Hot Blood: Tales of Erotic Horror

thank you.'

It was as if someone had tossed a bucket of icy water on him. Suddenly Jerry was wide awake. Young Pritchard? Why had she said that? Why had she imitated old lady Gati's voice that way? The accent, with its roll of the r, had been chillingly perfect.

Steph had slipped her nightgown over her head and was on her way out. Jerry jumped out of bed and caught her at the door.

'I don't think that was funny, Steph!' She ignored him and pushed the screen door open. He grabbed her arm. 'Hey, look! What kind of game are you playing? What's it gonna be tomorrow morning? Same as today? Pretend that nothing happened tonight?' She tried to pull away but he held on. 'Talk to me, Steph! What's going on?'

A picture suddenly formed in his mind of Steph going back to the house and having hot chocolate with old lady Gati and telling her every intimate detail of their lovemaking, and the old lady getting excited, feeding off it.

'What's going on!' Involuntarily, his grip tightened on her arm.

'You're hurting me!' The words cut like an icy knife. The voice was Steph's, but the tone, the accent, the roll of the r's, the inflection — all were perfect mimicry of old lady Gati, down to the last nuance. But she had been in pain. It couldn't have been rehearsed!

Jerry flipped the light switch and spun her around. It was Steph, all right, as achingly beautiful as ever, but something was wrong. The Steph he knew should have been frightened. The Steph before him was changed. She held herself differently. Her stance was haughty, almost imperious. And there was something in her eyes — a strange light.

'Oh, sweet Jesus! What's happened to you?'

He could see indecision flickering through her eyes as she regarded him with a level stare. Outside, it began to rain. A few scattered forerunner drops escalated to a full-scale torrent in a matter of seconds as their eyes remained locked, their bodies frozen amid day-bright flashes of lightning and the roar of thunder and wind-driven rain. Then she smiled. It was like Steph's smile, but it wasn't.

'Nothing,' she said in that crazy mixed voice.

And then he thought he knew. For a blazing instant, it was clear to him: 'You're not Steph!' In the very instant he said it he disbelieved it, but then her smile broadened and her words turned his blood to ice:

'Yes, I am… for the moment.' The voice was thick with old lady Gati's accent, and it carried a triumphant note. 'What Stephie sees, I see! What Stephie feels, I feel!' She lifted the hem of her nightgown. 'Look at my legs! Beautiful, aren't they?'

Jerry released her arm as if he had been burned. She moved closer but Jerry found himself backing away. Steph was crazy! Her mind had snapped. She thought she was old lady Gati! He had never been faced with such blatant madness before, and it terrified him. He felt exposed, vulnerable before it. With a trembling hand, he grabbed his jeans from the back of the chair.

Marta Gati looked out of Stephie's eyes at young Pritchard as he struggled into his trousers, and she wondered what to do next. She had thought him asleep when she had kissed him good night and made the slip of calling him 'young Pritchard.' She had known she couldn't keep her nightly possession of Stephie from him for too long, but she had not been prepared for a confrontation tonight. She would try for sympathy first.

'Do you have any idea, young Pritchard,' she said, trying to make Stephie's voice sound as American as she could, 'what it is like to be trapped all your life in a body as deformed as mine? To be repulsive to other children as a child, to grow up watching other girls find young men and go dancing and get married and know that at night they are holding their man in their arms and feeling all the things a woman should feel? You have no idea what my life has been like, young Pritchard. But through the years I found a way to remedy the situation. Tonight I am a complete woman — your woman!'

'Stephanie!' young Pritchard shouted, fear and disbelief mingling in the strained pallor of his face. 'Listen to yourself! You sound crazy! What you're saying is impossible!'

'No! Not impossible!' she said, although she could understand his reaction. A few years ago, she too would have called it impossible. Her brother Karl had devoted himself to her and his business. He never married, but he would bring women back to the house now and then when he thought she was asleep. It would have been wonderful if he could have brought a man home for her, but that was impossible. Yet it hadn't stopped her yearnings. And it was on those nights when he and a woman were in the next bedroom that Marta realized that she could sense things in Karl's women. At first she thought it was imagination, but this was more than mere fantasy. She could feel their passion, feel their skin tingling, feel them exploding within. And one night, after they both had spent themselves and fallen asleep, she found herself in the other woman's body — actually lying in Karl's bed and seeing the room through her eyes!

As time went on, she found she could enter their bodies while they slept and actually take them over. She could get up and walk! A sob built in her throat at the memory. To walk! That had been joy enough at first. Then she would dance by herself. She had wanted so much all her life to dance, to waltz, and now she could! She never dared more than that until Karl died and left her free. She had perfected her ability since then.

'It will be a good life for you, young Pritchard,' she said. 'You won't even have to work. Stephie will be my maid and housekeeper during the day and your lover at night.' He shook his head, as if to stop her, but she pressed on. 'And when you get tired of Stephie, I'll bring in another. And another. You'll have an endless stream of young, willing bodies in your bed. You'll have such a good life, young Pritchard!'

A new look was growing in his eyes: belief.

'It's really you!' he said in a hoarse whisper. 'Oh, my dear sweet Lord, it's really you in Steph's body! I… I'm getting out of here!'

She moved to block his way and he stayed back. He could have easily overpowered her, but he seemed afraid to let her get too near. She couldn't let him go, not after all her work to set up a perfect household.

'No! You mustn't do that! You must stay here!'

'This is sick!' he cried, his voice rising in pitch as a wild light sprang into his eyes. 'This is the Devil's work!'

'No, no,' she said, soothingly. 'Not the Devil. Just me. Just something —»

'Get away from me!' he said, backing toward his dresser. He spun and pulled open the top drawer, rummaged through it and came up with a thick book with a cross on its cover. 'Get away, Satan!' he cried, thrusting the book toward her face.

Marta almost laughed. 'Don't be silly, young Pritchard! I'm not evil! I'm just doing what I have to do. I'm not hurting Stephie. I'm just borrowing her body for a while!'

'Out, demon!' he said, shoving the Bible almost into her face. 'Out!'

This was getting annoying now. She snatched the book from his grasp and hurled it across the room. 'Stop acting like a fool!'

He looked from her to the book and back to her with an awed expression. At that moment there was a particularly loud crash of thunder and the lights went out. Young Pritchard cried out in horror and brushed past her. He slammed out the door and ran into the storm.

Marta ran as far as the doorway and stopped. She peered through the deluge. Even with the rapid succession of lightning strokes and sheets, she could see barely a dozen feet. He was nowhere in sight. She could see no use in running out into the storm and following him. She glanced at his keys on the bureau and smiled. How far could a half-naked man go in a storm like this?

Marta crossed the room and sat on the bed. She ran Stephie's hand over the rumpled sheets where less than half an hour ago the two of them had been locked in passion. Warmth rose within her. So good. So good to have a man's arms around you, wanting you, needing you, demanding you. She couldn't give this up. Not now, not when it was finally at her disposal after all these years.

But young Pritchard wasn't working out. She had thought any virile young man would leap at what she offered, but apparently she had misjudged him. Or was a stable relationship within her household just a fool's dream? She had so much to learn about the outside world. Karl had kept her so sheltered from it.