The Seduction of Evelyn Hyde

Matt slouched on the couch across the room from the aggravating woman he’d been ordered to seduce, contemplating new ways to die. He’d spent the last three hours watching Evelyn read, and if he still had an ounce of flesh on him he’d be slitting his wrists right about now.

This day was turning out to be as thrilling as an evening at the bingo hall. And it was barely two in the afternoon. He thought back to how he usually spent his Saturdays. Chances were he’d still be in bed—a woman’s bed—doing things that would’ve made prissy little Evelyn blush just reading about. Instead, he was stuck here in Deadsville, counting off each minute that crawled by, listening to nothing but the frustrating echo of his own thoughts.

The only sound that pierced the monotonous silence was that damn cat hissing each time she crossed his path. Matt had decided about an hour ago that the mangy beast was a female. Probably the reincarnation of one of his exes, if any of them had had the misfortune of suffering the same fate as he.

She sat on the rug across from him now, curled at Evelyn’s feet, glaring at him with blatant mistrust. The blasted creature refused to take her eyes off of him, so he decided to alleviate his boredom by engaging in a staring competition.

The cat won.

Feeling more than a little antsy, he stood and stalked the room. Once again, the cat hissed at him.

“What’s wrong, Slippers?” Evelyn asked, finally allowing her gaze to stray from the lousy book she clasped. “Does the fire frighten you?”

“This is great, just great,” Matt growled. “She’ll talk to the cat, but she won’t as much as spare me a glance.”

To Matt’s surprise, the book plunked to the floor as Evelyn vaulted to her feet. “Who said that? How did you get in my house?” She scanned the room with wild-eyed alarm.

Matt approached her, finally experiencing that adrenaline rush he so missed. “You can hear me?”

Evelyn squealed with fear. “Where are you hiding?”

“Nowhere. I’m right in front of you.”

“Why can’t I see you then?”

“Because, apparently, you don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to. Why on Earth wouldn’t I want to see someone standing in my own living room? Who—what are you? A figment of my imagination?” She wagged her head in dismay. “I’ve taken leave of my senses, haven’t I?”

“Lady, you’re asking the wrong guy. I’m not exactly what you’d call the poster boy for sanity. Or common sense, for that matter. But I can promise you one thing—I can take you on one hell of a ride.”

Evelyn squealed again, this time in revulsion. “Get out of my house!”

Guess he’d said the wrong thing. Funny, that pick-up line had always worked for him in the past. “Sorry, can’t do that. For the next week we’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not.”

“No, no, no,” she whined. “You’re not really here.” She sank to the floor and retrieved the book she’d dropped. “It’s this book,” she attempted to convince herself. “I’m reading about ghosts, so I’m imagining one in my house. Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

“If you say so.”

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Talking.”

“Why would I stop talking now that you can finally hear me?”

“Because I’m teetering on the edge of a complete meltdown.”

Matt chuckled. “This I gotta see.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“So I’ve been told.”

Evelyn sighed. “Of all the ghosts I could’ve imagined, I pick one who fancies himself a comedian.”

“Maybe you could use a couple of laughs, among other things.”

An appealing flush crept up her throat to stain her cheeks. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Sure you do,” he taunted. “That’s why you’re standing around talking to yourself.”

Distress tugged at her brows. “You’re right.” She let her body plop into the recliner. “It’s finally happened. I’ve lost my mind. I knew I never should’ve let that cat in.”

Evelyn had never before experienced such abject misery. She’d finally gone and done it. She’d fallen off the turnip truck. And to think just a few hours ago she was lamenting poor Ms. Delaney’s state of mind. How the tables had turned.

“My name’s Matt, by the way,” said the gruff, surprisingly silky voice. A voice that caressed and teased in the same breath.

“Pleased to meet—” She bit her tongue. “No, I’m not doing this. You’re not real. I refuse to engage in this delusion any longer.”

“Suit yourself. But just so you know, I’m not going anywhere.”
She opened her book decisively and continued to read where she’d left off. Scrooge had just awakened in search of the second ghost and was overcome by a trembling fit. She suddenly found herself empathizing with the old miser.

Just then, a tickling sensation skittered across her left cheek. “How do you read this stuff?” The voice asked, only inches from her ear. “It’s archaic.”

“It’s a classic,” she replied emphatically.

“Sure, a classic bore.”

She bristled. “Have you ever read it?”

“Saw the movie once.”

She felt him beside her, a tangible energy that pulsed with each word he intoned. She nearly reached out and touched him, but—realizing how silly the impulse was—she kept her fingers in her lap, where they lay curled around her book.

“If you ask me, these ghosts had it easy. Scaring the bejesus out of an old man is a heck of a lot easier than—” A long, pregnant pause followed.

“Than what?”

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

She huffed, annoyed. “Well, don’t.”

She’d barely read a paragraph when the voice interrupted her yet again. “Tell me, Evie, what do you do for fun? Besides read, that is.”
Evelyn was stumped. What else was there? “I went to the movies last month.”

“How exciting.”

She struggled not to take offense at the caustic remark. “In the summer I love to garden.”

An unmistakable snort punctuated the air. “Just how old are you, thirty going on eighty?”

Defeated, she closed the book and placed it on the end table beside her. “Twenty-nine.”

The ghost clicked his tongue. “Shame.”

“Will you please go haunt someone else?” she moaned.

“Wish I could oblige, but you’re the one I’ve been ordered to haunt.”

“Why?”

“Because for some reason, the powers that be believe you need me.”

Struck by a bolt of indignation, Evelyn stood and began to pace, nearly tripping over Slippers. “I most certainly do not.”

“Tell that to Eberhart.”

“Eber what?”

“Eberhart. The spirit who sent me here.”

A punishing headache threatened to assail her. She stopped in front of the hearth, placing her palms on the limestone mantelpiece for support. Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her anxiety, as the very foundation of her reality slowly collapsed around her.

That’s when she felt the subtle pressure of a comforting hand upon her back. The touch thrummed with heat, like the prickle of an electrical current needling her skin. The sensation was disconcerting, but not entirely unappealing.

Swallowing past the knot in her throat, she pivoted on her heels to face her phantom…and saw him standing before her as clear as day. He looked like an angel with his golden hair and pale blue eyes, a pearlescent glow pulsating around him like a halo.

For a moment she felt blinded by the sheer beauty of him. Then darkness fell to enshroud her.