Love Potion #6 & 7/8ths

Part Two

Tina glanced up at the clock. It was only a little past five. There was still a little time yet before Mark came home. Oh, wow…! Tina thought. Is he gonna be surprised! He acts as though I’m not even here half the time; I wonder how he’ll act when he thinks I’m really not here!

Tina got up from the bed and walked back to the full-length mirror. She jumped at her own ghostly reflection; she still couldn’t get used to it. She looked herself over in mirror very carefully. She slowly ran her invisible hands up and down her unseen form beneath the silky filmy fabric. She stood up perfectly straight, pulling her tummy in. The contours of her invisible breasts stood out in sharp relief beneath the silky fabric. Hmmmm, she thought. Maybe I don’t look so bad after all... Mmmm, I actually look pretty good, in fact! She then placed one unseen hand on her hip and raised the other to the back of her transparent head. She then raised one knee in what she thought was a very sexy pose, and chuckled softly to herself. She struck a number of different poses, imitating those she had seen in various fashion magazines. She laughed in delight at the sight of the empty negligee in the mirror copying her every movement.

She then stood directly in front of the mirror and raised her arms up and out over her head. She began to slowly wave her arms, in an approximation of what she imagined a ghost might look like. She giggled at the empty sleeves waving about in the mirror.

I wonder if I should… she thought. Mark is so interested in ghosts and stuff…I wonder how he’d like to really be haunted! She smiled unseen. This could even be fun! she thought.

She lowered her sleeves. Hmm...I’d better not over-do it, she thought. At least, not at first. Maybe less is more, at least to start with…

She reached down and quickly slipped the negligee off, tossing it onto the bed. She slipped out of the silk panties, then looked in the mirror again and drew a sharp intake of breath. She then smiled; she saw nothing of herself in the mirror, nothing at all; only the reflection of the empty room. Woww…that’s incredible. She thought. Yeah…this is a lot better. There’s a lot more I can do this way!

She picked up the negligee from the bed and quickly folded it up. She laughed in delight at the way the soft, silky fabric fluttered about in mid-air as she folded it with her unseen hands. She then carried it over to the dresser and pulled out a drawer. She placed the folded-up negligee into the drawer and was just about to close it when she suddenly realized something. She picked up the bottle of perfume from the dresser top and put it into the drawer as well, pushing it waaaayyyy in the back, where no one would be likely to find it accidentally. She closed the drawer.


She looked in the mirror over the dresser, still amazed at her lack of a reflection. God, this is just so incredible, she thought. I still can’t believe it. She picked up her hairbrush, a bottle of cologne and some other items from the dresser top, one by one, and waved them around, laughing out loud at how they appeared to float in space of their own accord. Man oh man, she thought; Mark is gonna freak!

Another thought occurred to Tina, and she returned the items back to the dresser and quickly walked out into the kitchen. She picked up a notepad and pen and scribbled out a brief note:

Went out with some old friends. Will be out all day, won’t be home until late. Don’t wait up for me.


She tore off the sheet that contained the note and stuck it onto the refrigerator with one of the countless magnets that dotted the refrigerator door. She then walked over to the couch and sat down, gasping in delight when she saw a deep impression suddenly appear in the couch cushion where her bottom would normally be. She watched the clock and impatiently counted the minutes until Mark’s return home, listening for the sounds of his footsteps.

Suddenly there was a sound at the front door. Tina jumped at the sound of the key in the lock. She jumped up from the couch just as the front door swung open. Mark walked in, carrying the day’s mail.

"I’m home," Mark called out as he walked in, closing the door behind him. "Tina?"

Out of habit, Tina almost answered "I’m right here!" before catching herself. Instead, she silently tiptoed over to Mark.

Mark didn’t look up; instead, he looked through the envelopes he held in his hand, grimacing at the bills. "Tina?" he called again. "You home?"

Tina now stood directly in front of Mark. Unseen, she now grinned broadly at him; yet he was completely unaware of her presence. Mark turned and walked into the kitchen. Tina dodged out of his way just in time to avoid getting bumped into, then followed him in. Mark continued to shuffle through the envelopes he held in his hand. He stopped when he saw the note posted on the refrigerator door, and leaned over to read it.

"Mmm. Out all day, huh? Swell..." he said, followed by a sigh. "I suppose that means no dinner, then." He sighed, pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down, dropping the envelopes onto the table. He picked up one envelope and began to open it.

Tina stood beside Mark, waving her hands in front of his face and wiggling her fingers mere inches away from his eyes. She bent over and stuck her tongue out and made every funny face she could think of. Mark never even blinked.

She then positioned herself so that her breasts were right in Mark’s face. She cupped her hands beneath her breasts and gently hefted and jiggled them right before his eyes. She knew that it was one thing that Mark couldn’t ignore, no matter how preoccupied he might be. Nevertheless, in this instance, Mark never even glanced at them. Only then did Tina finally accept, beyond any doubt, the true nature of her condition.

My God, Tina thought. It’s for real! I really am invisible! This is incredible! I’m standing here, buck-naked right in front of him and he can’t see a thing! A thrill shot through Tina like a lightning bolt. She began to tremble in excitement as new ideas occurred to her to take advantage of the situation. Oooh, she thought. I should be so ashamed of myself for what I’m thinking right now! she thought. But this is just too good an opportunity to pass up! Mark’s always ignoring me…let’s see if he can ignore this…

Mark picked up another envelope from the stack on the table to open, when suddenly it shot from his fingers and floated and danced about in midair in front of his face. Mark let out a squawk of surprise. Moments later, all the envelopes likewise floated up from the table by themselves, one by one. They all fluttered and floated in midair, as though caught in a whirlwind. Mark’s eyes opened wider and wider, as did his mouth. He watched in shocked surprise, momentarily undecided as to whether to laugh or scream. "My god…my god!!!" he cried aloud. "What the hell is this?!?"

One by one, each envelope then tore itself open, and the contents flew out and likewise fluttered about in midair, before envelopes, letters and bills were all scattered around the kitchen table and the floor. The envelopes and bills then floated up from the table and floor and gently floated down onto Mark’s head like so many snowflakes. He was too stunned even to duck aside to avoid them.

When the haunted mail finally ceased its performance, Mark continued to sit and stare for several more minutes. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head, and his heart felt as though it would come pounding out of his chest. Tina, meanwhile, struggled valiantly to stifle her laughter. I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought. I really shouldn’t…but I just can’t help it! This is just too good!

Finally, Mark’s rapid breathing slowed down to a more natural rhythm. "Oh my god, oh my god….." he repeated, over and over. He sat motionless for several more minutes, as though afraid to move, waiting for the haunted mail to resume its performance. He glanced occasionally around him, to his left and right, as though there were some previously-undetected cause for the unusual sight he had just witnessed. Finally, when he felt sure that the event was really truly over, only then did he slowly rise from the table, on very shaky legs. He turned and slowly walked back out to the living room.

He approached the big leather armchair ("his" chair, where he read his books, watched TV and generally unwound and relaxed after a hard day) and was just about to sit down in it, when suddenly it pulled away from him. His rear end landed heavily upon the thickly-carpeted floor, and he instinctively cried out, "HEY!!" even though there was no one there to hear it. He painfully got up from the floor and stared, frowning, at the armchair, a growing annoyance fighting to displace the stunned surprise he’d initially felt. He looked behind the chair, trying to see what had caused its unexpected movement. There was nothing there. He continued to stare at the chair for several more minutes, almost as though challenging it to move again.

Finally, when he was satisfied that it was reliably immobile, he turned around and tried to sit down again. And again, the chair pulled away from him, resulting in another encounter between his rear end and the floor.

Again, Mark got up and frowned intently at the leather armchair. By now, a growing fear began to displace his earlier annoyance. He fought against it, determined to find out just what the heck kept making the chair move away from him.

He took a step to the right of the chair, to again try to look behind it. But just as he did so, the chair swiveled around to face him. Mark instinctively jumped back. His eyes again opened wide, and he broke out into a cold sweat. He then stepped to the left side of the chair, again trying to look behind it. Again, the chair swiveled to face him.

Mark reflexively stepped back from the chair.

The chair moved toward him a couple of feet.

Mark took another step back. Again the chair advanced upon him.

Mark took another step. And another. And another.

And for each step he took, the chair moved closer to him. And closer.

In moments, the chair was chasing Mark in slow motion all around the living room as he continued to back away from it. Finally, it had him backed into a corner, where he now stood stock still, staring in fright at the his formerly inanimate pursuer. Mark stared at the chair and the chair, it seemed to Mark, stared right back at him, almost as though each were challenging the other to make the next move. After uncounted minutes, the chair then slowly backed away from Mark, and rolled across the floor, back to its usual place in front of the television.

Mark watched all this with wide, unblinking eyes. Finally, he roused himself to move. He reached with trembling hands to a cabinet near his elbow and opened the cabinet door. "I—I—I—I—I—I need a drink!" he half-whispered, half-stammered to himself, as he took out a bottle of brandy and a glass. His hands shook so much he nearly dropped the bottle and glass, and with some difficulty, he managed to get the cap off the bottle.

He poured himself a shot of the brandy and quickly downed it. He poured a second one and downed that as well. He had just started to pour a third one when the glass, like the haunted mail, suddenly shot from his hands and proceeded to float about in front of his face. It bobbed and floated about in circular motions, then seemed to retreat and advance to him as he reached for it. The bottle likewise pulled itself from his hand and began to float about. By now, however, Mark was so stunned that he put up no resistance as it pulled itself away from his grasp.

Mark watched in amazement as the bottle and glass danced out their strange midair ballet before him. The glass then tipped itself up and Mark thought the brandy would spill onto the floor; he reached for it to try to prevent it. Oddly enough, however, the brandy didn’t spill; instead, it just seemed to…disappear. The bottle floated over to the glass and poured a tiny amount into it. Again the glass rose up and tilted itself backward. And again, the liquid simply vanished into thin air.

The floating bottle filled the glass a third time, after which it then floated over to a point immediately in front of Mark’s mouth. With tiny movements, it seemed to Mark as though the glass were beckoning to him, inviting him to drink from it. He hesitated, afraid to move at first. The floating glass repeated its tiny movements. Mustering up his courage, Mark forced himself to move. He leaned forward, towards the glass, about to take a drink from it, when it suddenly floated up to a point in space just above his head. Again, it began to tilt. Mark merely watched; by now he half-expected the brandy to simply vanish into thin air, just as it had done before. It therefore surprised him when it didn’t; instead, it poured directly onto the top of his head.

He sputtered and fumed as he turned and ran into the kitchen. Behind him, the glass and bottle floated gently down to the cabinet, accompanied by a soft, eerie sound, similar to that of a woman softly chuckling to herself.

In the kitchen, Mark grabbed at some paper towels to dry his soaked head and shirt. He didn’t know whether to be more frightened or outraged at this point. This is crazy! He thought. It’s insane! This can’t be happening! he told himself.

But it was happening.

He tore off a piece of paper towel and began to wipe away at his soaked hair and shirt. Suddenly, the roll of paper towels began to rapidly unwind itself, unrolling faster and faster, madly out of control. Paper towels cascaded all over the counter and floor. Mark, forgetting about his soaked shirt and head, stepped back and stared at the incredible scene unfolding before him. The paper towel then floated up from the floor and proceeded to wrap itself around Mark, as though about to mummify him. Mark frantically tore the paper towels away from him and ran out of the kitchen, if not exactly in a blind panic, then in the next best thing to it.

"Okay…okay…okay…calm down…calm down…don’t panic…" Mark repeated over and over to himself as began to pace in extremely agitated circles about the living room. As incredible as it was, he was now apparently witnessing the exact same kinds of phenomena that he’d been reading and studying about all these weeks. And even though he’d read about such things, he never imagined that they would ever happen to him. He was frightened of course; yet at the same time, he was also excited, his fear and excitement scarcely diminished by the brandy just now beginning to hit his bloodstream. Because he realized that now he’d have the opportunity to actually observe such phenomena himself, close up, instead of just reading about them in books.

Tina silently watched Mark as he paced. She had by now controlled her stifled laughter, and watched him soberly. I really shouldn’t be doing these things to him, she thought. I must be a really terrible person for taking advantage of him this way… I’m terrible I know…but I can’t help it! Much as she tried to deny it to herself and convince herself otherwise, Tina couldn’t avoid the fact that she was enjoying herself. She couldn’t explain it, but she was getting a very definite rush from the situation. She stood and watched Mark carefully, waiting to see what he would do next, hoping that his next actions would give her some more ideas.

As she watched him, she became aware of very strange thoughts and feelings within her. As she played her tricks on Mark, she had felt a growing excitement within her, a thrill such as she had never known before. She was actually getting turned on by the situation, as she now realized that she was in a position to have anything she wanted. And she realized that what she wanted most right then was something she hadn’t had in a long, long time… She began to entertain thoughts as to how she might be able to get it…

From these musings a strange idea occurred to her. She immediately tried to squelch it. No…no, it’s too weird…she told herself. It’s too weird a mind-game to play on him. No, I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t do that…I couldn’t… But even as she told herself this, the idea intrigued her… The more she tried to tell herself that she couldn’t do it, the more she realized that she would…

"What should I do… What should I do… What should I do…" Mark softly repeated to himself as he paced. He tried to remember from his readings what the proper procedures for psychic investigators were when witnessing such phenomena.

"Okay…Okay…Okay…this is…this is a classic…classic poltergeist phenomena. Classic poltergeist…classic poltergeist…" he said to himself, trying to analyze the situation calmly. "Okay…what does that mean? What do they do…what do they— They document it, of course…! Yeah…yeah, that’s what they do! Of course! They document it…! That’s what they do…! Detailed document…detailed record…detailed record…the time…duration…" he smiled with a perhaps inordinate amount of excitement as he turned and hurried over to his desk in the corner of the room.

He sat down at the desk, looking at his watch and noting the time. "Okay…okay…time is now….f-f-five forty-five…" He pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil and began jotting down notes as he spoke (with difficulty, as his hands trembled.) "Um---um…" he said, trying to remember the exact time of the haunted mail’s performance, and to find just the right words to make it sound official. "Um…estimated time of first event: five-forty p.m." he said aloud as he wrote. "Estimated time of second event: five-forty-three. Estimated time of third event: five—OH SH—!!"

Just at that moment, the paper and pencil were pulled out of his hands, and drifted over to a corner of the desk. The pencil positioned itself with its point against the paper as if to write, and sure enough, it began to move as it scribbled down crude letters. Mark watched in awe as the pencil wrote down a brief message. He craned his neck around at an angle to read it:

            H-E-L-L-O-! the message said simply.

"OH my god!!" Mark whispered, recoiling from the note. He stared at it in horror, then cautiously leaned closer to it again, almost afraid of what it said. He stared at it intently. He hesitated, then finally decided to respond to it in the most direct way possible.

"Hello?" he answered weakly. "Who—or—WHAT—ARE you?"

            A-S-P-I-R-I-T the pencil jotted down.

"A spirit?" Mark whispered. "You—you’re a spirit?"


Mark leaned back in his chair, raising a hand to cover his gaping mouth. He sat transfixed in this position for several minutes as though frozen. Finally, a question occurred to him and he summoned all his courage to move and speak again.

"Spirit," he said cautiously. "Spirit, why—why are you here? Why do you torment me?"


"Make contact? To make contact with me you mean?


"But why?"


A chill went down Mark’s spine. "My—my help?!?" he croaked weakly. "My help with what?"


"I—I—I don’t understand," Mark said. "What do you mean, you need me? You need me for what?"


"I’m—I’m—I’m sorry, but—but—I—I don’t understand," Mark said, his voice now becoming quite shrill. "You want me for what? What do you want of me?"

Almost as though for an answer, Mark felt a sudden curious sensation: it felt as though someone where softly blowing in his ear. He flinched and let out a brief "AAAH!" in surprise as the sensation hit him. "What was that?" he said. "OH, my god…!" Another sensation, similar to the first, only this time in his other ear. He looked all around him, to his left and his right, to see if there were someone there to account for the strange sensation. But there was no one there that he could see. Under different circumstances, it might have been a very pleasant sensation. Under the current circumstances however, it made Mark’s blood run cold.

Mark then felt another sensation, this one felt almost as though a hand had softly caressed his cheek. There it was again! And again, only now on the other side, and running behind his ear. Good God, what was this? It felt as though he were being caressed by unseen fingers! What the hell was this?

Mark gripped the arms of his chair with white knuckles, absolutely terrified by what was happening to him. He tried desperately to look at the situation dispassionately, logically and analytically, as he knew a good parapsychologist should. But he found himself quite incapable of doing so. Moreover, the novelty of the situation combined with the brandy now beginning to hit his system, made him feel as though he could do no more than simply sit back and observe it.

The unseen hands continued to stroke and caress Mark, and he continued to flinch at their touch. Only now his reactions became blunted, more subdued. Whether due to the brandy or to his own increasing familiarity with the spirit’s touch, Mark didn’t know, but to his surprise, his terror gradually began to subside; with each soft touch, there seemed to be less to be afraid of. In fact, Mark now felt a growing excitement within him. This was a truly unique, extraordinary event in the field of psychic phenomena, and it was happening to him! At the same time, Mark could not deny that the tactile sensations also appealed to a more basic side of his nature as well, although he tried his best to deny this fact to himself. The truth, however, was that Mark was slowly, steadily being lulled into a kind of reverie by the brandy and the soft caresses of his ghostly visitor. He closed his eyes, trying to focus his attention on the unique sensations he now experienced.

As the ghostly caresses continued, they began to work their way down and away from Mark’s face. They crept down to his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as they went, their touch exploring the space between flesh and fabric. The unseen caresses crept lower, until they reached his belt. Mark felt a small, sharp tug at his waist and his eyes snapped open. He looked down to see his belt unbuckling itself.

Immediately, he was jolted from his reverie. "Oh, now wait a minute!" he said. "Wait a minute, just hold on now!"

The belt finished unbuckling and Mark’s fly unzipped itself. Something tugged at the waistband of his pants, pulling them down his hips.

"Wait a minute, I said!" Mark repeated, with equal parts alarm and annoyance. "You—you can’t do that!"

Immediately, the tugging on his pants ceased. It seemed as though the unseen presence had withdrawn. Mark blinked twice, and sat perfectly still. Did he frighten away his ghostly visitor? It seemed that he had, but he couldn’t be sure.

"Spirit?" he whispered softly. "Spirit, are you there? Did I—I— I’m sorry if I startled you! Please, don’t go away. Please, answer me!"

But there was only silence.