The Witching Hour

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.

But then her heart began to thud painfully hard, making her pant and lose her breath. She heard footsteps approaching and saw the flash of red getting bigger, and closer. It wasn't an animal. It was a cloak—a deep crimson, velvet cloak wrapped around a woman she had never seen before. The stranger was walking quickly, and it seemed, purposefully towards her!

As she neared, Elizabeth gasped. Why, she was beautiful. As beautiful as her own dear mother!

The lady looked to be about 30, Elizabeth guessed. She had thick glossy black hair, pale skin, black eyes, and sensuous, full red lips. Elizabeth curtseyed as she always did her elders.

"Good evening, Mistress."

"Good evening, daughter. Why art thou in these woods so late?"

Elizabeth noticed the antique language and thought perhaps she must be a Quaker.

"I am on my way home, mother. To my father's house, just yonder."

"Which house, child?" said the dark-haired lady, scanning the horizon.

"Just there, over the tree tops, in the valley," Elizabeth said, pointing.

The lady looked, and started, and turned around to peer at her closely.

"I see. You are a pretty child."

"Yes, Mistress," Elizabeth said, puzzled, looking at the ground.

"Look at me, child," the lady said, tilting her chin up to see her. "My name is Hannah. Hannah Goode. Don't be afraid."

Hannah smiled, and caressed Elizabeth's cheeks. "Such pink, rosy cheeks. Such golden hair. Thy lips are red and beautiful, daughter."

Elizabeth frowned and asked. "What do you mean, mother?"

"Never mind. And so are you scared, child, walking in these woods alone?"

"Yes, mother. I'm very glad to see you."

Hannah smiled, and held her hand. "Don't be, daughter. I am thy friend."

"Why have I never seen you before?" Elizabeth asked. "I know everyone in these parts. I grew up over there, with my father, the—"

"Pastor?" Hannah said.

"Yes, Pastor Brown. That is my father. Do you know him?"

The mysterious lady smiled. A strange smile danced on her lips and across her glittering black eyes.

"No, child. But I have heard of him. I am new here. I am come here with my husband, to live with my Aunt Esther."

Hannah sighed with relief to hear that the beautiful lady was married. "Will I see you at church, then, Mistress?"

"No, child. We are . . . of a different faith. But I will be here, every day. I do some work yonder," she said, pointing to the town. "Perhaps we may walk together sometimes, and comfort each other on these cold autumn nights."

Hannah was holding both of her hands, and Elizabeth felt such warmth and kindness from her eyes.

"Yes, Mistress! I don't like being in the woods alone."

The lady leaned in to kiss her. "Take care, Elizabeth. I will be here, tomorrow, to see you safely through."

"Good evening, ma'am," Elizabeth said as she parted and continued her walk. It was not until she finally reached the gates of the Manse that she even thought to wonder how Hannah knew her name. How very odd. But it was a common one. Perhaps she had guessed.

Elizabeth glanced and saw that the horses weren't back, so Father must still be making his rounds. She sighed, thinking how he worked so hard. He traveled five days out of the week to smaller towns, tending to the poor and lecturing, and gave the sermon and kept the Church on weekends, and they still only just got by. She was glad the fee she received each week from Mary could help pay for the little things they needed.

Secretly Elizabeth was glad Father was not back yet. It would give her more time to get ready. She hurried inside to her bedroom.

It was practically the only pleasure she had—getting dressed to see her father. And she so loved making herself pretty! If only she had more opportunities to do so!

Her neighbor Seth Townsend sometimes took her for walks, but nothing compared to the feelings she got from being with her father and making herself attractive for him—especially since her mother died. Her poor father, missing his wife, the beautiful angel Elizabeth had loved with all her heart. She wanted nothing more than to be as pretty and sweet as mother and comfort Father like she had.

Several months after her mother had died, Papa had come into her room one day carrying a large basket of clothes.

"My dear child, Elizabeth, I would like you to do something for me."

"Yes, Father."

"These are your mother's dresses. I would like you to wear these from now on, whenever you are in the house."

"But what about my own clothes, Father?" Elizabeth asked.

"Do as I say, child, and do not ask questions."

"Yes, Papa."

"You can be too willful, child. You must obey your elders. Have I not taught you that well enough?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Father."

Elizabeth forgave him. He was always the sweetest, gentlest soul, but he had been greatly changed by poor mother's death. He raised his voice at her in between dark moods where he did not talk, and spent hours just staring into the fire. If wearing mother's clothes would please him and make him happy, she would gladly do it.

+++

Jostling on horseback over the country roads, Pastor Brown stared sadly at the house, reluctant to head in.

He knew he was acting strange around Elizabeth, but he could not help it. She had always been his favorite, because she was so like her mother, in looks as well as manner. He had often found himself gazing at her in an inappropriate manner, even when Anne was alive. And now that she was gone . . . God help him!

Being without Anne was distorting his mind!

They had always enjoyed each other—more than they should have, he well knew. He closed his eyes remembering the carnal delights of their holy marriage bed. His wife had loved the pleasures of the flesh as much as he . . . Many times he had asked her, is this not a sin? To love this so much, and take such wild delight as we do? For a man of God to do such things! His wise Anne had assured him that the marriage bed was a sacred right, that they were lawfully wedded to each other in the eyes of both man and God. As long as they loved each other, and their God, what happened between them was good and pure.

Andrew felt his member stirring as he thought of Anne's sweet mouth, her cries, the moans she had to stifle when the children were asleep, the ecstasy that they reached together, over and over. Their three daughters had never changed their craving for each other.

Being deprived of the daily communion with Anne's flesh had damaged Andrew. He felt it. He tried to give himself relief sometimes, out in the fields, in the middle of the day getting down from his horse and roughly jerking his stiff cock thinking of the way Anne liked to take it in her mouth and moan for him until he splattered his seed all over the tall grass, with tears in his eyes. But it was never enough.

Perhaps the women had been able to tell what kind of depraved frame of mind he was in. Perhaps that was why Hannah had approached him that day in the Fields. Why him, of anyone else?

Why had he not heard from the tall lady, the one in gray, the leader? He had been waiting these long six months for a sign. He had been to the clearing more than once, God help his poor soul. He could not resist it. And then to come home to his sweet Elizabeth, it was too much to ask of one man!

Anne, he silently whispered, I will see you soon, my love. He headed towards the house to the daughter who was her spitting image with fear and guilty anticipation.

+++

Elizabeth opened the door with a warm smile.

"Good evening, Father, supper is almost ready."

"Good evening, my daughter. I trust you had a good and safe day."

Andrew felt that uncomfortable stirring in his loins at the sight of his daughter. Her mother's dresses did not fit her properly. They clung too tightly to her curving hips and dipped much too low on her bosom. It was indecent. Elizabeth had large, full breasts, much fuller than Anne's, and the corset created a deep valley in her soft pink flesh. But even so, he could not stop warmth from flowing back into his heart at the sight, as if his own Anne were alive and here, still.

"Let us say our prayers, child."

"Yes, Father."

In the warm glow of the fire, they knelt. As Andrew intoned from the prayer book, however, Elizabeth found herself gazing at him, her mind no longer on her prayers.

Her father was so handsome. She treasured these quiet moments in front of the fire, in their small common room with the earth-packed floor she had just cleaned and swept. It gave her time to look at him to her heart's content. His profile was illuminated in the firelight and she gazed at the full, sensuous mouth beneath his fine, straight nose. The light flickered over his gentle brown eyelashes and the thick, wavy hair pushed back from his dominant forehead. He had taken off his coat and was clad in a white linen blouse with the full sleeves rolled up over his strong, tanned forearms. It gave her a curious feeling, a strange tingle in the tips of her breasts. She had been noticing this feeling more often, wondering what it meant, especially when she got ready for him to come home. She took such pleasure arranging her décolletage! She spent many minutes fitting the tiny ruffle circling around her bare breasts, adjusting it and teasing so that it didn't snag or wrinkle but framed her pleasing breasts just so. Her mother seemed to have tailored her dresses to have very low, scooped necks—she could only assume, to make them more pleasing to Father. It felt strange to be so exposed, but it was just the two of them. Her garments were a private thing just for them, at home. She would never dress like this to go to town!

Elizabeth noticed Father pausing, and picked up the prayer book to continue where he had left off.

"Our good and gracious Lord, grant us your blessings for a day's work . . ." she continued in her soft voice.

Next to her, Andrew cursed silently to himself as he could not stop his gaze from traveling to his daughter's exposed chest. Like her, he noticed the golden firelight playing over her rich blond tresses, the thick soft curls beckoning on her smooth, rounded shoulders. A luxurious mood filled the room along with her quiet voice. This had been happening much too often, that prayer hour would go on much too long.

But her flesh beckoned. Andrew could just see the tips of red nipples underneath that distracting ruffled edge. He could not stop from picturing himself untying the front of her vest and exposing those creamy globes to his mouth and hands! So soft and full, so sweet and delicious, just like Anne's. And God help him! He could not stop the wicked question coming into his mind if his own sweet Elizabeth had the same carnal tastes as her mother! He could not stop his prick from stiffening in his rough trousers, and as it throbbed uncontrollably, he felt a slight easing of his conscience.

He had made the right choice. Because unless something changed, he would have his own daughter on the floor of this very room before long.

Later, their prayers over, the Pastor and his daughter attended to their chores. The intense excitement of being together during prayer hour passed and they never spoke or alluded to those strange feelings. Elizabeth put away her mother's garments and laid out a drab gray gown for tomorrow, while Andrew worked on his Sunday sermon.

+++

Over the next few weeks, Elizabeth found her life changing in unexpected ways, because of her friendship with Hannah.

It seemed every time she passed through the woods after dark Hannah was there. Never when it was light. And Elizabeth was always glad to see her friendly face. They walked, and sat, and talked together and many strange things occurred.

At first, they talked about small things—the town gossip, or Hannah's life in England, or clothes and recipes and housekeeping. Hannah was so smart, and easy to talk to, and seemed to sympathize with Elizabeth.

But one day, it changed. They had stopped on a comfortable old tree stump in a clearing. Elizabeth brought some bread and butter and cheese from the house and they ate a small dinner, including some beer that Mary had given her. It warmed Elizabeth up on the chill night.