Thank you to VinsanityOrElse for his editing help.
I assume it's common knowledge that the R.C.M.P. is the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and members of this federal police force are often referred to as Mounties. The L.C.B.O is the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, but it is also commonly used to mean an L.C.B.O. store, one of the government-owned liquor stores found in the province of Ontario.
In my rage I slammed my fist down on the table. Then I forced myself to calm, sat back in the chair and looked into the eyes of the men in the 'interview' room. They wanted me to break and confess to murder, but after what I'd been through there was nothing they could do that would induce me to change my story.
"Look," I began in a calm tone, "I'll tell you the whole thing again, but this is the last time! I've told you everything twice already and I don't expect you to believe me. But I want to see her!"
The three R.C.M.P. officers glanced nervously at each other. The psychologist stared at me intently, trying to piece together whatever had 'really' happened back up at our house from every inflection in my voice and tick in my face. I didn't know how they had gotten him to the interrogation so fast, and I didn't care. A fourth officer suddenly opened the door, walked over to one of the others who was watching me and whispered something into his ear.
"Son, you have to realize how crazy your story sounds..." began the spectacled psychologist in a friendly tone.
"We'll take you to her if you tell us the story one more time," said the new cop in a flat voice. The balding doctor glared at him.
"Okay, now we're getting somewhere." I licked my lips and a constable pushed a glass of water across the table toward me. "At least one of you is willing to listen to reason." I giggled and then started laughing like a madman. As I regained control over myself I noticed the psychologist busily making notes.
"Are you hoping to publish a paper in some prestigious and stuffy old scientific journal, or are you writing down my monster story for a horror novel?"
Now the spectacled face turned to me and glared. One of the Mounties cleared his throat pointedly.
I put my hands up in surrender. "Don't worry. I'm going to tell you guys the whole thing again. I'm as tired as you are, and I want to see Cyn."
We'd driven slowly through the isolated town, found our turn and headed off into no-man's-land. The pick-up jumped and jostled and Cyn woefully predicted that the movers probably hadn't managed to preserve any of our breakables. The road wasn't quite a road and I prophesied that Cyn would be helping me clear snow during the winter. That put a smile on her face; she was one of those women who wasn't afraid of a little manual labour.
We weren't too downhearted about the move. In fact, we were still quite excited about it. I work for a mining company and there had been an opening that meant a promotion and hefty raise. Cyn and I had discussed it for several days, but in the end she had stared at me with those soft, green eyes and we started packing.
She'd been a small town girl and was eager to settle down and possibly raise a family, once we found a place outside of Toronto. I'd grown up in the 'centre of the universe' and was tired of it. Moving to Beaver Falls was a chance for us to start our life together, away from apartment buildings, gangs and long line-ups.
The movers had already brought our stuff up, and Cyn had talked one of her artsy-fartsy friends into arranging everything so the house would be ready when we arrived.
A large bump shook the whole pick-up as Cyn was stuffing the directions into the glove box.
"Aren't you going a little fast?" she asked without looking at me.
"Sorry." I slowed down and was then able to avoid most of the dips and bumps on the road. "I thought you were as eager to see our new place as I am."
She flashed me a smile. "As long as we make it there alive, sweetie."
The road circled around a thick grouping of pine trees and then there it was. I let the vehicle coast to a stop. The house was easily four times the size of anything we could have afforded in the city. The walls were stone, the roof was peaked and there was a balcony on the second floor. It was a grand house, and the inspection had verified that it was in great shape, despite the fact that no-one had lived in it for over a decade. We'd managed to buy it for much less than the realtor had thought likely.
"Wow! It looks so old!"
"Only about sixty years," I recited. "Built during the Second World War." Although, I agreed with her assessment, our new home was styled to look much older than it was.
"Out here that's old and look at it! It's in great condition!" She took a long, deep breath. "I'm so glad we did this," she said, placing her hand on my leg.
"Between the house and this scenery you're going to have lots of inspiration."
She glanced at me. "You always inspire me, honey. Or were you talking about my artwork?"
I smirked. "Oh, you're artistic all right. Or do you mean your drawings and paintings for those children's books?"
"Is that all you ever think of?"
I rolled my eyes and stepped on the gas. Cyn's eyes were now glued to the house and once I pulled up in front of the porch, she slowly undid her seat belt and opened the door. The afternoon sun behind the house cast a shadow over us.
"So, you do like it then?" I asked.
"Francis said the photos didn't do it justice, but..." Cyn walked up the stairs to the porch and then took a deep breath. "It has such character!" Cyn had fallen in love with this house while just looking at the photos of the old-fashioned stone and mortar walls and the thick wooden beams stretched across many of the ceilings.
I rolled my eyes and began to unload our necessities from behind our seats. By the time I'd collected the bags, she'd already disappeared inside. By the time I struggled inside with the bags, she'd already disappeared to explore the various rooms. I shrugged and lugged the bags upstairs and along the balcony which overlooked much of the main floor. I dropped them in the master bedroom and took a quick look around.
I had to admit that Francis had known what he was doing. The room looked rustic and comfortable. There was an area for Cyn with a little table and chair, not that she was one for spending time prettying herself up. Her long brown hair framed a face that didn't need make-up.
I glanced at my own reflection in her mirror and rubbed my rough chin. I could hear Cyn moving happily from room to room, below. I glanced at the bed.
"Coming!" I called out in answer. The hard work began after I found her downstairs. It seemed Francis had not positioned everything quite to Cyn's tastes. It took a couple of hours to rearrange the heavy stuff to her satisfaction, and I think she stopped asking me to move furniture more out of pity for my aching muscles than anything else, but at last we finished and we parked ourselves on the couch.
"I guess you're not up to cooking anything right now," I suggested.
"I don't really have a choice, unless you plan to make your world famous French toast."
"Bah! Let's just go to McDonalds or Swiss Chalet."
She frowned at me and shook her head. "That'd be quite a long drive, honey. You really are just a poor city boy, aren't you?"
"They must have some type of fast food place..."
Cyn shook her head and patted my leg. "You stay here. You did all the driving so I'll whip up something. Check to see what channels we get with the satellite dish."
She stood up and then disappeared into the kitchen while I channel surfed. Half an hour later she came back into the room with some mixture of pasta, meat and vegetables. "So what did you find for us to watch?"
"I'm not sure I like it as much now that O'Neill's a General."
We settled down and ate our dinner as it grew dark outside. Towards the end of the show, we finished our plates and Cyn lay down with her head in my lap. I ran my fingers through her hair. The frogs outside were getting a little noisy and I mentally debated turning up the volume on the TV.
"You know Bill, I don't really care how the episode ends," she whispered.
She rolled over and looked up at me with her bright green eyes. I put my hand on her chest.
"You want me to light a fire in the fireplace?" I asked.
She considered it for a few seconds. "Maybe we'll try that tomorrow. I can help you chop some wood. Do we have an axe?"
I shrugged. She raised her hands to my arm and eased my hand down her chest, across her belly and to her belt. I undid her belt and then unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. She adjusted her position slightly and smiled up at me.
I slipped my hand into her pants and cupped her. Cyn wiggled her bottom and I reached down and slipped her jeans off to her thighs. Her panties went with them, leaving her exposed. I ran my fingers through her hair, causing her to murmur.
Her breathing sped up, as I pushed my fingers along her skin until I reached her pussy. I used two fingers to spread her lower lips and her legs opened at the same time. I teased her opening for a few seconds by caressing, but not entering. This had her breathing deeper and she closed her eyes.
Once she reached the appropriate level of arousal, I ran my thumb up to her clit and began tickling her there. Immediately, she reached down and held my hand in place. Cyn stiffened, bit her lip and held her breath. She shuddered a few times and then relaxed.
My fingers were now quite moist. "Was that a little one?" I asked.
"Hm-mm," she answered.
I waited until she opened her eyes, then raised my fingers to my mouth and sucked off her juices.
"That gives me an idea, honey."
"I'm sure it does," I answered.
Cyn rolled over so she was facing my abdomen and then undid my belt buckle. She sat up, undid my button and unzipped my jeans. She fished into my briefs and pulled out my hardening cock.
She flashed me a mischievous look and then bent down and took me into her mouth. For some reason she always began with a suck; it didn't really do anything for me but I wasn't about to complain considering what always followed. She squeezed my penis until the head was free of foreskin, then she licked me as if my member was an ice cream cone. She turned her head this way and that, being sure to caress every side of the head with her delightful tongue.
I was hardening, but not very quickly. Cyn liked to take her time with a blowjob, probably because she knew I really enjoyed it.
She kept one hand on my penis and stepped off the couch. She shimmied her pants and panties to her feet and then kicked them off. Then she knelt between my legs and put her mouth entirely over the head of my cock. I could feel her tongue teasing and tickling wherever it went. She gently bit down.
Then I was free of her mouth and she was pumping my organ with her hands. There was a sweet look of pure concentration on her face as she worked. My erection grew larger and harder, until at last she squeezed it and then smiled in satisfaction.
"Front or back?" she asked.
"I like to see your face when you orgasm."
She smiled. "Front it is, you naughty boy."
She stood, and then slowly knelt over me as I lifted her t-shirt over her head. Then, her hands guided my hard-on to her opening and when she lowered herself down I slid in. It was a little painful at first, as it always was when it had been a week or more between lovemaking sessions, but her lubricants quickly remedied that.
Cyn began an easy rocking motion that had me easing in and out of her with very little effort. She leaned forward and we kissed. It was a long, wet kiss and by the time it ended Cyn's tempo was quite fast.
"Are you close?" she asked between breaths.
"Not yet. Go ahead."
She nodded and hugged my head to her breasts tightly. She was bouncing upon my lap, now. Her nipples were hard and sweat was running down between her boobs. I licked and then tugged at one of her nipples with my teeth.
Cyn grunted and then lost her rhythm. She gasped, "Oh, God," a few times and then collapsed onto me. I gave her a minute or two and then, "Cyn?"
"Are you ready for more?"
"Let me lie down, Bill."
I lifted her off of me and then helped her balance until she could lie down on the couch. Crawling over her, I lifted her legs as I did so I lowered myself until our mouths met. At first I was just kissing her lips, but then she began to respond with some urgency. I manoeuvred my hips until I could feel my erection was poised at the entrance to her vagina. She nodded mid kiss and I pushed in.
She was tight again and she gasped as I plunged as deep as I could. She tried to turn her head away from the kiss, but I wouldn't let her. I pumped my hips, withdrawing and pushing deep. She was so wet that I slid in and out easily, but that didn't matter. I was getting close to my own orgasm and I sped up my thrusts.
Cyn tried to move her legs. I know she wanted to wrap them around my hips, but I had them held in place by my arms. I thrust and thrust again. Then I could feel my fluids pumping from my balls and coursing through me.
I grunted as I thrust one last time, pushing myself as deep as I could. Then I tried to keep myself from collapsing onto her.
"You came?" she asked.
I nodded and lifted an arm. She lowered her leg, then I lifted the other arm and she lowered her other leg.
"It's okay, honey." She wrapped her arms around my chest and pulled me down on top of her. "Just rest on me. You work very hard to make me happy."
I let myself down on to her slowly. "I love you, Cyn."
"Not as much as I love you."
The days passed happily enough as we mixed flirting and chores. In the evening we wandered around our property, and beyond, hand in hand. The land was rugged and wild. I had expressed some concern about mosquitoes and black flies, but we were attacked by very few of them. Our passage through the brush was noisy enough to scare off the larger animals, for which we were grateful. Neither one of us wanted to startle a bear or a moose.
Night after night we made a game of who could spot all five planets first, as the invisible frogs croaked all around us. There was a strange feeling of emptiness in the darkening sky over our heads. We discussed how more primitive civilizations thought the sky was a vault or crystal sphere and how the gods or angels were supposed to live up there.
There were some stone ruins a short distance from the house. Cyn and I debated whether they were some strange relic of a native tribe that had long been chased away from the area, or signs that a Viking expedition had somehow made it this far west into Canada.
We would head home when the croaking of the frogs became too raucous. Neither of us thought it strange that there should be so many frogs in the woods around our new home. After all, they were keeping the biting insects down to a comfortable minimum.
Eventually, we had to return to the town to purchase some food and more cleaning supplies. Cyn mentioned her eagerness to talk to the local historian about the odd monoliths on our property, and I decided to tag along.
She had found his name and address in the telephone book, and a little later we pulled up in front of a modest bungalow. Cyn knocked on the door while I kept an eye on the windows, ready to offer a friendly smile to whoever peered out at us.
The door opened. "Mister Brighton?" my wife asked.
The door opened wider, revealing a hunched, elderly man with bleary eyes and no teeth. "Yes?"
"Hi!" She flashed him her friendliest smile. "I'm Cynthia Foster and this is my husband, William." I nodded as the old man turned to me. "We bought the old Huron place and we had a few questions about the large stones on the property. Do you have some time to talk to us?"
"Yes. Yes. Come in. Come in." He closed the door behind us. The gloomy front room was filled with newspapers, books and shoe boxes. I looked at Cyn and rolled my eyes.
"Find a seat," he suggested. He fished some teeth out of a glass and tried to surreptitiously put them in his mouth. Then, he sat on a pile of shoe boxes that sagged under his small frame.
"I don't think we'll be here that long," said Cyn, still standing. "What can you tell us about the stones?"
The old man stood and looked at Cyn nervously. "Well, they're very old. They predate the Huron Indians in this region. They go back so far that the Huron didn't even know who put them there."
"Ah," I interrupted, "so no-one really knows anything about them."
"I didn't say that. The stones are a meeting place between the Indians and their god. The Huron feared this god, naming him 'the clutching doom from the sky'. I'm afraid I've forgotten the actual words. It had an awful lot of consonants."
"Why would they want a meeting place for someone they feared, sir?" prompted Cyn.
"Well, the legend has it that a barbaric race of Indians once lived around here and they refused to pay respect to the gods commonly worshipped by their brethren. Instead, they revered some twisted and dark force that threatened the stability of the tribes. This tribe was driven out but the evil god remained, hidden away in his stones. A powerful shaman announced that only the love between a man and woman could destroy this spirit once and for all. The brother of the chief loved his mate dearly and the two volunteered to deal with this dark power. But, when they reached the stones, it was revealed that she actually had loved the chief and had taken the chief's brother as a second choice. The two fought and the brave slew his woman. This killing freed the evil spirit and it walked across the land slaying and tormenting all it could find. At last it tired of these evil deeds and it flew off into the night sky, dragging away the bodies of the brave and his mate when it went."
"That sounds like something out of a pulp novel," I said rudely. Cyn glared at me.
"I don't believe it myself, son. But the Indian legends say that the beast returns on occasion and then flies off into the night sky, once its lust is satiated." The old man glanced at my wife. "Don't worry, my dear. It's just an old Indian legend."
"We should be going, Cyn," I hinted.
We thanked him for his time and left. I could tell that Cyn was a little unnerved by the tale, so I took her hand as we stepped onto the road. She gave me a smile to show her spirits had lifted.
Cyn went in to a grocery store to buy food and necessities while I did a little shopping in the L.C.B.O. I thought it odd that such a small town had no McDonalds but did have a liquor store. I concealed the bottles in the truck, and then walked into a small book and curiosity shop that had been calling out to me since I first had spied it. Cyn had known I wanted to check it out, and that was why she had volunteered to do the grocery shopping without me.
There was no name on the front and a small bell jingled as I pushed the squeaky door open. The book store had the same smell as most used book stores and was a little darker than I thought it should be to attract customers. I glanced around, casting my eyes over the travel books, magazines, and hunting and fishing guides that were displayed near the entrance. As usual, what I was interested in seemed to be somewhere deeper within. I strolled past the empty counter, walking around book-covered tables that were partially propped up with boxes containing even more books.
There seemed to be no system to the store that I could see; no shelves contained signs declaring fiction, history, aviation, or romance. But my eyes roved and recognizing no names, I went deeper into the gloom.
At last I found a few familiar authors and I paused to look over the titles. I heard some shuffling footsteps behind me, but ignored them. There was a cough.