Carmen believed that she was being followed

“The passage of the shade left a sort of residue, an ectoplasmic videotape of post-mortem somnambulism, a slug-trail in the dust motes that only she could read. But she had always been very sensitive.” – Lawrence Harding.

Carmen flew along the dusky hall,

A ghost herself it seemed in gauzy white.

Behind her, something almost fluttered,

Her fear impelled her to more frantic flight.

Her limbs flashed ivory in the gloom,

Her dress was flared by pumping thighs,

A slender shade perhaps was drawn to see,

What oft enchanted living eyes.

She slammed her door, her chest aheave,

A trembling ran down to her toes,

Each night the ghost emboldened seemed,

The mind denies it but the body knows.

A glass of wine had soothed her quiv’ring nerves,

A well-known book had put her then to bed,

But as she slumbered with untroubled brow,

An apparition came and wound around her head.

Then through the sheet the creature sank,

Like wine into a napkin spilled,

And soon upon her body moved,

What many whispered tales had filled.

Carmen moaned, she arched her back,

While ghostly lips her visage sought,

She screamed and woke, her body flame,

She stared about – discovered naught.

She was no more by revenant pursued,

No longer feared the gravid night to know,

Time enough for screaming in the spring,

When nocturnal fruit began to show.