Alpine Hideaway Magic
part eight
For a moment despite recognizing who I saw, I simply could not believe the terrible condition they were in. Before me were my mother, my Tante Ilse, my older sister Gudrun and my cousin Bettina. All four appeared white as ghosts; quite feverish and sickly. A combination of bad weather, scarce food, and poor sanitation had taken a toll on the four women. My mother was the first to speak.
"We saw your note Hilde," she said in a delirious haze to my grandmother, "we made our way up the mountain, knowing you were all up here for a reason. We'd guessed it was becoming too dangerous to stay down ...there ...in the valley..."
My mother stopped speaking. She simply looked at our nudity and then directly at my grandmother. Realization broke through the fog of the fever. Her eyes went wide as she saw how my Oma Hilde had become somewhat... younger. She then glanced to my Tante Margarite, and saw how the lines on her face were gone... and how her hair appeared ten... maybe fifteen years younger and,
"HILDE! You didn't!"
"I most certainly DID," Grandmother replied as if she'd been caught stealing chickens but had a good reason for it, "we've had the German Army chasing us, the Gestapo kicking in our door, we've had American soldiers following us up the mountain and had to scare them off -why he even was called upon for the night of Walpurgis to help heal the land and..."
"YOU FUCKED YOUR OWN BLOOD?" my mother shrieked, "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR SENSES? HOW COULD YOU?"
"Greta," my grandmother said attempting to calm my mother down with her palms out before her as if trying to push away my mother's shock, "these were extenuating circumstances. We've been pushed to the extreme ever since Stephen arrived in that village down below this mountain."
Oma was lying... fibbing really. It was rationalization fit for endless sessions upon one of Freud's couches but she was in her element; justifying her actions. She then added,
"... couldn't be helped."
That would have been believable yet her face had the look of one who'd robbed the cradle ...
and loved doing it.
Tante Margarite had the very same illicit look about her. For her part, my mother wasn't convinced in the least and neither was my Tante Ilse, (although Ilse had slumped down in the breakfast nook next to my sister and cousin; all three of them looking as if they would pass out).
It all became a moot point as by now, my mother had slumped in the breakfast nook as well. She seemed unable to raise her head and soon lost consciousness completely. It was clear to my grandmother and Tante Margarite that something had to be done. Grandmother rushed to my mother's side and began to pull her to her feet, saying to me,
"Stephen, help your Tante Margarite and I to get these women to bed at once. They're gravely ill!"
Without a second thought we grabbed my mother, tossing both her arms over our shoulders before moving her upstairs to the beds. Between the three of us we then managed to do the same with Tante Margarite, my big sister Gudrun, and my cousin Bettina. All four women felt hot and were un-responsive.
"What are we going to do, Oma?" I asked.
My grandmother raised a hand as if flicking me away. She was deep in focused thought, attempting to analyze what had befallen the women of our family. Over the next few minutes she busied herself; looking into their eyes, smelling their breath, feeling their foreheads, and most importantly removing their damp clothes with our help.
The four women were now naked and unconscious beneath the bedclothes. My grandmother surveyed the scene and nodded to herself. Sure of her prognosis, she then turned to Tante Margarite.
"Put a pot to boil on the stove below in the kitchen, Margarite, then join me back up here. Stephen fetch my bag from downstairs and be fast. Oh and bring a spoon, and a jar of honey. This is a fever quite similar to the one you had when you arrived; similar yet not exactly the same. We are going to treat it in about the same way we did the sick women down in the village, a few days before, now both of you - away hurry!"
With that she went about the task of checking pulses and seeing to the four gravely ill women. Tante Margarite and I hurried downstairs, each with our tasks. My aunt was already lighting the stove with her magic and setting a pot of water to heat upon it. She then began pulling more of those dried mischievous mushrooms from the cupboard and unceremoniously began dropping them into the water by the fistful. It was going to be good strong batch she was making simply by the generous amount of "fuck fungi" alone! I found the doctors bag, along with the spoon and the honey jar before hurrying up the stairs.
Upon receiving the bag, Grandmother fished around inside until she located that bottle of bitter pills. Crushing one of the tablets into the spoon, she offered it to me. I knew what was to come next and made a face but took the crushed medicine. It was just as horribly bitter as I'd recalled but Oma quickly brought forth a spoonful of honey to help it go down. She then handed me her pipe which was already primed and lit, the unmistakable scent of bullweed filling the room.
"Puff on that Stephen!" Oma urged me as she motioned me over to my mother on the bed.
Two good huffs of the pipe and I felt the hot rush of my member coursing with blood; almost at once becoming a stiff snarling beast of an erection under the heady influence of crushed witch-medicine and bullweed. With a firm hand upon my bare buttocks, Oma guided me up next to my mother as she lay unresponsive; her head turned to one side upon a great pillow. My grandmother now had me straddle Mother's chest upon my knee's; my bare arse hovering above my mother's chest and my legs to either side of her shoulders. My throbbing cock loomed over her face at the ready; as if I were preparing to club her with it upon her forehead.
