagination of history. You have a huge house that is hundreds of years old, there’s gonna be some skeletons in the closet. And Birdy, even if there were such a thing as ghosts, they can’t hurt you! And if it’s true, it’s all the more a reason I want to be here! We are not bug eyed fools afraid of “Tha Haints” like it’s a movie from the 40’s baby”
“I worry about Yolanda, Larry. Two children have died here. You can use your rational mind all you like Larry, but this place does NOT have a good track record with children, and here we are bringing our six year old here.”
“Cheryl, look, we’ve been through this a thousand times, girl I’d hate to, but I really would be willing to rent you both a house in Harrisburg and I’ll do my sabbatical here by myself. I feel called here Birdy. The first time I laid my eyes on the place, before I even heard the stories, it called to me. Like I was meant to be here. We’re going to be fine baby, I swear to you.”
“I trust you Larry, I really do, and Yolanda and I would never let you do this alone. But Larry, it’s always the black people that get it first in the movies. Let’s not make it that way in real life, ok?”
“Birdy, if I have to, I’ll knock the shit out of a ghost if it tried to hurt either one of you. Like I was Dolomite.”
“You’re sweet, but you damn sure had better be right.” and she gave him a warning glance, then a big smile and she laughed.
“OK, we need to get the movers going; they’re just standing around on our dime. You tell them what and where, it’s your house now Birdy.”

Yolanda Grant stood at the top of the stairs and wondered what all the fuss was about.
She was listening to her Mommy and Daddy downstairs in the front room; they were watching one of those boring news channels on the TV again. Not the one with the mad but pretty ladies, Daddy said that channel was for ignorant people. One of the other ones. Yolanda would have liked it better if they were playing cartoons, or sports. She was dressed in her Phillies pajamas and holding her bun bun in her left hand, her right she was trying to stop from migrating to her mouth, her parents said she was too old to suck her thumb, but Yolanda didn’t feel old.
And she didn’t feel scared either.
Yolanda had been worried that the new house was going to be big and scary. She had overheard her parents talking about moving here, and her Mommy sounded like she was frightened, but her Daddy didn’t sound scared. He said there was nothing to be afraid of here, and if her Daddy said it was true, then, by gosh, it was true.
The old place sure was big though! Yolanda didn’t think she’d EVER be able to explore everything!
She had to strain her ears to listen to her parents tonight; it was a long way down the staircase to the first floor. They had been unpacking all the stuff from their old house the last three days, and they had put her to bed early so they could unwind. Yolanda had no idea why it made them so tired to just put stuff away. Yolanda figured she would have had this whole house done by now if they let her. Parents were so silly sometimes. Mommy was saying something about somebody Daddy worked with, and Daddy was laughing loudly, but Yolanda had no idea why a person would want to throw a perfectly good hot dog down a hallway.
Yolanda liked to stay up after her bedtime and creep out to listen to her parents talk, it comforted her to hear their voices as she fell asleep. It was a common thing where they would find her curled up in the hallway when they would go back to bed after the evening news, her arm curled around her bunny.
She felt this was going to be a good place for them.
And her new friend agreed.
Yolanda had had imaginary friends before, so she wasn’t at all surprised when she awoke at some point on her second night in the house and there was a pretty blonde haired girl sitting on the floor by her bed.
“HI pretty little girl! What’s your name?” the blonde haired girl smiled at Yolanda. She was kneeling with her hands between the folds at the knees of her long dark dress. She looked to Yolanda to be both young and old at the same time.
But Yolanda wasn’t afraid of her.
“I’m Yolanda Gwant, and I’m six years old!” she responded without a second thought.
“My name is Victoria, Yolanda, and it’s so nice to meet you! Do you like to play Yolanda?”
“Of course I like to play!”
“I so rarely get to play anymore. Can we play together Yolanda? I’d like that very much!”
“I’d like that too Tawwia. Do you live here too Tawwia?”
“Sometimes” the pretty girl replied. “Sometimes I go far away. I can tell you all about my adventures sometime Yolanda. Would you like that?”
“I’d like that a lot!” Yolanda beamed.
“You just can’t tell your parents about me Yolanda. I’ll be your secret friend! You can keep a secret, right?” and she pantomimed a finger over her lips.
The girl giggled “I can keep a secret good! You’ll see!”
“That’s so great Yolanda! We’ll have so much fun! I have to go now, but can we play tomorrow night?”
“You bet we can Tawwia! I’d like that!”
“Ok little one, remember, a secret! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Yolanda waved goodbye and her new blonde haired friend waved back, and then disappeared.
And indeed, her new friend had not only come last night, and they had talked for a long time, until Yolanda could not keep her eyes open anymore, but she had come again tonight!
“Come Yolanda, let’s go listen to your Mommy and Daddy like you like to! I bet they’ll be saying such funny things!”
Yolanda agreed that sounded fun!
Now they were atop the staircase, Yolanda kneeling and peering over and down the flight all the way to the first floor, her friend was behind her, looking over her shoulder.
The blonde girl was smiling.
“They sure are funny, aren’t they?” she asked.
Yolanda nodded. She knew she had to be quiet, and she hoped Mommy and Daddy didn’t hear Tawwia or she’d get in bad trouble.
“Look, Yolanda!” The blonde haired girl suddenly whispered excitedly. “Do you see that?”
“What?” The little girl whispered back, “I don’t see anything.”
“Down there, near the bottom of the stairs Yolanda, do you see that?”
“No, I...”
Yolanda was so startled she almost fell down the staircase as another girl; this one with long pretty brown hair came out of nowhere and crashed into her new friend.
The two girls sprawled down the hallway and disappeared into smoke. Before they did, Yolanda could see her new friend Tawwia’s face.
She screamed in terror.


*ploof*
The two spirits crashed back into the ethereal plane. Insubstantial, they parted and draw back.
“YOU LITTLE SLUT BITCH. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”
“NO VICTORIA! NOT THIS ONE, NOT THIS TIME!”
Abigail had been watching from the end of the hallway. She had seen what Victoria was doing by lulling the little girl into a false sense of friendship.
She realized she would have to act, but bided her time.
She had almost failed. Oh dear, it had been SO close. The blonde’s hand was moving forward to launch the little black girl headfirst down the thirty or so feet of hardwood stairs when she had leapt for the woman.
“So, the crying scullery wench in the attic decides to stand up be a woman. What’s the nigger child to you anyway?”
“She has the same right to live as anybody, and I’m done with watching you hurt and murder the innocent, you…bitch!”
“What precisely are you going to do to stop me? “
“Whatever I need to. I’m going to fight you every move you make Victoria.”
“Yeah?” Victoria sounded bemused. “Tell you what you dirty whore slut, let’s settle this right now.”
Abigail was shocked when a shimmering circular hole opened in the gray world of the spirit plane. She felt herself being “grabbed” roughly and “dragged” towards, and then through, the slivery light.

She felt herself rolling.
On grass?
“oh dear lord, my body is rolling on GRASS! I can feel the SUN!
My…body?
Whaa…
DANGERABGAILDANGERABIGAILVICTORIAISHERETOOWAKEUP!”
She stopped tumbling across to the grass and was on her feet as fast as she could manage; claws out.
She saw Victoria stop dead in her tracks about ten feet away. She had been coming straight for Abigail, thinking her so disoriented as to be easy prey.
Abigail got herself back together as fast as she could. But she was still trying to puzzle this out. It felt like she had a…real body again.
Her real self.
Taking a quick survey of her surroundings, it appeared they were down by the large oak that was planted in 1890, right where her favorite willow used to stand. It sat on the edge of a broad field of grass that led down to the riverbank.
“Where...where are we?”
The blonde had started circling towards Abigail’s right, but she stopped.
She snorted contemptuously. “You really don’t know do you? I knew you were stupid, but I had no idea…you don’t know anything about being dead, do you?” And she started laughing mirthlessly.
“Oh, that is so rich. You brainless wench, the world we inhabited is only one of hundreds of planes of existence. Some are quite alike, some…heh, well, you’ll see. If for whatever reason you don’t to go into the light after you die, instead of coming back eventually, your spirit form can travel between any plane you wish.
I decided I wanted to bring YOU to a place where I could make you feel pain. And I’m going to make YOU feel SO much pain; you’ll wish you had gone into that light.
I’m going to make you feel…eternal…indescribable…agony.”
“I see…” Truthfully, Abigail was so embarrassed at her ignorance she forgot to be scared or nervous anymore. What she felt was white hot anger.
“I’m not that stupid, I simply didn’t know. It doesn’t matter where we are or if I can feel, Victoria. If it’s a fight you want, I’ll give you a fight! But I’m not going to fight in this though.” And instantly, she was clad only in a pair of black stockings hooked onto a garter belt. She had seen some females wearing things like that in the house, and Abigail had always thought they were becoming. She had yearned to try them on and feel them. Her hair, which had been up in the braids she had worn in life, now flowed free over her shoulders in soft brown waves, stopping midway down her back.
Victoria sneered. “That’s the best trick you know? A parlor charade? And you ARE a slut, aren’t you? You dress like a common whore, which is precisely what you were, wasn’t it? You would want to fight me like this, wouldn’t you? About what I’d expect from somebody who died with a cock in her mouth. Well, you dirty tramp, I can do that too, AND” she sneered at Abigail. “I’ll look SO much better in them.”
In the blink of an eye, she was clad identically. She had always worn her blonde hair down, it was her pride.
They eyed each other up, looking for a weakness. Abigail was thin, but not too thin. In the context of 2011, she was even more becoming than she was in her own time. Her body was hard from years of laboring all day long. Her legs were toned, her stomach flat. She had medium sized breasts that were still young and firm on her chest. Victoria had led a more pampered life and so had softer curves, but by no means was she fat. Her hips were wide and she had a round butt, and a small, small bit of a belly, but her very large 38D breasts would have taken your eyes away no matter what.
They were both amazingly beautiful creatures on any plane.
And they began circling each other, hands extended, nails at the ready.
Before they had made it a quarter rotation, they flew at each other.
Abigail went right for two fistfuls of blonde hair and grabbed deep, she began to twist and turn, trying to throw her enemy off balance. Victoria went for a different strategy and swung her fists wildly at the brunette, going for the head. Her fists connected a couple times into Abigail’s temple and the brunette was staggered, but she kept her hands locked in tight, and as she lost her feet, she spun Victoria to the ground, releasing her grip on the hair to throw her opponent.
Abigail knew, even though she was groggy from the punches, she had to press any advantage she got and she swung a strong leg at the blonde, and was rewarded as she caught Victoria directly in the face as she came out of the throw and tried to rise.
The blonde went sprawling and Abigail was on her as she came to rest in the grass, dropping a knee into her stomach and wrapping her left arm around Victoria’s neck, cinching it up in a chokehold.
Victoria gagged as her air flow was cut off. She had been taken by surprise. She certainly did not expect the brunette to give her much of a fight; the woman was so timid and sad all the time…what was going on? She kicked her feet on the grass and tried to pull the arm from her neck, it felt like a snake coiled around her throat.
Abigail went to increase the blonde’s trauma by punching at her right eye and scalp, she scored several hard hits and she felt Victoria weaken beneath her. For the first time in her entire existence, Abigail felt what it was like to be in command of another.
As she moved to tighten up her choke hold however, Victoria was able to turn her head and she bit down as hard as she could onto the brunette’s forearm.
Abigail gasped at the sudden pain and had to release her choke hold and push Victoria away. Victoria *whooshed* air back into her lungs and she turned to try to get back to her feet. As she turned, she saw Abigail had risen to her feet and was coming for her. She thrust herself low at the woman. Her body roll worked perfectly and not only did Abigail’s arms only connect with air, she was thrown face first to the grass as her legs went out from under her.
Victoria moved with viper swiftness, grabbing Abigail’s left arm and wrenching it upwards. She put her left knee over top of the brunette’s head, pinning her face to the grass, and she dug the talons of her free hand into the area around Abigail’s kidney.
Abigail wailed into the dirt as she exploded into pain all over her body. She tried to twist and turn her way out of Victoria’s grip, but the blonde held her fast. Still working her grip on the brunette’s arm, Victoria mounted her back, sent several sharp punches to Abigail’s ear and temple area, and then grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head and rubbed her face into the dirt.
“Used to this, aren’t you, you tramp. You liked it when men grabbed you by the hair I bet, you disgusting whore. I’m going to beat you so bad, and you’re gonna watch it as I kill every single person in that house. Then, oh yes, then I’m gonna torment your soul for eternity”
She pulled back on Abigail’s hair, pulling the woman up from the ground, and moved so Abigail’s arm was locked in the juncture of her thigh and groin, this allowed her to keep up the agonizing pressure as she reached around and raked the nails of her left hand across the brunettes face, once, twice, and a third time.
The brunette was in a pure panic, she was held tight as Victoria was mauling her entire body. She cried out in pain and tried to cover up her face. In doing this, she managed to get her left arm free, although it ached.
After losing her arm lock, Victoria slammed Abigail’s face into the ground and stood up quickly. Then she dropped both of her knees onto Abigail’s spine. The brunette’s mouth went to an “O” and she arched her back backwards, she then curled up into a ball as Victoria moved to her side.
Grabbing Abigail by her brown hair, she twisted the woman until she was on her back, and she sent a savage right hand into Abigail’s stomach, then several more straight into the poor woman’s belly.
Abigail was beyond even moaning, not only was the pain beyond anything she had ever experienced, but Victoria had knocked the wind out of her.
But she found her voice as Victoria’s blue eyes lit up with sadistic glee and she latched her nails onto Abigail’s firm breasts, twisting, slashing and pulling, giving them a vicious mauling. She released the brunette’s right side in order to wrap her own hand around the woman’s throat in a choke hold, making up for that by doubling her efforts with her other hand to maim, slice and otherwise torment Abigail’s breasts.
“I TOLD YOU, I TOLD YOU SLUT, I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAM, SCREAM FOREVER! THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING FOR YOU! YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN THE ATTIC AND KEP CRYING BITCH!”
Abigail slapped and pulled ineffectually at Victoria’s arms, she knew if she didn’t do something soon, this would be it. She was terrified at what the blonde would do to her if she lost. Her dark blue eyes were wild with desperation.
But Abigail had a sudden moment of clarity. In a flash, her mind saw and told her a way she could be free.
It was her only hope.
Changing her tactics, her right hand snaked up and under, finding Victoria’s pendulous breast, she pinched the large nipple as hard as she could and twisted while digging her nails into the areola and with her thumbnail, she DUG into the nipple at the base.
Victoria tensed in agony, and Abigail took that moment to aim and poked the blonde in the eyes with her left hand.
The blonde screeched and forgot all about hurting Abigail for the moment. She released her holds and scrambled away, it took her three slaps and a kick to Abigail’s face to get the brunette to release her hold on her breast.
Free at last, Abigail made it to her feet as fast as she could and she retreated. Victoria also came to her feet, wiping at her eyes and grimacing. Blood ran from her left tit where Abigail had savaged it.
They circled again, catching their breath, more wary this time; they both now knew the other could inflict female punishment gleefully.
Victoria lashed out, catching Abigail with a crisp left to the mouth; blood began to run from the brunettes lip. Trying to use her slight reach advantage over her smaller adversary, she threw a series of looping punches as she advanced on the woman.
By the third swing, Abigail had timed Victoria’s movements. On her fourth, Abigail ducked inside the blonde and sent a short strong right into her lower belly right above her pubic hair. As Victoria bent forward from the blow, Abigail threw her body upwards, catching the woman on the side of the jaw with her shoulder.
Victoria spun, her light blue eyes unfocused…directly into a follow up roundhouse kick that sent her spread eagled onto her back.
Abigail had never in her existence felt anything resembling bloodlust.
But in that moment, her sweet gentle soul was washed away in a wave of absolute hate.
She snarled like a jungle cat as she sent her foot into her enemy’s crotch.
Victoria shot up convulsively, and Abigail met her halfway with a rock hard thigh that crashed into the blonde’s tits and neck.
Victoria bounced off the ground and came to rest in the grass on her stomach. She moaned loudly and tried to grab her aching pussy. But Abigail was having none of that, she quickly made her way to Victoria and slammed her foot into the woman’s back. Reaching down, she grabbed Victoria’s long blonde hair and pulled up.
The brunette smiled in satisfaction at the coughing wail that issued from Victoria. She redoubled her hold on the hair and dug her heel directly into the woman’s spine. Victoria tried to scramble free, but precious pain filled seconds passed until she got her back free from Abigail’s foot.
Without missing a beat, still keeping a wrapped grip on her hated enemy’s blonde tresses, the brunette slid her body behind Victoria and she lashed her legs together across the woman’s ribcage.
The blonde gasped as the air was driven from her lungs. Her hands beat ineffectively at Abigail’s legs.
Using her hair as a handle, Abigail brought the blondes pain filled face towards her own.
“I’m glad you brought me here you murdering bitch, I’m so glad I could make you hurt too. I only hope I hurt you so much more before this is through. For all those you’ve murdered and destroyed!
She poured on the scissors pressure. Victoria’s breath came in hitching gasps.
“Shut…up…slut…I’ll…see…you burn…oh…yes…OWWWW*ack*OWWW, hate you…filthy slut.”
Abigail manipulated Victoria in her legs until she was facing the woman’s lower half.
She wrenched down on the woman’s ribs again.
“You call me a slut, I only been with one man, and he raped me. I saw what you did in this house you bitch. You’re the slut, a murdering slut. You deserve this you adulterous blonde bitch!”
And she reached down and sent a clawed hand into Victoria’s crotch, Abigail’s fingers slammed inside Victoria’s pussy, seeking the parts she instinctively knew would cause the most pain for the woman. In her rage she reached down with her other hand and tore at Victoria’s small thatch of blonde pubic hair, raking her thumb nail across the woman’s clit.
Victoria was in a world of utter agony. She was bitterly regretting her decision to fight the slut on this plane. She should have just banished her out of hand; the dumb cleaning wench would never know what hit her. But she had wanted to torment the woman, and now she was being tormented in every way, right down to her very womanhood. She knew she was bleeding from her face and her poor, mangled boob; she didn’t want this awful terrible woman to wreck her there too.
She barely had enough air to moan, and she could feel her ribs about to crack under those unexpectedly strong legs.
She almost thought about giving up, the stupid trusting naïf would take pity on her, she knew, and she would wait for another day to take care of the foolish spirit and the little mortal girl.
But…no. The thought of losing to such a wretched…a god damned MAID, was too much for Victoria to stand.
“If the bitch wants to go for my womanlys, two can play at that game.” She thought.
Reaching around, Victoria managed to get her own hand into Abigail’s own femininity. She grabbed onto the woman’s clit and returned the painful favor.
Abigail squealed and made one final effort to break Victoria, but the woman’s nails abusing her unfortunate pussy were more than she could deal with unless she was trapped, so she had to break her hold and roll away.
“Almost had her. I almost had her!”
Both females came to their knees as quickly as they could they faced each other, nails out, teeth bared, hair sweaty and dirty as it flew in all directions from their heads.
They slowly rose to their feet and began to circle each other again. The only sounds that could be heard were the quick intakes of breath and a low rising sound that one would never have thought to have been coming from the throats of two beautiful women.
Fingers flashed out, hands moved in a blur from all sides. They both looked for an opening.
Abigail went too far in on a jabbing punch.
Victoria stepped inside and sent a huge blow directly into the brunette’s diaphragm. Abigail’s eyes bugged out and she pitched forward. The blonde followed up with a knee to the stomach and then another. Abigail dry heaved and fell to her knees.
Victoria kicked her in the back of her head. The woman crashed face first into the grass and came to rest on her back, unfocused eyes staring at the sky.
The blonde was on her enemy quick as a cat. She leapt onto Abigail, pinning her body, and she started punching the brunette in the face with her left hand. With her right she reached down, grabbed as much of Abigail’s pussy as she could, and started mauling her tender regions.
As Abigail’s struggles slowed, Victoria wrapped her hand around the woman’s throat and began to choke her out. She increased Abigail’s trauma by ripping at her unshaven brown pubic hair. Abigail’s left arm was free, but she could not land a telling blow, and soon the world once again began to fade from her.
(What…what if I die here too? Can I die again? Oh please Lord, do not let me die again, Oh please, please Lord…)
She felt herself falling down a hole.
But she was surprised when she hit what felt like a bottom.
And began to slowly rise.
Victoria had decided it was time to end it. The woman was finished anyway, her eyes rolling in her head senselessly. She would be completely out in seconds. But there was only so much you can torture an unconscious being, and truthfully, Victoria had taken heavy punishment and wanted to be done with the slut because she now knew Abigail was no easy prey.
She rose above Abigail and reached out with her mind. She felt what she was looking for and went to work.
Before long, a light shone, and a rent formed in the air behind her.
To look into the rent would have driven a man insane. It was a world of fire and torment.
And Victoria was going to send this little slut there forever.
She reached down and started dragging Abigail across the grass towards the rent in the air by her left leg.
Abigail had been aware of Victoria as she reached out between the planes; it was all so…simple. She was shamed by her ignorance. And now she felt herself fully come to as she felt the grass on her back. It did not feel good, in fact it burned.
Everything was burning.
She opened her eyes.
And looked into the fires of hell.
Abigail screamed, grabbed at the grass, and dug her hands into the dirt as hard as she could as she was dragged closer, trying to find purchase.
It didn’t work.
She kicked out with her right leg, catching Victoria in the back of the knee.
That worked.
The blonde staggered forwards towards the hole in the air she had created. She caught herself before she could fall through into the realm of fire. She forced the portal closed, leaving it open any longer was a risk to her own safety as well, and she couldn’t have that.
She turned, roared like a lion cheated out of its prey, and kicked Abigail in the head as hard as she could.
Spittle and blood flew from Abigail’s mouth as she was sent sprawling again onto the grass.
She tried to crawl away from Victoria on her hands and knees, a high keening moan coming from her mouth. The sound of a frightened and wounded animal.
The blonde caught her and pulled Abigail back by her long brown hair. She raked her nails across Abigail’s face and tits again and again and she drove her knee directly into Abigail’s spine.
The brown haired woman splattered face first onto the moist earth.
“This time, you don’t get to escape, harlot!” Victoria panted out.
She reached under Abigail’s garters and grabbed her pussy again, still yanking back on her hair.
Abigail’s hands tried vainly to score a solid strike to stop the blonde’s onslaught. Even her panic enhanced reserves were exhausted. She knew if she could not free herself soon, it would not end well for her.
She threw everything she had into a last ditch effort to push Victoria off of her. Her strong but now shredded muscles bunched in her legs and arms as she hauled herself upwards.
She screamed in pain and effort as the blonde fell from her back, losing her grip on her hair.
Abigail dropped an elbow into Victoria’s face, and the blonde lost her grip on Abigail’s pussy.
They rolled across the ground tearing at one another, hands going into hair and across faces and breasts, knees searching out soft spots on legs and bellies, and thrusting into each other’s crotch.
Abigail used the momentum of their rolling to grab onto Victoria and THROW her. The blonde flew a couple extra feet and came down on her already aching side. She cried out in pain and once again she was knocked airless.
Abigail was slow to press her advantage. Her entire body ached with depthless pain.
Victoria had brought her here to feel just this. Her only consolation was that she had dished out as much as she had taken.
(I’m a fighter after all, how about that?)
She made her way to her feet, trying to work out the kinks as best she could. Victoria had made it to her knees when she went for the blonde.
Abigail lashed her foot out quickly. The blonde never even saw it coming. It solidly connected with Victoria’s nose, mashing it against her face. Blood splurted everywhere and ran down into her mouth. As the blondes head snapped back, Abigail sent another, nailing Victoria straight in the throat area.
The blonde felt like her trachea had been crushed. She forgot about her nose and grabbed at her throat as she tried to suck in precious air from her mouth. Both of her airways were in serious trouble.
(I’m dead, why…why…breathe? Oh…oh yes, I wanted…pain)
She sprawled onto her back on the grass, gasping. Her blue eyes wide in terror.
For the first time in her entire existence, she was afraid.
“You evil woman. I hate you, I never knew what hate was, even for the people who beat me and raped me, until you brought me here. I don’t want to feel this way Victoria, but you forced me. I just want you to leave me and those who live with us ALONE!”
With her last word, she kicked Victoria in the pussy as hard as she could, aiming for her clit. The woman managed a choking gurgle of a scream.
She then dropped her knee directly into the blonde’s stomach.
She sat down HARD on Victoria’s lower body, pinning her arms to her sides. Abigail began to work her hate out on Victoria’s large breasts again, opening the cut above her nipple until it was flowing freely. She lost herself for a moment and bent over and started biting on the blondes bleeding breasts, amazing herself as she enjoyed the agony of her hated enemy.
“Oh, oh dear…what have I become? What has this woman made me? This is not me, Abigail. Am I now at her level of existence? Am I Abigail Goodson anymore?”
Yet she knew now was not the time for self reflection. But she still felt disgust and revulsion for what Victoria had brought her to as she bit down on the woman’s tit flesh, and disgust and revulsion at the delight she felt hearing the blonde sob and scream in pain.
“No. I must end this. I must stop. I want to love. I do not want to hate.”
But she was unsure what to do with the writhing blonde underneath of her.
She released her mouth from Victoria’s once spectacular breasts. She looked down on her battered and bloody enemy.
She slapped the woman as hard as she could. Then she did it again.
Victoria just lay there, trying to breathe through her pain. Her stocking clad feet barely scraped on the grass, her body barely able to try to unseat the brunette.
Like so many scoundrels in their last throes, Victoria finally found God.
“God damn you, god damn YOU! How can this be? This damned crying mouse of a woman, how can she do this to ME? I will send her into the fire for this, I swear it. This was NOT supposed to happen. It’s MY house, MY HOUSE! I am the mistress of there and all planes in this place. God, damn you for not letting me have what is mine! Fuck you God, FUCK YOU!”
Abigail had leaned forwards as she sent punches and slaps into Victoria’s face.
“FUCK YOU GOD!”
She hesitated for a second, having no idea where that thought had come from.
Then Victoria shot her head and shoulders forward as hard and far as she could.
The brunette had just come close enough.
Victoria’s head smashed directly between her dark blue eyes and on the top of her nose.
Abigail’s world went white with pain. She flashed out of consciousness as her eyes rolled back in her head. She fell off Victoria and lay on her side.
“Oh, yes, fuck you God, heh heh, and fuck you too slut! I love the way mortals speak now, such ways to express anger, I was truly a creature of this time.”
Victoria pulled back on the brunette’s long hair. She wrapped it twice around her left hand.
“Time to end this, time to BURN!”
She sent a flurry of right hands to the side of Abigail’s face and temple. The brunette just lay there, still.
Then, she set her hands to damaging Abigail’s small but firm breasts as much as she could. Scratching and twisting. Blood had begun to run from several of the scratches on the poor woman.
Working her way down the body, she pounded into Abigail’s ribs and stomach with her right fist. Her victim had finally come back from incoherency, although she probably wished she was still out. Victoria was glad for this; she wanted the stupid harlot to feel every little torment. She wanted her last thoughts here to be full of agony, humiliation, and the knowledge she had lost.
And then an eternity…
Victoria finally ripped away at the brunette’s copious pubic hair and turned her nails on Abigail’s clit.
Abigail could finally form words.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, OH PLEASE, NOOOOOOOOOOOO, PLEASE STOP! I BEG YOU!!”
“No. I won’t, I’ll stop when I feel like it.”
“NOOO, PLEASE, OH PLEASE GOD, HELP ME!”
Victoria laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.
Now that she was about to win, she had a different take on…
“God? God doesn’t care, especially about stupid slut whores like you. You’re SO stupid. Just a wench made for cleaning the knob posts of anybody who asks.”
She stood up and hauled Abigail to her feet by her long brown hair.
She looked into her hated enemy’s tear filled eyes.
“Aww, poor sweet little tramp. Just figuring it all out, aren’t you? Too late, and now, you will feel pain that I only WISH I could give you myself. And as you burn, I’m going to torment your precious niggers until they beg me for death!”
Abigail felt Victoria’s mind start to probe for the opening to the other plane again.
She realized what was going to happen, and nobody was going to help her.
Her hands found life of their own, and in panic and desperation, they shot out and clawed between Victoria’s legs, reaching her nails inside the woman.
She felt Victoria’s mind slam the door shut as she felt her own pain.
She let go of Abigail’s hair to fend off the hand at her crotch.
Abigail had enough left to remember…the head…
She slammed her own head into Victoria’s face; being shorter it caught the blonde directly on the chin.
Going on instinct, she wrapped herself around Victoria’s torso in a bear hug, and with what felt like her last ounce of strength, she lifted the blonde off her feet and shook her.
She was rewarded as one last time, the air *whooshed* out of Victoria’s lungs. Abigail felt the woman’s ribs compressing and grinding on each other.
She bit down again on the blonde’s upper breast since it was right there. She was trying to treble the woman’s agony as much as possible. It was the only way she could win.
She shook the blonde as hard as she could, Victoria started trying to beat her about the head and neck with her fists, but Abigail was in close, and Victoria could not land a telling blow.
But Abigail knew eventually she would though. She had to do something and NOW.
She made sure her legs were positioned properly, and she dropped to a knee.
Victoria’s public mound smashed onto her extended thigh.
She howled in unfathomable agony.
Abigail released her bear hug and wrapped her left hand around the blondes face in a claw, holding her as she punched Victoria in the neck and the jaw with her right hand, the whole time she was moving her right leg, rubbing it in against the blonde’s clit.
Victoria whimpered through the claw hold.
Using her left hand, Abigail shoved Victoria to the ground. The beaten blonde lay there, spread eagled,
Abigail smiled through her bleeding mouth.
She grabbed the blonde’s stocking clad feet and spread her legs.
Abigail stomped down into Victoria’s battered pussy one more time. The woman could only twitch.
“Now, I’m going to end this, and I’m going to end you, you vile bitch. I hate you and you’ll never harm another innocent again.”
She mounted the blonde in a classic schoolgirl pin, her strong shapely thighs, trapping Victoria’s arms to her sides.
She waited until the blondes eyes opened and focused. Abigail wanted the bitch to know this was coming.
Victoria began to cry out, but she was silenced by Abigail’s right fist smashing into her mouth.
Then her left to the eye socket.
Then a right to her already smashed nose.
Then a left between the eyes.
Abigail’s fists became a blur as she went into a frenzy. She rained rights and lefts all over Victoria’s head, dozens of hard shots connected to the blondes head and face.
Blood had begin to cover Victoria’s face from cuts above her eyes, from her mashed nose, and from her mouth, her once beautiful blonde tresses were matted with red as Abigail’s fists opened a small cut on her hairline to a huge gash.
All Victoria could do was scrape her stocking clad feet on the grass and try to buck Abigail off, but she was having no success, and soon, her struggles lessened. Eventually, her eyes closed, her body was rocked with trembles, and she lay still on the ground.
Abigail kept on laying fists into her unconscious enemy. She had to make damn sure the blonde bitch stayed down.
Eventually, she rested for a moment, hands on her hips. Then she smiled, not because she knew she had won, she didn’t know.
She realized this still wasn’t over.
She smiled because she knew what she had to do.
People often mistook Abigail for being stupid when in fact she just lacked schooling. In fact, she was a bright enough girl, and a fast learner. Sometimes things didn’t come to her intuitively, but when she was shown how to do something, she usually became quite proficient.
For instance, when Victoria had opened the portal earlier, Abigail had felt the way the woman’s mind flexed to manipulate the pathways to other planes of reality.
Felt and understood.
She closed her beautiful violet/blue eyes and let her mind work. It didn’t take her long to find what she wanted.
Behind her, a circle shimmered into existence.
And opened.
Again, into a world of flames.
Abigail got to her feet.
Victoria had returned to a state of semi-consciousness, and Abigail hauled her to her feet by her bloody blonde locks. Victoria wavered there, her back to the plane of fire and torment, barely able to stand on her own.
Abigail threw a left jab that hit her in her destroyed nose. Victoria began to stagger backwards.
She flowed up with a kick directly into the pussy.
“GET THE HELL”
Then another.
“OUT OF OUR HOUSE!”
Then another. Victoria started to fall, but Abigail grabbed her by the hair and held her upright.
“GET THE HELL”
Another. Blood was now running down the insides of Victoria’s thighs.
“OUT OF OUR WORLD!”
Another.
“YOU MURDERING DEMON BITCH!”
The brunette sent a scissor kick that connected directly to the blondes jaw. She could feel Victoria’s bone break and her teeth give way.
Victoria flew backwards towards the opening. She wavered at the edge.
“fuck you.” She managed from her shattered mouth.
“Oh no, bitch. Fuck you. Fuck you forever.”
And Abigail strode up to the destroyed woman and sent one last kick to her pussy.
As Victoria began to sink to her knees, Abigail sent a strong leg directly in between her breasts.
Victoria fell backwards – into the world of flames. She reeled for a moment. And from nowhere Abigail could see a hand of fire, taller than she was, coming for the woman.
She closed the pathway as she saw the hand take Victoria.
And she collapsed onto the grass, exhausted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She had completely forgotten what it was like to be physically spent. And she was well beyond spent.
She lay there for long minutes, her eyes closed, focusing on feeling again, and not the various agonies in her body: she felt the grass on her back, the sun on her face, the breeze across her almost naked body. It was all over, the savage pain was already fading from her battered body, and she could one more time simply enjoy being whole.
But she was still half expecting Victoria to come back through a hole in the sky with the armies of hell behind her.
“Do not fear. She will not be back anytime soon.”
Abigail sat up with a gasp, startled. She immediately recomposed back to her usual mode of dress.
She scutted back away on her butt.
It was the Indian.
(“Native American, Abigail, that’s what they call them now.” flashed through her brain)
He extended a small water skin.
“Here, drink this. It is water from the well spring.”
Abigail reached out tentatively and slowly accepted the skin. She was ready to bolt into the spiritual plane if she had to.
She drank deeply. It was the most delicious taste she had ever known. She reveled in her senses reawakening after so long.
“Even my blood in my mouth. I’ve never felt so…alive.” She thought.
She drank deeply and gave the skin back to the Native.
“You…speak? English?”
He smiled. He was quite ruggedly handsome, and appeared to in his early 20’s. You could tell he had passed on in the prime of his physical life; his unclothed upper body was all hard muscle, and his long vibrantly black hair back in a braid that hung down his back. On his legs he was wearing some sort of animal skin breeches.
“I have always been able to speak. I just choose when. And having lived here for four hundred years, I have had much time to learn this new language.”
“Four...four…” Abigail stammered.
“Yes Abigail. I had already been here for a long time when they built this house.”
Her eyes lit up. “Was there a battle here and you fell?” she asked, almost breathlessly, sounding like the young girl she still was in so many ways.
He laughed heartedly. “I would have had it so, but no.” he sighed. “I was the finest warrior of my people. I had fought and felt my first blood, and I was sure my fate was to die a hero. But I was out on a solitary hunt, looking for game by the river. I was bitten by a water snake. I used all the methods of my people for snake bites, and tried to walk back to my people, but the poison was too strong. I finally fell in a beautiful meadow. I still remember how vivid the colors were as I passed. I could not believe I had died in such a way, and so, I did not go to the light. Instead, I sat here in my disbelief.
Many long years later, other people came. They built this house where my bones lie.”
“That’s so sad. Life can be so cruel. I know.” Tears welled in Abigail’s big dark blue eyes.
“Do not cry sweet one. I have had a long time to think about my fate and come to terms with it.”
“I haven’t. But maybe now I can.” Abigail responded. “What is your name?”
“I am called T’chuk’wah. You are Abigail. This I know.”
“No, no I am not Abigail. Not anymore. Abigail was the mouse of a girl who used to live here. I am reborn this day T’chuk’wah, - did I say that right?
I am now simply Abby. My brother…he called me that. I liked it when he did. The way it sounded.”
He smiled and nodded.
“I like that too. It suits you better…Abby.”
“T’chuk’wah…” Abby smiled shyly. “Victoria brought me here to feel pain, but when we are here…I can feel…pleasure too? Am I right?”
The young Native brave returned her smile and nodded.
“Am I…acceptable for you? I never was beautiful, and now…my face…the blood.”
“You were always beautiful. It’s not your fault you were not told so as much as you should have been. And the blood does not bother me. When I came back from a battle with blood on my face, the women of my people considered it an honor to bed such a warrior.
I consider your offer a great honor. I only hope I can be worthy of it. Today, you are the warrior.”
Abby felt her heart melt at his words.
“I am sure you will be. We are both warriors. Now, let us feel pleasure.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When they were done and they lay together, he told Abby much more of the nature of what the spirit can do on these innumerable planes of existence. For example, they could never go all the way back into the plane they had left the first time; and there were other places where the soul was amorphous, but some other instances, like this one, where they could fully form. There was much to show, he said, and he would happily be her guide, even though he admitted there was much, much that he neither knew nor understood. But he had been alone for over four hundred years, and he found the thought of having a companion was very acceptable to him, especially one of such beauty as Abby.
“Where did I send Victoria? And how do you know she won’t be back soon?”
“There are bad planes as well as good. Holding spirits and forms that mean ill to all they encounter. In our world the ones who would get through were called “demons” or “devils”. My people called them “Ta-wah-na-chee.” But it is made so those worlds are opened at one’s own peril, and they are almost impossible to leave. Else this world would be overrun by them. The woman may find a way out, but it will take uncountable years, so for now and for many years to come, we are all safe. You did well to send her there.”
“How much of that did you see?” she was once again shy.
“I knew what you were doing. I did not want to interfere unless I had to. I could feel your battle, but I did not watch until you had won and if you noticed my appearance it would not have cost you.”
“Thank you for not interfering. I wanted her for myself.”
“I know. I knew you would win. I saw this eventuality from when the yellow haired woman first came here.”
She scrunched up her forehead and swept her hand at the ground where they had laid. “You saw…this?”
He caressed her cheek, “No, no my sweet little Abby, this was something I could never have foreseen, and it is the best of all.”
She agreed and curled up against his muscular chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
They eventually, of course, had to go back.
The two gray forms floated up the sprawling lawn that was behind Beaver Hollow Manor. The bright sunlight mostly masked their passage, but if one looked hard enough, he would have been able to see they walked hand in hand.
As they came to the house, a third form joined them; floating down from the tree it had been climbing.
“Are you…are you my…Mommy and Daddy?” it’s thoughts reached out to them.
Abby exchanged a meaningful look with T’chuk’wah.
“Why yes. Yes Jimmy, we are.”
The ghostly little boy’s face broke into a huge smile.
“I thought so! Mommy, Daddy, I’m going to go climb trees more! Come watch me!”
And he was away.

And so, two families came to live in the old house, side by side.
And every so often, Professor Lawrence Grant would find some small bit of history in the house that incredibly had never been previously discovered, and Birdy Grant would sometimes come downstairs after a night where she hadn’t been able to get all the dishes done, and they would be washed, dried and neatly stacked for her, or she would awaken to the warm smell of baking bread when she hadn’t baked herself in months, go downstairs, and there would be a fresh, warm loaf sitting on the counter.
And little Yolanda would talk to them all like they were old friends. She was still a little frightened from when “that scary Tawwia, she said she was my fwiend” had shown Yolanda her true essence, but soon she came to find the rest of those she shared the house with really did want to be friends.
Her parents might not have been thrilled to have a daughter who spoke to ghosts, but there was such an aura of peace and goodness that had come to pass over the home, it was easier to accept.

Abby sat under the willow tree by herself. She came back to this place and this plane often; out of all the places she had explored, this particular instance of the world gave her greatest peace and happiness.
She closed her eyes and a smile turned the corners of her full mouth upwards. She thought back to the times like this when she was still on the mortal plane, and she remembered that when she was in her existence as Abigail she would sit under the tree by the slow river and dream of having a loving family of her own.
And now, she had that family.
It was perhaps not how she had envisioned it when she was a moonstruck young girl: she was the two hundred (something) old unwedded companion of a four hundred year old Native American warrior, and their adopted son was over seventy. But Abby felt the cool breeze on her face and knew she it was worth everything she had been through, and she would never have it any other way.
Never again would the sound of sobbing come from the attic at Beaver Hollow.