(Read Chapter One here: https://bit.ly/2vKPl2c)
“You mean, he really believed you, love,” grinned Kenneth as he hastily removed his sweatpants and climbed onto the unmade bed, “the ghost of Frank Sinatra?”
“So it would seem,” came Muriel’s reply, “but let’s not talk about that just now, it’s suuuuuuch a buzzkill thinking about that pathetic whimper of a man, especially when I’m in the company of the Lincoln lothario.”
Kenneth nodded, faking a smile but hardly hiding his mild disappointment. Winning over married women was normally more of a struggle for him, almost an Olympic sport, but it had been such an easy task enticing Muriel away from her man that it was almost off-putting. There was just no thrill, no sense of danger, and that made it harder for him to enjoy the rewards.
“Now what are you waiting for,” announced Muriel, snapping Kenneth out of his momentary daze. That was all the invitation he needed, and the pair were soon entwined for the fourth time that day - and in the third location, no less.
Muriel was thoroughly enjoying the affair. Kenneth had adopted the nickname the Lincoln lothario several years ago, and she found it easy to see why - his sweet talking style was unmatched by any man she’d met down the local, and even his developing beer belly was rather endearing.
She found herself pondering why she’d ever left him in the first place. Yes, Yannick had been polite and had had shed loads of money left to him when his parents were murdered by an escaped jewel thief, but what was that compared with Kenneth’s spray-tanned face and impressive collection of shark tooth necklaces. She vowed to learn from her mistake - her and the lothario would be together forever more now.
“So, you believe in ghosts then love,” Kenneth asked. The pair were now sitting upright in bed, chain smoking their way through a pack of cigs.
“I dunno,” said Muriel as she puffed away, “I’m not that religious.”
“Fair enough,” was Kenneth’s response. He was not a religious man either, although he had briefly been part of a new age sex cult in his twenties - a period which he did not remember fondly. The programme had proved too much even for a lothario like him, it was all just so chaotic, and Kenneth needed at least a bit of order to his loving.
“Anyway,” Muriel yawned, “it’s probably time to get a bit of shut-eye. I imagine we have a full schedule tomorrow.”
Hardly waiting for Kenneth’s reply, Muriel stubbed out her cigarette on the duvet and laid back on her pillow, drifting off into a deep and happy sleep.
But it was to be a short-lived kip.
She was awoken by a loud, unbearable noise, which sounded as if a tibetan chant and a funky bassline had been remixed by a demonic spirit - and it was coming from eerily close by. Turning to Kenneth to try and identify the source of the commotion, she became aghast. Kenneth wasn’t there, instead there was a strange, chilling figure, that looked almost identical to a seriosuly ill Jasper Carrott.
“Aaaaaaaaaghhhhhh” she screamed, looking away “what the everloving flip-flop is going on?”
There was a brief pause, after which the nightmarish noise ceased.
“What’s wrong, love,” came Kenneth’s sleepy voice, “bad dream?”
Muriel turned back to where the figure had been and found that Kenneth had returned to his place, and the terrible vision from just a few moments previous was nowhere to be seen. Now she was even more alarmed - Muriel had experienced many nightmares in her day, and she knew that this wasn’t that - the figure she’d seen had very much been there, there was no doubting it.
“Kenneth,” she said tentatively. “Do you...have a secret?”
Now it was the lothario’s turn to look alarmed.
“Erm, well…” he began, but Muriel was not messing around.
“IF YOU DO YOU BETTER TELL ME RIGHT AWAY!!” she bellowed, spit flying in all directions.
Kenneth composed himself - he knew it was time to divulge. If he wanted to keep this affair alive (and boy, did he want to keep this affair alive!) he’d have to be honest from here on out.
“In my twenties,” he began, “I was in this.. Well I guess you’d call it a cult. And when I left, well, the leader - Baba MacGyver we called him - well I suppose he didn’t take kindly to it. Ever since then strange things have happened to me, mainly at night. My only conclusion is that I must have been cursed.”
Muriel gasped. Of all the explanations she’d expected it was safe to say this had not been one of them, and she was severely taken aback. But it was hard to deny that there wasn’t something rather alluring about it all. She was with a man who’d been cursed by a mysterious cult leader - and how many people could say that! This would definitely make up for all those stale years with Yannick. Yes, nothing could put her off now. Nothing.