My Brother, the Incubus

This is an entry into the Literotica 2021 Halloween Story Contest.

This story contains descriptions of close family members engaged in entirely inappropriate activities that some may find either disturbing or hot. If you find family members fantasizing about or taking liberties with each other or otherwise behaving in naughty ways, then you probably should stop reading right about...now.

All characters in this story are fictional and are eighteen years or older. Any resemblance to any real person, living, dead, undead, returned from the dead or under the age of eighteen is in your own dirty little mind. Sadly, most of the events portrayed in this story are not based on true events. Then again, it may include my post-death plans.

If you are still reading and are not offended by BILF or SILF and believe siblings behaving in very naughty ways is hot, I hope you enjoy this story.

It happened the same time every night.

Sometimes I awakened in a full-blown panic--sweating, breathing hard, confused about where I was. Other times, I simply woke up while it was still dark. Eventually, I stopped looking at the alarm clock, because invariably it read the same exact minute.

1:13 am.

This time was burned into my mind. Digital numbers clicked over to this time in the grainy B&W video, the one which, once seen, could never be unseen. Played on the large screen TV in the courtroom.

Hal, my brother, was waiting for someone beside his car. According to the date stamp at the bottom, he arrived at 1:37. For 3 minutes he waited. A Mercedes pulled up, and Stitch got out. Stitch was his street name, a drug dealer and known thug with a rap sheet a mile long. The sort of person who my brother was familiar with, but a different circle than I hung out with.

For thirty seconds, the two spoke. For the next fifteen seconds, they argued. Then, in one final second, Stitch pulled a gun from a holster tucked behind his back and, without hesitating a second, shot Hal in the face.

It did not seem real when the prosecutor played it at Stitch's trial, my brother's body collapsing like a rag doll on the cold pavement. He never moved again. Not when Stitch drove off, not when a large black puddle of blood grew in the parking spot beside my brother.

After the trial, the prosecutor gave me his phone, no longer needed as evidence. It was in his pocket when Stitch shot him in the head, and the text messages between Hal and his killer were evidence at the trial. They had opened it with his fingerprint, taken from the morgue, and installed a password instead, so I could search his life through the photos and videos inside.

"Be careful looking at his media," the prosecutor said after the conviction. "Some you will probably find disturbing."

It was the only thing I had of my brother. His apartment was ransacked by the time the police got there. Sure, they found some of his clothes, some of which still had his scent, and were in a box in the corner of my bedroom. But his phone chronicled the last year or so of the life of a guy who was not on social media because--well, let me tell you some more about Hal.

We grew up as opposites. Hal was 5 years older than me, so I was always a kid to him. While I was a good student, a nerd, shy and awkward, he was a vision of beauty, grace and trouble. He was a typical bad boy, and was constantly in trouble during high school.

His real name was Halloween, named for his birthday. I never understood our parents' sense of humor. When your name is Halloween, two things happen: you use a nickname, and you grow up tough because you will be picked on every day of your life from your first day at school.

After high school, he moved away, and rarely came home to visit because our parents did not get along with him. Hard to blame them, with all the trouble he caused, but he was always nice to me, protective and fun. Women loved him--girls back then--and he treated me as well as the gorgeous girls he went out with before my parents gave him an ultimatum, which he took by moving to Florida.

The next time I saw him was when, a few days after my 18^th birthday, our father lost control of the car on an icy road and plunged down a hillside. They did not find our parents' bodies for 3 days. When they did, Hal returned home for the first time in years, to help me sort out their affairs. Hal held me when I cried, comforted me, helped me through those dark times.

"You really turned out pretty well," he said.

"Thanks," I answered, not sure what to say after he said two of those five years he spent in prison for some unspecified crime he didn't want to talk about. He was even better looking in his early 20s, just as charming, and probably much more dangerous.

"No, I mean it." He pushed my hair back from my face. "You are about a hundred times prettier than I expected."

"Stop it! No I'm not!"

"Seriously, no joke. You can try to hide it, but I almost wish you weren't my sister," he said.

Funny, he was reading my mind. Not many guys had complimented me for anything other than my academic achievements. I was too skinny, too shy, my eyes were too big and I still looked 12, even though I was a legal adult about to graduate from high school. While I was grateful for his help, the one thing constantly in the back of my mind during the month he stayed there was how much I wished this gorgeous bad boy was anyone other than my brother.

He took thousands of dollars from my parents' estate with him when he left.

It pissed me off at the time, written out of the will as he was, but I supposed he deserved something. Hal was their only son, and I had enough to pay for college and then some from what was left. So, I forgave his theft. After all, what else did I expect from him?

Two years passed, and we rarely talked. Occasionally he sent me a new phone number, but never kept one for long, so I eventually stopped trying to keep up.

My info was in his phone, though. That's how the police found me when he needed someone to claim his corpse from the morgue.

The weird thing was, the first night I woke up in a cold sweat was not when I saw the video, or when the detectives told me the details. No, the strange thing was, I woke up in a cold sweat at 1:13 am the night he was killed. At exactly the moment a 9mm slug tore through his beautiful face and his lifeless body collapsed on the ground.

After my parents died, I retreated into a shell, where I remained for most of my freshman year in college. During my sophomore year, I took a few tentative steps out, and soon found myself with a group of friends, a boyfriend and a pretty normal social life.

Death has a way of changing people. My brother's death hit me like a runaway train. I did not retreat to my shell, I crawled under a rock, instead, and there I stayed. I withdrew from classes for the term, which the university allowed me to do both because of the bereavement but also to attend the trial. It started right away, primarily because prosecutors had the whole thing on film and they took the death penalty off the table because--well, my brother was a thug, too. And no one gets a lethal injection for killing another asshole during a drug deal.

Somewhere along the way, my boyfriend ditched me because I lost what little interest in sex I had before my brother's brains were blown out. Which was fine with me, because the last thing I wanted to see then was his naked body, and dumping me in my time of need reinforced my feeling that guys suck. The only one I ever really cared about, other than Daddy, had a bullet hole in his face until his body was cremated.

His ashes were in a small box next to the box of his clothes in the corner. I didn't have the energy to put them away in a closet somewhere. Someday I would spread them on some beach or mountaintop, but I was not ready yet.

I don't remember exactly when the sex dreams started. After my boyfriend dumped me, that much I am sure about. And around the time I decided enough time had passed to risk opening his phone.

In the time he had this last phone, Hal took a lot of photos with a lot of women.

A lot of women.

Parties, bars, outdoors. Selfies and group shots, virtually every one featured a beautiful woman. They were all over him in the pics, and he was all over them. Arms, hands... One, obviously at a Halloween party where he was dressed as a pirate--of course--a wench with impressive boobs popping out of a low-cut top and a witch with skin painted green all the way down to her cleavage were both kissing him. One of his hands held each girl's ass.

Not nearly as bad as the prosecutor made me worry about, but I did not see them all. And I was afraid of the videos.

My first dream was not such a big deal. I was running around my house nearly naked in lingerie. I hated my body because it made me look like a middle school girl--an underdeveloped one, at that. My tits stopped growing at A. At 5'6" and barely over a hundred pounds, when I say there was not much to see, I mean it literally. My nipples were rosy and they were okay, if too big for my tiny titties. Everything was backward! Why didn't I have big boobs and small nipples?

But in my dream, it wasn't so bad. It was like I was watching myself in the apartment, undressing, taking a shower, sleeping in the nude. In real life, I never slept nude, even with my boyfriend, so after dreaming it thought, why not?

That's when I woke up, and was laying there with a pleasant feeling. Turned on, which was weird.

My phone buzzed with a text.

It was 1:13, so I almost ignored it since there are only a few reasons for someone to text at this hour. Drunk dialing or an even more drunken booty call. Or an emergency. That last possibility made me roll over to snag my phone from the bedside table.

Hi!

It was from Hal. I must still be dreaming. Hal was dead, his brains blown all over some parking lot, and his phone was about all I had of his. By the time the cops searched his place, while someone had emptied it of almost everything, no one bothered to take his phone off his corpse lying on the pavement.

I stared at it, trying to make some sense. His phone was on the dresser across the room where I left it after perusing his photos. My eyes went there, and saw the glow from his screen. That made no sense, either, because I made sure to turn it off. I had no charger for his, which was different than for my old phone.

I got up to turn it off to save the battery, wondering if he sent it months ago, and somehow it was delayed, because nothing else made sense. As I started to power his phone down, I decided to check the history.

There it was, an outgoing message to me. Hi. At 1:13 today.

Gooseflesh covered my entire body, and I powered that damn phone down fast as I could before crawling back into bed. And there I cried, because as much as I hated what Hal had become, I still loved him and missed him. Eventually I cried myself to sleep.

The next night, I had pretty much the same dream. I was behind slightly foggy glass in the shower, washing my disappointing body. Well, at least I have a nice ass, I noticed when I turned around. I watched myself drying off, walking naked to the bedroom, and had a strange sense of déjà vu. In the bedroom, I recognized myself picking out the clothes I wore that day. The same bra and panties, the same tight jeans, the same pink top. Exactly as I had that morning.

I awakened feeling like I was tied to the bed. I could not move. I could feel my arms and legs, but they were uselessly lying there with me. Only my eyes worked, which is when I saw the clock. 1:13. I felt like a rat on one of those glue traps, completely unable to move a muscle of my body no matter how hard I tried. My eyes scanned the room, because that was all I could do other than lay there staring up at the ceiling.

There, by the bathroom door, was a shadow. A person. The shadow moved.

I tried to scream, but like my petrified arms and legs, my vocal cords did not work, either. The shadow moved again, and as I watched in horror, it began walking slowly toward me.

Halfway across the room, the shadow faded. As it did, whatever held down my arms and legs and prevented me from moving my head released its grip on me. I leaped up and turned on the light, but I was alone in my room. Panting, drenched in sweat, but alone. I checked all the doors--which were locked as they should be--then crawled back into bed, covering my head with my blanket and shivering myself back to sleep.

The memory of that dream left me terrified the following day. That night, I had every light in the house burning. All I could think of was Hal, how he used to protect me when I was a kid. For some reason, I pulled up his text and sent a response.

I miss you.

I went to his phone, turning it on. My message buzzed, but I ignored it. I flipped straight to the videos.

Naked feet and legs walked across a floor I did not recognize. But I heard Hal's voice, obviously filming himself. And his dick came into frame a couple of times. Why do guys enjoy filming their own dicks? It was hard, too, which--um, okay. Hal called out to someone, and a girl showed up around a corner.

"Hey, I need your help," Hal said.

The girl was gorgeous, vaguely reminding me of someone although I could not think of who, and she looked down below the phone as he got close. His hand reached behind her head and pushed her bleached-blonde head down until she was on her knees before him. She didn't say a word, just started playing with my brother's cock, caressing it, then licking, and I almost switched the damn thing off, but found it oddly fascinating.

That girl started sucking my brother's cock, and let me just say, she was a damn pro. I was impressed, and a bit embarrassed. I had not sucked many dicks, and when I did, I sure did not have this girl's technique. Impressive as she was, it seemed to take forever. Suddenly, my brother pulled his dick out and came all over her pretty face.

And the girl laughed as my brother covered her face with goo. It was disgusting and disturbing as hell. And, I had to admit, a little hot.

Although I knew my brother had always had more than his fair share of women, it was nice to see him enjoying himself like this. About a billion times better watching him come in some slut's face than the last video I saw of him, when he got shot in the face.

I shut the damn thing off and got ready for bed. I still felt like shit, so threw on some comfy cotton panties and one of his old XL tee-shirts, which I had slept in for years since he abandoned it at our parent's house when he left. I crawled into bed.

Lying there in the dark, the image of that blondie sucking my brother's cock played over and over in my head. How long had it been since I last sucked a guy? It had been soooo long since a guy played with my junk.

Next thing I knew, I was tickling one of my titties. They might be way too small, but they were oh, so sensitive. My enormous nipple drew up, hard between my fingers through the cotton fabric. I heard myself moaning, and it felt so darn good! Then, instead of that girl, Hal's face appeared in my mind's eye, those beautiful eyes, that relaxed smile.

"Oh, Jesus," I said aloud, and stopped playing with my nipple because... I can't do that while thinking about my brother!

My mind was so occupied, it pushed out thoughts of that shadow person in my room the night before, because otherwise, I probably would never have gotten to sleep.

1:13, and there I was awake again, frozen like one of those fossilized bugs encased in amber. Scared shitless, petrified. The shadow was there, too, and again he was moving toward me. I could not move, could not scream. All I could do was follow him with my eyes. As he came closer, he began to take shape, his outline more defined with the first traces of features coming into view. Slightly familiar, which somehow made the vision more terrifying.

It was Hal. The moment my mind accepted it was him, a different type of fear took hold. One more real, yet with a sense of calm because I knew my brother could never harm me. In life, he may have hurt who knows how many people but even dead, the one thing he never would do is hurt me.

But he was dead and he was walking toward me, which was about as scary as anything my mind had ever imagined. Ghosts were the thing that terrified me most in horror movies because they were more likely than the other horrible creatures on film to be real. Surely this is all a dream, which explained why I could not move a muscle.

I was asleep and dreaming about the brother I adored because I never had the chance to say goodbye. So my grief brought this dream to me, a psychic way to say goodbye in my sleep, a substitute for missing out in real life.

There Hal stood, at the foot of my bed, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Hi, Sis."

My entire frozen body tingled. I wanted to answer him, to hold him, to scream and turn on the lights in the hope light would drive him away.

Hal reached over me and pulled down the blanket, which I thought was weird until he said, "I remember that shirt. It was mine, wasn't it?"

My voice gone, my head refused to nod, so I tried to communicate with him using my eyes.

Hal bent down again, this time grabbing both my ankles and he jerked me toward him down the bed. I felt his hands on my skin, the power of his grip. My body dragged limply, my arms at my sides staying put and as my body slid down, flapping up beside me like wings as he dragged me down. Friction from the sheets caught the shirt, as well, and I almost pulled out of it as he tugged my body near.

I remember feeling embarrassed that he could see me in my panties. When my butt reached the foot of the bed, just before I was about to slide off onto the floor, he stopped. My feet fell to the floor.

As much as I wanted my brother to speak to me, to say something to ease my guilt at letting him drift away like I did, he had other things on his mind.

The hem of my shirt had ended up around my lower ribs, exposing my body from my stomach down. Hal reached up and pulled my shirt--his shirt--up the rest of the way to my shoulders, exposing my breasts.

"I've been watching you," he said. "You've grown up."

This dream was getting too weird, and inside my brain, I began screaming at myself to wake up. But I did not wake up. I could not, for I was already awake.

My brother pulled down my panties, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I was completely naked before him, the shirt only covering my shoulders. Hal would never do this, a thought that terrified me even more. Was he a demon assuming the form of my own brother to manifest himself to me?

Again holding my ankles, he opened up my legs wide, then dropped them onto his shoulders. And then, he ravaged me. He was inside me, fucking me. I saw it--I felt it!--and it was as real as any other time I had sex, even though there was no way it could be happening. It was more horrible than anything I could have credited my mind for conjuring up. At the same time, about the time the abject shock of it all began to wear off, another sensation replaced it.

The pleasure of sex. I was enjoying it, sick and repulsive as it was to do so. Oh, damn it felt good! Better than any of the previous times I'd ever gotten laid. Better than any of my boyfriends had made me feel. Hal bent forward and took one of my girlish boobs in each hand and squeezed them, and I no longer wanted to scream in fear. I wanted to scream in the most exquisite ecstasy my body had ever experienced.

This was not a spirit, a ghost. This was a man. My brother.