Hallowmas - Wicca Sister

It was after the first reveal of her new, subdued, but still very noticeable look that the dreams began. The first time was so blurred and complicated that, like most complex dreams, I had real trouble even recalling the barest detail, I could only remember that it had been about my sister, and that I'd woken feeling deeply disturbed about something. Try as I might, the dream-memories only faded further the harder I tried to recall them, but that Abi was the central player I was in no doubt, and the thought nagged at me that somehow, even if it was only in a dream, I'd done something very bad.

*

And so the dreams continued; not every night, though; in fact, most mornings I didn't recall even one-tenth of my dream ramblings, but still, every once in a while, after a night out with an increasingly changed, somehow more worldly, Abigail, the dream would catch me, leaving me shocked, disgusted, and wondering what the hell was wrong with me. But I'll always remember most vividly the dream I had after spending an evening with her in a wine bar I knew not far from her place in Lavender Hill, South London, and it had been because of how she'd changed.

Let me point out here that the changes in Abigail were really quite momentous, given what she'd been like before we went our separate ways. First, the clothes had changed. Where she once wore shapeless, frumpy, knee-length black cable-knit pullovers and old black jeans or leggings, very dressed-down and dowdy, now when I'd go to collect her while she'd still appear in black from head to toe, there was an incredible difference. Now she wore skin-tight, black yoga pants showing every curve of hip and buttock, her rippling flanks, and sleek, slender, rounded thighs and shapely calves, and tight little black T-shirts that showcased her other assets. Sometimes she wore sprayed-on black skinny jeans with fashionably ripped knees and form-fitting, off-the-shoulder tops studded with chrome stars and studs, contrasting vividly with her milk-white, flawless skin; other times, she'd be in stretched-tight black spandex and glossy black PVC, with sexy little high-heeled patent boots encrusted with silver studs, more catwalk than emo-goth.

The first time I commented on the changes in her, she'd grinned at me over the top of her St. Clements and slipped off her bar-stool to give me the full 360. I have to say, sister or not, she looked damned good, and I said as much; the fact at least half the men in the wine bar also took the time to stare at her also registered in the back of my mind, a sudden, minuscule twinge of unreasonable jealousy suddenly making itself felt at the thought of other men ogling my little sister.

"You like, Mike?" she grinned, her smile widening even further when I nodded.

"Yes I do; it's a whole lot better look than that 'Crypt-Dweller' look you had going on for a while there. Is this new look working on that bloke you told me about, though?"

Abi looked positively mysterious when I asked her that, her smile almost calculating, but she'd nodded.

"Yes, I think it is; he's kind of slow on the uptake, but I think he's getting it. You ready for another little drinkie-poo, Mikey?"

I had to smile at that. Abi doesn't get whimsical very often, but I was glad she was relaxed and at ease enough to do it with me right then.

"What are you, Abigail Weddon, eight years old? 'Drinkie-Poo' indeed!"

*

The dream that night was the most realistic yet, with my black-haired dream-girl dressed as Abi had been, in glossy, satiny black leggings, shiny, high-heeled, studded black fetish boots, and a chrome studded black PVC biker jacket with a low-cut T-shirt under, with alluring slices of her mouth-watering little breasts visibly squeezed together under the tight top she wore. It was the most wantonly explicit dream I'd yet had about her, at least that I recalled and the first time I remembered in explicit detail the things we did, the places we went to, all things I'd never consciously thought of, but there we were, doing them. It was only after I'd fucked her senseless that she'd revealed herself as Abi. It shocked and sickened me to my core that it had been my sweet little sister doing those depraved things with me. I'd jerked awake, my heart clanging and galloping in my heaving chest.

Two days later Abi called me, concerned that I hadn't either called or texted her since the night at the wine bar.

"Mike, are you OK? I haven't heard from you in two days, is everything OK? What's going on, Mikey?"

My usual routine was to text her once a day, just a quick 'hello, you OK, anything you need?' type of contact. How could I tell her I was avoiding contacting her because I was feeling guilty and shaken over a dream I kept having? There was no way on God's earth I was ever going to tell her what my dreams had been about. So I'd avoided her, feeling absurdly guilty, but still unable to see or talk to her.

"No, Abi, I'm fine...pressure of work, you know how these things are sometimes...sorry..."

I could hear the suspicion in her voice when she said:

"Really? Too busy to let me know you're OK? Mikey, this is me; you call or text every day, I could set my watch by you, you're pretty much all I've got, and I worry about you when you drop off the radar! What's really going-on?"

Time for more lying.

"Abi, I'm fine, really, just...feeling a bit under the weather right now, that's all; sorry about not calling you, it won't happen again, I promise."

Abi didn't sound like she was buying it at all, but she had the grace and good sense to let it go.

"OK, if you say so, but I do worry about you Mikey; I missed you calling me, it's what makes my day; it makes me feel connected to you, so just...keep me in the loop, don't just go MIA, OK? And Mikey...just talk to me; you know I'll always listen, no matter what you have to say. Love you, Mikey."

I felt like crap; she was reaching out to me and here I was, dithering around like some half-wit; she deserved better than that.

"Tell you what, Abi; why don't you drop over tonight? I'll make dinner, we can watch trash TV, what do you think? At least let me apologise for worrying you..."

"Thank you, Mike, I'd like that," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. Of course, now I was panicking. Abi was quiet and thoughtful, but she was also sharp as a tack. I'd have to go carefully to not let slip I was going carefully; if she thought something was wrong with me she'd dig and dig until she got to it, and I couldn't let her know any of what was going on inside me.

*

Dinner was as normal as it had ever been before all this turmoil inside me cropped-up; somehow I managed to pull it off, or thought I did, because Abi didn't seem to be picking-up on any kind of weird vibe from me. After dinner, we slumped down on the couch, she at one end, me at the other, and watched whatever she wanted, while I tried not to watch her; with her new look, and the dream-feelings still bubbling around inside me, I was seeing her in a completely new light, and I was unsure how to feel about that. She definitely looked hot and it felt strange, and, to be honest, worrying that I could even see her in that way. After watching a couple of the rubbishy TV shows we were both addicted to, she clicked off and grinned at me.

"Mikey, I was thinking of getting my hair done, changing the colour, what do you think? I don't think blonde goes too well with my look. I was thinking maybe Midnight Black. What do you think?"

I was caught flat-footed; the dream-Abi had dense, glossy black hair; now the real Abi was saying she wanted to go there, too. What the Hell...?

Abi was staring at me while stretching up and running her fingers through her golden hair, so I did the only thing I could; I grinned and agreed with her, mumbling something about how the black hair would set off her pale complexion and go really well with her blue eyes. Also, and to my shame, I was almost totally distracted by the sight of her unrestrained breasts under her tight top pulling up as she piled her hair up on top of her head and held it there, grinning at me.

When I dropped her home, I took the long way back to my place. I needed to think. For most of the evening I'd been covertly watching her, ogling her, committing every moment with her to memory, and I really didn't think that was the proper way to behave around my sister, even if it was clandestine. Abigail was becoming an obsession, and I couldn't understand why, or why she'd become so attractive to me; it wasn't natural, Goddamn it, she was my younger sister, I was supposed to keep her safe from attention like that, not watch her boobs when she stretched and moved...

When I finally arrived back at my place, I noticed my polished brass 7.62mm bullet key-ring, made for me by one of the craft-apprentices at Shawbury, was missing, as was the photo of me with Abi on my shoulders, taken when she was maybe five. I didn't think much of it; maybe Abi had taken the picture. If she had she was welcome to it, I had many more of us, and the key-ring was probably down the back of the sofa cushions, I'd look for it in the morning.

The dream that night was as explicit and graphically detailed as the hottest dreams I'd had about her; we humped and pumped, sucked, licked, and probed, coupled frantically and interminably, and I woke covered in sweat, ashamed and disgusted beyond belief with myself, but a hot core, deep down inside me, was beginning to make itself felt, and that core-self wasn't at all disgusted or ashamed, and I knew that was the part of me that constantly watched her and avidly drank-in every sight and glimpse of her; it wanted her, which meant I wanted her, and that was the thing that was so repellent, yet so very attractive...

*

The following day was 'scrub-day' at the office, when all project work ceased while all the project managers got their files and paperwork in jig-order because the people who checked that due-diligence was being observed took no prisoners. So I slaved and sweated over mounds of files, making sure there were no grounds for challenging decisions made, project costings, payments authorised, works completed, performance specifications met, and that compliance and exceptions were recorded, documented, and justified; all the T's crossed and the i's dotted, all the minutiae that make Treasury civil servants such very dull people. I was exhausted and brain-frozen by the time I finished.

I had just decided to pick up a pizza and a couple of beers on my way home, anything else was just too much effort, when my phone rang; it was Abigail.

"Abi, hi, just heading home now; it's been a pig's arse of a day, I'll call you tomo..."

But she cut me short before I could finish;

"I know, Mike, so get over here, I'm making dinner for both of us, my world famous lasagne. It'll be done by the time you get here. Just be a sweetie and pick up a bottle of Chianti, or maybe a nice Nero D'Avola or Valpolicella, something rich and red to go with a frozen tiramisu, would you?"

After the night I'd had, followed by the endless paperwork all day, the last thing I needed was to be near my sister, but I couldn't say no, not after she'd gone to such effort, so I agreed and gave her my ETA.

*

Dinner was...nice; nice, but oddly strained. Abi was a good cook, a lot better than me, even though I'd been doing it longer, but all through the meal, and sitting with a glass of wine afterwards, there was a strange undertow, a growing feeling that something was brewing; all her comments seemed to be innuendo-laden, even though there was nothing I could pin down. It was weird, but I couldn't shake the feeling she knew exactly what I was going through, as if it was somehow her doing, and she was deliberately pressing my buttons and tugging my chain, goading me to see what popped.

At least the wine helped me relax; after such a good meal, the comfortable sofa, the warm, crackling log fire keeping the late October chill away, and her soft, relaxing voice lulling me, all this, coupled with the mentally exhausting, oppressively dull day I'd had, conspired to put me to sleep. I don't remember feeling sleepy, just very relaxed and comfortable, with Abi's soft voice and sweet, soft laughter gently soothing me, and that was all I remember.

I awoke with a start, stretched out on Abi's indecently comfortable couch and covered with a warm throw, the fire just a bed of banked coals, and no sign of my sister. I looked at my watch and got a shock when I saw it was almost 4 A.M.; at least I didn't have work the next day. I'd taken a Privilege Day to get over all the endless paperwork, but I was puzzled why Abi had just left me to sleep. The little townhouse was silent, so quiet I could actually hear the ticking of my watch, and the silence was a little eerie. There was absolutely no sense of my sister's presence. It was like she wasn't there at all, and I found that disquieting, so I thought I'd look for her and at least let her know I was heading home, late as it was.

The house was completely dark, only the sullen glow from the banked fire illuminating the sitting-room, but the hallway was pitch black, and when I clicked the light switch, nothing, it just clicked up and down.

"Great, power-cut, just what we need at this time of night!" I grumbled, and, using my phone as a flashlight, found the door to the small kitchen-diner. There was still no sign of Abigail, but, just as I was about to go upstairs, something on the mantelpiece caught my eye, a coppery metallic gleam. I went to take a closer look and saw what looked like a small, ornately chased copper dish, and inside it was my missing key-ring, the photograph of Abi and I, some locks of what looked like my hair, tied in little bunches with red threads, and some other, smaller items of mine that I'd lost or misplaced: one of my Spitfire cufflinks, a Victorian halfpenny I'd had as a boy, a tiny, sterling silver Minnie Mouse pendant and chain I'd given Abi when she was just a young girl, the gilded silver locket with her photo in one side, and Dad's in the other I'd mourned as lost forever. It seemed an odd assortment of mine for her to keep, especially the hair, but when I reached out to pick up the dish, Abi spoke, right behind me.

"Please Mike, don't touch it; it's not safe!"

I whirled around and there was my sister, wearing a very brief, white cotton robe, with a globe of subdued blue radiance that somehow gave no illumination in her upturned palm. What the Hell? I made as if to touch her, but she reached out and touched me lightly between my eyes with her forefinger, and said, in a language I'd never heard before, but the meaning of which echoed and resonated through my mind, clear and unambiguous:

"Cysgu ac anghofio, Mihangel!" (Sleep and forget, Michael!)

And that's all I remember.

*

I woke in Abigail's bed, completely unaware of how I'd got there; it was still dark, or rather, dark again, as my watch said it was Friday, almost 8 P.M., so I'd slept the night and most of the day away. For a change and a blessing, there were no dream-memories, nothing, in fact, no memory at all of how I'd got into bed, or why I was naked in my sister's bed in the first place.

Just then, Abigail came into the room, but she'd changed; her cascade of silky blonde hair was now a dense, brittle, midnight black, and she looked older, somehow more mature, and, in a strangely indefinable way, no longer my Abi. She was carrying a new-looking red rope and a long, wide red ribbon and she was still wearing that white robe-thing I remembered seeing her in the previous night. She looked at me and grinned when she saw I was awake.

"Hello, Rip Van Winkle, I'm glad you're finally awake. I thought you were going to sleep the weekend away! I'll need to watch that one; I don't know my own strength sometimes..."

And with that cryptic comment, she clambered onto the bed next to me, and, kneeling on the bolster, proceeded to weave the rope into a complex series of knots between the carved acorn finials of the old-fashioned headboard, weaving the ribbon in and out of the knots in an equally intricate pattern of bows that she obviously knew well. All the while, she mumbled something breathy and indistinct, almost like she was singing under her breath, in a strange language that sounded familiar, one I'd heard before, but I couldn't readily place. Also, as an added distraction, her rounded, flawless thighs were right next to my head as she did whatever it was she was doing, and they were seriously worth looking at, possibly even caressing, I realised with almost a shock. That woke me up.

"Abi, what the Hell's going on?" I burst out. "I come for dinner Thursday evening, suddenly it's Friday night, I've lost a day somewhere, and what happened to me in the dining room? You said something, and here I am, hours later, and I don't know how I got here; what's going on?"

Abigail stared at me, her lip caught between her teeth, one of her more adorable traits, and a faint line appeared between her eyebrows. I snorted and made to get out of bed, naked in front of my little sister be hanged, and she touched my arm, whispering "yn dal i fod, fy nghalon!"(be still, my darling) -again the meaning of her words whispering through my mind as she spoke- her voice chiming like a softly-struck bell and I fell back against the pillows, suddenly weak as a kitten. Abi took my hand and stroked my palm, tracing an abstract pattern there before kissing each of my fingertips in turn, and placing my hand on my chest over my heart.

"Be calm, Michael, you'll be fine, nothing's going to hurt you, I promise you; this was necessary. When I explain it all you'll understand; there are some things you need to know, but not yet; just be still for now, darling Michael."

With that, she leaned over and kissed me on the lips, not a sisterly peck, but a lingering, loving kiss, her soft lips working against mine, while she brushed my hair back. She smiled happily before rubbing noses with me and grinning once again.

"Just relax, Mikey, nothing's wrong, and very soon everything's going to be completely right, just enjoy what's going to happen, I know you will! Rest, sweetie, the ienodd ddienveh took a lot out of you, it can have a very powerful effect on some people, and I'm sorry that it hit you like a ton of bricks, I didn't mean it to. I won't use it again, I promise."

Once again I had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn't matter, because she straightened up, smiled that shy, 'lip-caught-between-her-teeth' smile, and slipped her robe off her shoulders and onto the floor, revealing her breathtaking nakedness. One part of me was ashamed beyond all reason at seeing my innocent, beautiful sister in her nakedness like that, but another, altogether darker part of me, that part I'd been desperately pushing down and trying to keep a lid on for so long flared with sudden, almost overwhelming lust for her, revelling in her nearness, her nakedness, the allure of her small, perfect, breasts, the promise of the shadowed apex of her sleek thighs, smooth and innocent of any hairs, the labia just visible, full and womanly, and the sheer, driving sexuality pounding off her in waves and battering at me. I had fought against this, convinced myself how wrong, how disgraceful my thoughts were, but my lies to myself were as hollow as the shame I was telling myself I was feeling; I wasn't ashamed, not anymore; now I just wanted her, and damn the consequences.

Abi leaned over me and looped and curled the ribbon through the skein of knots, her frequent, knowing little sideways glances at me heating me as her nimble fingers danced, until she'd eventually formed both into a large, ornate bow with one last flourish, and one final whispered phrase; at that, my cock stirred and grew almost instantly until it was a thick and pulsating rod lying flat along my stomach, every beat of my heart magnified in my erection as it pulsed hotly, aching for relief from the beautiful, naked young woman so near, and yet so far away from me.