Author's Note: Welcome to this supernatural incest tale! It is being entered into the Halloween Contest, so all votes and comments are deeply appreciated! All characters in this story engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.
Salem, Mass., c. 1725
The sacred grove was lit by a ring of torches. Circling the huge stone altar in the center were two dozen men and women, some naked and some wearing heavy red cloaks. They listened as the tall figure in a dark gray cloak hissed in a high voice to the handsome man kneeling on the ground at her feet.
"And so, Pastor, now that you have gained insight into our rites, do you wish to proceed?"
Pastor Brown groaned at her feet. God help him! His prick was still throbbing from the unbelievable scene of debauchery he had just witnessed. Had he known, he never would have followed Hannah into the woods.
"Yes," Andrew moaned, despite himself. He knew he would not be able to stop himself from visiting the clearing now. "Yes, I wish to go on."
"Then you may return. And watch. And in some time hence, I will contact you."
"But when will I see my beloved wife, Mistress? That is the reason I followed Hannah here."
"In good time, Pastor! Our kind do not make promises that we cannot keep!"
"Let me remind you, there is no turning back now. You cannot change your mind. Do you agree to our bargain, and swear not to tell another living soul of our existence, on pain of death? Think well, Pastor, this is your last chance."
Andrew groaned again in agony. Anne—he must see his Anne, at any price, even this!
"Speak up, Pastor!"
Andrew moaned, "Yes, Mistress, yes."
"Then it is done."
+++
Six months later . . .
Elizabeth always dreaded the walk home, but especially tonight. She was very late leaving the house where she worked as a companion to Mary Prescott, Salem's oldest living resident. Mary was a sweet old lady, but she scared Elizabeth with her tales about the dangers lurking in the woods outside town—the Copley Woods as they were officially known, but every child growing up in Salem knew them as the Witches' Woods, or sometimes just the "Fields." Even in daylight, on the three-mile long walk from her father's house, Elizabeth hurried through the thick-shrouded path winding through dense maples and oaks on the way to Mary's house, humming a psalm from church or reciting a prayer and clutching the Bible her father had given her.
Salem in 1725 was well-settled, with clean streets, distinguished civic buildings and busy markets, but outside the town limits, not several yards beyond Mary's front gate, the roads grew unkempt and treacherous, full of large rocks, overgrown shrubbery, and dangerous, slippery hills. The path through the woods was at least flat, and safe and clear, on soft earth packed from a century of travelers. Elizabeth didn't have to worry about stumbling and perhaps twisting her ankle, or getting lost. But it was dark, and silent, and the thick trees seemed to swallow her up in their own world far away from the happy sounds of children playing. They scared her even without Mary's stories.
"I can hear them, sometimes, chanting, and I see the lights," Mary had babbled to Elizabeth as she sat holding her yarn.
"Oh, Mistress Mary, those are just stories," Elizabeth tried to reassure herself.
"Nay, nay, child, I hear them. I've lived here my whole life, right by the Fields! It's the Devil's work they're up to."
"But who, Mary?" Elizabeth demanded. "The elders put three women in the stocks just today!"
It was true. Elizabeth had seen them on her trip to the butcher's that very morning—three middle-aged women, their ragged hair unwashed and uncombed, spitting and cursing at the townspeople.
"Child, you don't believe this nonsense, do you?" Mary said, squinting at her. "In all my life, I don't believe they've ever hung a real witch. Oh no. They're looking in the wrong place," she said, gesturing to the woods.
Elizabeth knew that was not true. Her own father had told her otherwise. "Now Mistress, Father could not be wrong. He said things will go back to normal now."
"Haste! Listen to me, young girl." Mary was clutching her with her wrinkled hand. Her long nails dug into Elizabeth's flesh. "I know. All Hallow's Eve is coming. The people in town will be so excited, they won't think to look in the right place."
"What about . . . Hallow's Eve?" Elizabeth said, trembling. This time of year always frightened her.
"The Sabbath, dear. The Witching Hour. The true witches' time."
"Oh, Mistress," Elizabeth laughed, "Isn't it time for your tea?"
But Elizabeth glanced outside at the gathering dusk with trepidation as she fixed the old lady's dinner. The nights were coming sooner, now, and it would be near dark when she walked home.
"Here you are, Mary. I'm ready to go. Father is expecting me."
Mary fixed her a sharp look. "Yes, dear child. Hurry home, and be a loving daughter to your father. You're all he has left now."
The mysterious illness which had plagued the town for that last two years had taken Elizabeth's beloved mother, Anne, as well as her two younger sisters. It was only her and Father now at the isolated Manse.
Elizabeth leaned down and kissed the wizened flesh. "You'll see. God has shown us the right path."
Outside, Elizabeth wrapped her cloak around her and tied her bonnet tightly under her chin. A deep autumn chill descended in the air and the whispering wind brought scents from the harvest—fresh cut hay, corn, apples and pungent smoke from the huge bonfires. The sun was setting in red and yellow. My, she wanted to be home. She longed to be sitting with her father as he read in the common room, she his only comfort now.
Elizabeth glanced with a worried look to the gloomy entrance to the forest. She started when Mary's old cat Jacob hissed at something in the darkness ahead of her. Even from afar she could hear the trees groaning and creaking like an old woman's moans. She saw strange gusts of wind making small tornadoes in the leaves. They sounded like voices whispering "Don't go, don't go . . ." It was so very black in the woods, and small gravestones lined the way on either side! Elizabeth shivered as she thought of the plague and the witches locked up in the town square. Oh! But her father was waiting for her, and she was late. He would be driven crazy with fear if she took the long treacherous path across the fields to her right.
As soon as she got into the forest, she began to hum with nervousness. Most of the trees had lost their leaves and their huge craggy limbs and branches stood out black and menacing against the brilliant orange sky. They looked like headless bodies with severed limbs! The deep silence was broken only by her feet swishing through the dead leaves, the creaks and groans of branches or the occasional hooting of an owl. She hummed and concentrated on the comforting thought of her father. He was probably washing up after a long day, and wondering where she was.
Suddenly, Elizabeth saw movement ahead of her. A flash of deep red. What was it? Was it a deer, or perhaps a cardinal? But it was too big for a bird, and the color much too bright for a larger animal. Her senses heightened and on edge, every step of her foot made her heart jump and pound in her chest. She was trembling as she reached into her pocket and found the small silver crucifix that used to be her mother's.
Oh, Mistress Mary! Her cackling laugh and droning voice filled Elizabeth's head with her stories of witches and a black mass. She was just a senile old woman! And Father was never wrong about anything.
