“John.” The voice echoes from the living room.

Even though I don’t believe in ghosts, my feet feel like lead as I hesitantly pick one up and place it down in front of the other. I firmly believe there’s a rational explanation for everything. Well, everything except those eyes my mother acquired the day my sister and her friend played with the Ouija board in the attic. When they never went back to normal, I convinced myself they’d been that way all my life.

I turn and peer into the doorway to the living room, surveying the corners and nooks for intruders. A pair of sleek, smooth legs sticking out over the arm of a chair catches my eye.

A face appears from the other side.

My heart stops for a beat or two before setting a ragged, frantic pace as I recognize the face of my mother. Only it’s not haggard and old like it was when I saw it last. No, this is a much younger face; one I remember from my youth.

She stands. A black satin robe envelops her lean torso. As she holds her arms out toward me, the robe shimmers in the dim light.

“Oh, John, dear. Don’t you want to come kiss Mother?”

No. I absolutely do not want to kiss Mother. I want to be rid of this house permanently. I want the hallucinations and the mortification that comes with them to end.

I need to be home with my wife, spooning her while the sound of our son’s snore on the baby monitor lull me to sleep. I need her comforting presence to help wash away the guilt and shame from my childhood.

Why is this happening?

Without permission, my feet carry me to the apparition. Almost as if I’m not in control. Butterflies dance in my stomach as I approach, and my cock twitches.

No. No, no, no. Not again. I can’t fantasize about her. I can’t.

Expecting a kiss on the cheek, I lean in. She wraps her arms around my neck and plants her lips on mine, her tongue exploring the crease of my lips.

I jerk my head away from hers. “This isn’t right.” Intending for my words to be strong and firm, I’m shocked when they come out weak and pathetic.

“Of course, it’s right, John. You’ve always wanted to kiss Mother. I knew that from the moment we first saw each other.”

My eyes fall on her cherry-red lips. She slowly runs her tongue over them. I shudder with longing. Actually, I do want to kiss her.

Except, isn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t she be the adult here? Aren’t we both adults here?

When I try to pull my away, her arms remain locked around my neck.

“It’s all right, John. Relax,” she purrs into my ear and nibbles on its lobe. “For tonight, it’s just the two of us and anything is allowed.”

One of her arms releases my neck, takes my hand, and brings it up to her breast. My fingertips touch the skin revealed by the opening in her robe. Her flesh is soft, warm, inviting.

I’ll be damned if I give in. Tormented if I don’t. The indecision is agonizing.

“Let’s get lost together, John.” Her lips brush my neck as she whispers. “Just you and Mother.”

She releases me, walks out of the room, and disappears around the corner. I hear the clip-clip of high heels on the wooden floors. I shake my head confused; I don’t remember seeing anything on her feet when I walked in.

Without direction, my feet move on their own. Again.

As I exit the living room, she leans against the wall across the corridor, her intense dark eyes looking back at me. A single finger beckons me closer. She wears only a short, lacy negligee now; her discarded robe lies in a puddle on the floor between us.

My eyes drop from hers to her finger, and then to her nearly exposed, perky breasts. Her stiff nipples poke against the thin fabric.

“Come on, John. Let Mother make you come,” she whispers seductively.

My pants are instantly too tight. Shame burns my cheeks. For the briefest of moments, I glance towards the front door. If I can bring myself to run and escape these walls…

The soft touch of a woman’s hand turns my attention back toward her.

“Let’s play in the bedroom, John.” She disappears into my parents’ room.

Again, I don’t know why my feet are moving forward. I’m curious, aroused, and horrified all at once. The emotions war within me like great crushing waves drowning out all intelligent thought, piling one over the other in a continual spiral.

I enter the bedroom and pull the door shut behind me to hide whatever sin is going to happen next. My hand remains firmly on the knob behind my back like a lifeline to sanity.

Mother slides against a pole in the middle of the room. One of her velvety legs wraps around the sleek, shiny chrome, and she performs a graceful, sensual spin.

I’m dreaming. The realization washes me with relief. There wasn’t a stripper’s pole in this room just minutes ago.

She keeps moving about the pole, gliding down it, arching her back, which pulls the hem of her garment up enough for me to see the curve of her butt and the strap of her thong. She inverts herself with her legs around the pole and her hands on the ground. “Yes, John, this can be a dream. Don’t you want to make dreamy love to Mother?” With another poised, slip along the pole, she’s upright once more.

If this is a dream, I can relax and do whatever I want. I never imagined I would have a dream this kinky, but maybe that’s because I’m fast asleep in my parents’ bed right now.

“Yes, Mother, I do.”

She gasps in ecstasy as the words leave my lips. “That’s a good boy, John.” She begins moving slowly towards me. “That’s Mother’s good little boy.”

After my next exhale, she presses her torso against me and reaches her hand down to deftly unfasten my pants. Her hand grips and strokes my erection, and it’s my turn to moan.

“Mother wants you to give her a child,” she breathes into my ear.

I pull my head back, frowning. This dream has gotten really perverted.

Something shifts in her face. There’s a hint of anger, and for just the briefest flash that makes me question whether I saw it at all, her face appears old and haggard like a witch, her eyes a burning red, her lips twisted in disdain.

I blink, and all I see before me is my young lovely mother’s face again.

“Tell Mother you’ll give her a child.” Her hand squeezes a bit painfully around my balls.

“Umm.” If it is a dream, then it doesn’t matter what I say now. I can lie to keep her happy.

“Promise me, John.” She squeezes again.

“Okay, okay.” I catch my breath as she releases and begins the delicious stroking again.

“Okay, what?”

“I promise to give you a child.”

“You promise who?”