tagErotic HorrorThe Cold Lover

The Cold Lover


Ailie walked slowly through the fog. She had to get water from the well; the men had already left for the fields, and it was washing day. The children were still sleeping; or at least the little ones were. The older ones had to help their mothers clean, or their fathers farm.

The village was tiny, barely big enough to be seen on a map. Not that they got many with maps in this region; not many roads crossed this part of Scotland. This was the extreme Highlands, and life up here was lived as it had been for centuries.

She was the eldest at nineteen; not quite a woman yet, but no longer a girl. Her mother despaired of ever finding her a man- as every good lass needed- as there were no other boys her age around. The next village was miles away, and the roads, as already mentioned, were not good.

The well was situated quite a way away from the village, but that was fine normally. But recently the men had gotten to talking; some had noticed some crops missing, and something was scaring the goats. The woman didn't talk around the girls, but Ailie had overheard her mother talking to one of the men, who had said he had seen something near the old faere dun.

It was near the well, they said. And the faeries had been perfectly content for as long as the people of the village could remember, but recently there had been a whole spate of odd going ons around the area. Not just the cattle; the milk was going off, within days of the cows being milked. The Laird's Cairn, up to the north, had been showing signs. Ailie didn't know what that meant; the men never said, their faces grey. She had never seen the cairn; "It isna fur th' lassis", her father said, smiling down at her, when she was younger. But now, the nights were getting longer, and the weather worse. There wasn't normally enough real snow up here to cover the ground, but that was only due to the wind. The air was icy cold as it swept off the moors, and if the Ailie listened carefully , she could hear the faeries singing on the wind.

It was early for her to be walking out, but she had used the last of the water to make her family some tea last night, before they went to sleep. Washing day meant that everyone would be needing water, and if she was going to get any she had best get there early.

She could see the dun from here, just off to the left as she stopped at the well. The grass twinkled merrily in the fog. It was a tiny little hill, not even that really; just grass on a slight rise, surrounded by taller hills, flowing and rolling on as the highlands do. But there was something strange, something wonderful about the dun; the barrenness of the moors didn't touch it, the plants on it thriving, the heather always in bloom. It drew the eye, but Ailie couldn't have said why.

She took her bucket, and lowered it down the well slowly. The well was sometimes high, and they had gotten a significant amount of rain recently- which was saying something.

Ailie found herself staring at the dun. She thought she could see something moving in the grass. She squinted, trying to make it out.

It was a woman. Her hair was long, far, far past her waist had she been standing, but she lay full on the ground. Her skin was translucent, stunning in its paleness, and she was naked. Ailie found herself blushing.

The woman was lying on her back, but her legs were spread. She clutched at the air over her, and arched her back. Ailie stiffened; she had seen a couple doing this in the village, through the window. This woman was making love to a person she could not see.

She averted her eyes, again looking down the well shaft. Suddenly, she heard the bucket hit the water. She let it fill, the leant on the rope to pull it up.

The bucket didn't budge.

She kept pulling, cursing as best she knew, mainly in the Gailic. Her father acted as the minister for the village, but he had never been ordained, but she knew enough so as not to blaspheme. And the farmers were colourful enough in their own way. She kept trying.

Suddenly the rope gave way, and Ailie struggled to pull it up. It was heavier than normal; maybe something caught on it. She continued, struggling the whole time.

When she reached the end of the rope, she reached in to find the bucket only to see that it wasn't there. She looked down, into the darkness of the well, shivering. She had heard stories like this before, of how wights came and took the land back from people, for themselves.

She turned, and ran back to the village, but couldn't help noticing the woman in the grass was still on her back. But this time, she was staring straight at Ailie, and she smiled.

"Why are ye abot runnin' around a' this time of th' morning?" her mother said, coming out of the small, squat building that they all lived in. Ailie was out of breath as she ran to her mother, and clung to her clothes.

"Ma, I went to get water from th' well, but th' rope wouldna come up t' start with, then there was no bucket on th' end of it."

Her mother stared at her, looking at her face.

"Lass, I was lookin' fer th' bucket ever since I woke up, and found it just before, outside the door, full."

They looked at each other for a long time, before looking away, and getting on with the daily chores.

Ailie, Ailie, Ailie, singing. Pale, lovely voices. A choir.

Dance with us, Ailie. Come and dance!

She was asleep, and she was walking down the hill, towards the well. She was not cold, as she should have been during the night, and she was only wearing a light shift. Her long hair was flowing in the wind, and she could hear the singing clearly on the wind, where before it was only a whisper.

Ailie! Come lie with us! A men's choir, filled with baritones. The song took a lower pitch, and Ailie could feel herself swaying in time. She filled with heat, with feelings she had never even thought of before. She saw the woman in her mind again, her back lying on the dun, her legs wrapped around her ghostly lover. She saw the woman's features plainly; her long, dark hair; her deep dark eyes; her gorgeous milky skin; and her full sensual mouth. She was looking into a mirror.

She saw the dun, and felt the chill around her strengthen. Her head began to spin. Take me away, take me away, take me away. She heard a reel, and saw a circle of people dancing in her mind, around and around. The notes seemed to say, take me away, take me away, take me to a place far away. Chanting. Drums. Fiddle.

Her vision went dark, and she woke up.

She was lying on the dun, the wind wrapping her in ice. But she could feel it; feel him. He was a cold soul, her lover, as he covered her in damp kisses and frosty touches, but it only thrilled her more. She arched her back as he lowered his head between her legs.

She opened her eyes, and looked about her. The snow had fallen to either side of the dun, and the long grass danced and stroked around her. She writhed, as the chill strokes of his tongue sent lashings of ice through her. He coated her folds with dew that quickly froze into ice, which melted in her heat.

She moaned, her voice caught and carried by the wind. She felt the wind lessen, and the cold intensify. Instantly she felt it; felt his cold hard phallus slide within her, and begin to thrust harder and harder. She could see him now, where she couldn't before.

He was grey as she wasn't, and it was as though he was part of the background. His hair was the clouds overhead; his face and features were rain and sleet. His eyes, though, were gaps between the clouds, deep pools of liquid night, and suddenly, Ailie knew what was moving, writhing, inside of her.

He thrust away in her, his cold member building up. He had stopped his efforts at seduction, and was focused purely on his own pleasure. She hadn't noticed, as she was so caught up in her own. She was shivering with the force of her pleasure, and the contradiction of his ice compared to the fire he raised in her thrilled her. She thrust her hips at him, and the grass wrapped around her, aiding her efforts.

She felt his coldness harden, then felt his liquid ice spew forth within her. She screamed, as she felt herself join him, and she burned on and on and on. Away, away, away, take me away, away, away.

The men of the village found her the next day, sleeping naked on the faerie dun. When she woke, she told them that she remembered nothing, save that she was now in a good place, filled with dancing and song. And her cold lover was there, and she could have him for as long as she wanted.

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