The Detwiler Boy – Part 1 [MF] [Supernatural]

**Writer’s Note:** This piece of fiction contains mature language and content. If this is not what you want to read, please choose something else.

**Part 1**

Callie was playing with her bullet vibrator. The upper register of vibration was always way too intense for her, no matter how horny she was, no matter what brand of bullet she had – so her bullet was set to a nice, low, steady hum as she put it on the tip of her clit. Without any warning, the vibration stopped. Irritated, Callie smacked the vibrator, shook it, then turned it off and back on. Her preferred low vibration started again, and she put it against her clit with a sigh. It stopped.

“Oh, for Christ’s sakes,” she said. She opened her nightstand drawer and got a couple new batteries out of the package. Then she opened up the battery compartment and removed the old batteries.

Callie’s whole world slipped sideways.

The vibrator started vibrating on maximum without any batteries in it! She shrieked and let go of everything in her hands, the lid to the compartment falling to the floor, the body of the vibrator dancing across the bed, batteries scattering onto the floor.

This can’t be happening, she thought. This isn’t real. I took the batteries out!

The vibrator started thumping on the bed, as if someone were holding it by the cord and drumming with the bullet. Th-thump, thump-th- Thump, thump, thump. Th-thump, th-th-… Too scared to pick it up, Callie stood and stared at it, taking slow steps backward. It had stopped moving across the bed, and was just drumming away at the same spot on the bed covers. Th-thump-th. Thump, thump, th- She wanted to scream, but her voice caught in her throat. Th- Th-th- Th-th-th- Thump! Reaching the door, Callie ducked out and slammed it closed.

“This is stupid,” she said, realizing that she slammed a door to save herself from a small vibrator. However, when she considered opening the door, her right hand stayed where it was – her forearm crossing high on her chest, fingers tucked in her left armpit. The fingers of her other hand were similarly tucked in her right armpit. Her position was like a self-imposed strait jacket. “Oh, come on…,” she muttered to herself. Although she thought about opening the door a couple more times (it was dead quiet in her room now), her hands still were not willing to cooperate. “Fucking fine!” she said as she walked away from the door.

Everything is going to be ok, she told herself. I’ll be fine. I can just walk around my apartment naked. Oh! Her eyes lit on the afghan her grandmother had crocheted for her. Wrinkling her nose at the scratchiness of the yarn, Callie wrapped her shivering body in the afghan and sat down on the couch, watching her bedroom door.

There were too many decorative holes in the afghan to keep her warm. Callie had a bone-deep shiver that wasn’t going away, making her really want her robe. Soft and cuddly, fleecey warm, her robe would be a good thing to have on right about now. Uttering another curse, she stood up and marched across the living room to her door. Flinging it open and ignoring her bed – plus everything on it – she pulled her robe off the closet door where it usually hung on a hook. About to stomp back through the door, Callie cast a swift look at the vibrator. It was lying there, the battery compartment open and empty. The lid was probably lost somewhere. Slowly, the vibrator stood on one end. Deliberately, the thumping started again, some of the blows being very heavy.

Thump THUMP THUMP thump. THUMP THUMP THUMP. Thump THUMP thump thump. THUMP. Thump. Thump THUMP thump. THUMP THUMP thump. Thump. Thump thump. Thump thump thump. THUMP.

The vibrator stood still. Somehow, Callie had dropped both the afghan and her robe. With a gasp, she bent over, picked up the robe and wrestled it on. Now the vibrator wagged side to side like an old woman scolding with a finger.

“Jesus!” She shrieked. “Can you see me?”

THUMP thump THUMP THUMP. Thump. Thump thump thump.

It stood silent.

“You’re answering me, aren’t you?”

THUMP thump THUMP THUMP. Thump. Thump thump thump.

Caught between nausea, fear and intrigue, Callie said, “It’s a code. Some kind of code. Tap one time, if I’m right.”

Tap.

Holy shit. It’s actually talking to me, she thought. I don’t know how, but a cheap little 10-dollar vibrating bullet is trying to talk to me.

“What do you want from me?”

The vibrator started thumping again – but the tempo was pretty wild, and Callie couldn’t keep up.

“OK! Stop. I don’t understand. I need to know what the code is.”

Thump thump thump. THUMP THUMP THUMP. Thump thump thump.

It was familiar to her. She repeated the sequence in her head. Thump thump thump. THUMP THUMP THUMP. Thump thump thump. If she replaced that with other words – tip tip tip TAP TAP TAP tip tip tip…

“Morse?” she asked. But who in the hell used Morse code?

THUMP thump THUMP THUMP. Thump. Thump thump thump.

She sighed. “Just tap once if I’m right. Is it Morse code?”

Tap.

Her fear fully shoved to one side, Callie grabbed her laptop and put it on her desk to search for a Morse code chart. She opened a blank text file so she could write down the letters as the bullet thumped.

“OK. I have it. Give me your message.”

P O L T E R G E I S T – appeared on her screen. She had not touched the keyboard. Whatever had knocked her bullet around was typing on her keyboard now!

“What?” Now the fear was back.

I DIED WHEN I WAS 19

“You’re a ghost… – But why did you possess my bullet?”

I WANTED TO GET YOUR ATTENTION

Her robe hanging open, her mouth also open, Callie stood there staring at the screen. If I wasn’t so scared, I’d be pissed, she thought.

“What do you want from me?”

FIND MY MURDERER AND HAVE HIM ARRESTED

“You know I’m not a cop, right?”

YES

FIND JUSTICE FOR ME

Callie sat in the chair and looked around the room. Nothing was out of place, except the sheets and blanket on the bed were sort of twisted, and the lid to the battery compartment was on the floor. Poltergeists are supposed to tear the house apart, while knocking the hell out of the walls, doors, ceilings… What in the hell kind of poltergeist types on a keyboard? For that matter, what in the hell kind of poltergeist fucks with someone’s vibrator while she’s using it?

“OK, ghost. You want something from me. I want something from you. Why are you bugging me? Why are you even here? I mean, this place wasn’t haunted when I moved in five months ago. Are you stuck in a wall or something?” She tried to hold back a little nausea. “Do I have to find your body?”

YOU DON’T HAVE TO FIND MY BODY

I WAS BURIED A LONG TIME AGO

I FOLLOWED MY RIFLE HERE

“Your rifle.” Right away, she knew what he was talking about. “I bought that rifle at a flea market over the weekend. They told me it’s a replica. – Don’t tell me it’s a real rifle!”

IT’S REAL

No fucking way. That’s not even legal. She couldn’t help a panicked feeling. I have an illegal weapon in my apartment.

YOU KNOW I’M NOT A COP RIGHT

“And you possessed my vibrator!”

I WANTED TO G-

Before he could finish typing, she yelled, “Then why didn’t you use the god-damned rifle? You used my vibrator!”

I DIDN’T WANT TO SCARE YOU

That’s it, she thought angrily. Standing up, Callie pulled her robe close and walked toward the door. On her way through the door, she picked up the afghan. He didn’t want to scare her? Of course he scared the living shit out of her. He fucked with the vibrator while it was on her clit. She couldn’t even find the words to express how pissed off, scared and violated she felt.

“You are full of shit,” she said. She didn’t know where she wanted to go, but she definitely needed more space than her little three-room apartment would give. She gave a couple of irritated grunts as she thought about what to do. She was naked under that robe. She paced in the living room.

A pair of jeans drifted through the air and then hung in front of her. Callie stopped stock still. There were sounds of stirring in her room. A moment later, a pair of bikini panties floated beside the jeans. More sounds of drawers being pulled open and then shutting. Here came a bra.

“What in the utter fuck are you doing?” There was no answer she could detect. “So now you’re Mr. Helpful?”

KNOCK knock KNOCK KNOCK, knock, knock knock knock. That came from her bedroom door.

“So now the poltergeist knocks. Are you kidding me?” She paused, and said, “That is a joke, isn’t it?”

Her bra twisted into a Y, her panties into an E, and then her jeans went wild, finally ending up in an enormous S. The zipper faced her as it zipped and unzipped rapidly.

“…You are the silliest son of a bitch I have ever heard of…” Callie was still scared, but it was pretty funny. “Enough.” She brushed the clothing aside. “There has to be a smarter way to do this.” The ghost wasn’t going to go away, and with all the whacky things he did – she didn’t think he was violent. Weird. Totally frigging weird, but not violent.

There was a Darth Vader voice changer microphone in her closet. There was a Chewbacca mask too – but all it did was make that yodeling growl, so it wouldn’t be helpful at all. She went into her room to rummage in the closet, coming out a moment later with the voice changer microphone. Uncertain if it was the right place to put it, Callie put the microphone in the center of the living room floor.

“Can you use this to talk?”

The microphone lay there, but suddently blurted, “Yes. [breath] I can. [breath] It sounds funny. [breath]”

Callie laughed. Her ghostly visitor was a Darth Vader-talking, panty-pinching, bullet-tapping, and most recently door knocking poltergeist.

“Wai–” the voice started cracking “-t while –” the pitch went up “I fi–” there was a screech –“-ix this thing.” It sounded like static for a second.

“Are you there?” Callie asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve been trying for so long to talk to somebody! Everybody just got scared. I couldn’t get them to listen.”

“I’m listening. I’m still a little pissed off with you, but I’m listening. You’re a funny guy. Did you know what you were messing with when you fucked with my vibrator?”

He said, “I figured it out. It didn’t look like any vibrator I ever saw, but it was pretty clear when you moved it there.”

She said, “The bullet’s a pretty popular kind of vibrator. I mean, how could you not recognize it?”

No answer.

Callie said quietly, “Wait… When did you pass away? What year was it?”

“1975.”

They probably didn’t have bullet vibrators back then, she thought.

“Do you know what year it is?”

“No.”

She paused before saying, “2020. You passed away 45 years ago.”

There was a short, choked sound from the microphone. Then Callie felt it: he was crying. She couldn’t hear it, but she knew he was doing it. It was the saddest, loneliest thing she had ever felt. He’d been trying to talk to someone – anyone – for 45 years.

On the strangest night of her 22 years, Callie found herself deep in conversation with a man she couldn’t see or touch, a man who had died before she was even born, even before her mother was born. The roller coaster of emotion just would not stop. He needed to get so many things off his chest. He missed his family. He missed his dog. He wanted her to call him Chris. He was adrift, unable to rest or move on. When he finally started talking about his death, Callie couldn’t keep a tear from slipping down. It wasn’t his fault. Some girl he barely knew tried to get her boyfriend to fight him. The girl said Chris was giving her the eye. Chris denied it, but the fight started anyway. The other guy was much bigger, and he beat Chris to death. The guy just kept slugging at Chris’ face while the girl screamed, “Eric! You’re going to kill him!”

Callie asked, “And he just kept on hitting you?”

“Yes.”

She wanted to hug him, but there was nothing to hug. Suddenly, Callie felt arms around her and a head on her shoulder. She put her arms where it seemed his torso would be, but her arms moved through thin air.

“I can’t hug you,” she said. “How can you hug me, but I can’t hug you?”

“I’m not really here. I can’t sit or stand or walk. I can move things sometimes – I have to concentrate to do it. I am moving your robe so it feels like I’m hugging you. But I can’t actually hug you.”

“Why did you do that?”

Seconds passed before he answered. “Because I can hear some of what you’re feeling. I don’t understand it all, but I get a basic idea. Emotional things come through the clearest.”

Callie thought: Let’s see if you hear this. Kiss me. Right on the cheek. Great big kiss on the cheek. Come on, kiss. One kiss.

Her hair moved across her cheek, and it felt like he kissed her hair against her cheek. She didn’t know what to say.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“No. Do I look mad?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t understand what you’re feeling, and you’re not saying anything.”

Callie said, “I have a hard time talking to guys. I get nervous. Or pissed off. I like guys, but I really don’t have a lot of experience with them. So I’m talking to you and it’s the easiest conversation I’ve ever had with a guy…” She paused, then said, “But it did really start out rough. The whole vibrator thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you did pick a sure way to get my attention.” She was really glad she got over the fright.

Chris’ arms seemed to tighten around her.

Callie said, “OK.”

“OK, what?”

“OK. I’m going to help you. I have no clue what to do, but I think it starts with you telling me every single thing about the day you died. Every. Single. Thing.” Callie jumped up and got her phone. “One sec, Chris.” She set her phone to record. “Say your name. The whole thing.”

“Christopher James Detwiler.”

“OK! Stop. Let me check.” She replayed it. The phone was recording his voice.

She thought, this is the most bizarre shit ever. I didn’t think it would record him, but it worked. Maybe because the mic is actually making sound. Most bizarre shit I have ever heard of…

“Go ahead, Chris – tell me everything. I will ask some questions, too. Give me all the details.”

Chris started talking about everything that happened that night. He also talked about his life, everything he could remember. At some point, the phone stopped recording, and Callie didn’t notice. She bumped it with her knee, and looked down. It was nearly 3 AM.

“Holy shit! I have to get to bed. I have an exam at 9.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no prob. I just have to get to bed.”

As Callie lay down, still in her robe, the vibrator probably lost in the bedding, she felt Chris lie down behind her, spooning her. This is so easy, she thought and fell fast asleep.

At 7:30, Callie woke up. She couldn’t tell why she woke up – she was just suddenly awake. She looked around her room.

“Chris?”

“Good morning,” came from the mic.

“Did you wake me up?”

“Yes.”

She hadn’t set the alarm. He really saved her ass, waking her up in time to get dressed and grab some breakfast before leaving the apartment. Her breakfast was a drumstick ice cream cone that she ate while getting ready to walk out the door. Perfect breakfast food: you got your protein, you got your carbs, you got your chocolate…

“You coming with me?” Callie asked as she walked toward the door.

“I can’t come with you. I’m sort of anchored to my rifle.”

All morning, Callie felt lonely. What the hell’s wrong with me? She took her exam at 9, had a break, then another test, all the while thinking about Chris. She hoped she did well on them, but she knew she was distracted. After the test, it was over for the day – thank God.

Walking back through her front door, Callie sang out, “I’m home-” and felt herself wrapped in a hug that seemed to cover her from her feet to her head. “Wow… If that is a hug -” She didn’t get a chance to finish her thought, because his kiss followed. It felt like every inch of her skin was being kissed, and her head started to spin. Without knowing how it happened, Callie found herself on the couch. She blinked, and sat up.

“Too much?”

She couldn’t answer, because it was both a yes and a no. Suddenly she took a good look around her.

“You cleaned my apartment!”

He managed a wry tone: “I’m the only one here, and I got bored.”

“Did you ever do that before? Clean somebody’s house for them?”

“I used to help my Granny clean sometimes, but that was it. Until I was a ghost. Then I tried it a couple times. I only ended up scaring people worse than when I waved the rifle.”

“They got scared when you cleaned…?”

“One lady peed when she came in and found me sweeping the kitchen floor with the broom.”

Callie tried to cut her laughter short, but in the end just gave up trying. “If I came in and found you sweeping, I’d do a dance!”

From that moment on, Callie’s apartment was spotless. Thanks to the little washer/dryer combo, Chris even did her laundry. He cooked. It wasn’t gourmet stuff, but he could make a few things. Callie showed him how to use the microwave, even though she thought he could have figured it out himself. He had figured out the Darth Vader microphone by himself, but operating the microwave was somehow different. She showed him how to use her tablet. She came home to notes on her tablet about needing more dish soap or lettuce, notes about the odd things he remembered, notes about appreciating her. Callie called them “love notes”. “Found your love note about the dryer sheets…” she would say.

Callie had more classes and tests, but she still felt bad about not helping him find his killer. It had been weeks, and the holidays had passed. The next semester started – but her investigation hadn’t.

It was the one thing she promised him – to find his killer. He was the nicest guy, doing all these things for her, and she felt she was letting him down. She chewed this over in her mind. How the hell could she help him? Would she have to give up everything she was doing? She lived on a shoestring. She had a scholarship, a couple grants and a loan, but they were not enough for her to do extra things. And if she quit school to help him, there went the support of the scholarship, grants and loan. Stuck like Chuck. She couldn’t talk to her financial adviser. How does someone tell a guy in a suit that she needs to take a break from school without it impacting her in any way – so that she can chase down a ghost’s killer? Is there a course in the Law Enforcement program for solving murders by interviewing a ghost? Sure, she told herself. There’s an easy answer in there somewhere.

Out of the clear blue, during a report writing class, she thought, I can change my major to archeology. She had already changed once from geology to paleontology. Archeology is just one more step in that direction. For some of the advanced geology and paleontology courses, students had to travel to far-flung places, but some of the archeological digs were local. If she could locate the place Chris was killed, she might be able to suggest a dig there. There might still be evidence that was overlooked!

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hetkxa/the_detwiler_boy_part_1_mf_supernatural