Ducks, Mushrooms and a Warlock pt2
| Tue, Feb 9 2010 07:22am GMT 1 | ||
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 Malcolm 235 Posts |
I've replaced my original post with this version which better fills
in a few plot holes I noticed.
Pt2 and the final part.
I head past the poor excuse for a duck pond deciding to take the path up the hill behind it. Maybe I can sweat this feeling out. The three new ducks are chivvying and harassing the others. More excitement than the pond has seen in years even though the other ducks aren’t putting up much of a fight. They just seem to let it happen, squawking and half flying, half running across the pond until they feel safe. The new ducks keep at it though; nowhere is safe from them in the end. I head up the path and pick up the pace, I soon work up a gratifying sweat. The exercise helps a bit, even if I am tiring quite quickly. I can rest at the top. “Hello, feeling better?” Cook is waiting for me. I stand, bathed in perspiration, and gape at her. “How…?” I want to ask how she had made it here from the house before me when I had left first. I am too amazed and breathing too hard from the walk to get the words out. She’s not even breathless; it’s like she just stepped from the kitchen into the dining room. “I’ve been picking mushrooms,” she indicates the basket on her arm. It’s full. “You were still…I came straight here. You couldn’t have beaten me.” “I’ve had time to pick mushrooms first. Perhaps you stopped somewhere to…unwind?” I must have stopped. She couldn’t be here with a full basket of mushrooms ahead of me unless I had stopped. The…feeling has subsided. Maybe I had stopped somewhere to take care of it, lost myself in the doing. No, that was madness. I couldn’t have forgotten, or lost myself so thoroughly. But Cook is there looking at me as if she has found a sick child. “You are too far from home,” she says taking my arm. “Best you return with me and rest. Mercy and Hope will ease you.” I walked back to the house is a daze. Cook’s hand on my arm is firm. She does not let me pause. I am given no time to study the pond to see if the new ducks have finally driven away the old. Instead I am marched back to the house where both Mercy and Hope are waiting as we enter the front door. “There you are!” they cry in unison. “We were so worried.” They seem worried about me, not about themselves. There is nothing that they need from me. Father needs me to feed him and tend to him but not these women. “I walked to the top of the hill.” “But you have been gone so long, Melinda. You left just after lunch and now it’s nearly dark outside.” That was impossible. The sun had still been high when I met Cook on the top of the hill and that walk, while much further than the duck pond was still no more than an hour; less at the pace I had managed on the way there. I whirled about to face the still open front door. Outside shadows had merged into the deep dusk that lingers just before the night turns truly black. The sight numbs me. I can’t grasp it. The sun should still be bright in the sky. I hadn’t walked that far. Cook had brought me straight back home again and yet… “It can’t be.” My own eyes give the lie to that. “You need to rest.” Mercy is sympathetic, her voice kind. “Father will be frantic.” I just stare at the growing darkness outside. “He’s quite content. We provided him with sufficient tea to make him slosh and he had lunch when you did,” says Hope. “He would be furious if you…” “He rather liked the mushrooms too,” adds Mercy. “He’s sleeping now.” “I think you should have a good long shower before dinner.” Hope starts guiding me down the hall to the bathroom. “A nice shower and dinner will perk you up no end. I’ll find something for you to change into.” Mercy calls after me. “I’ll get dinner started,” says Cook. “Mushrooms?” asks Mercy “Of course.” *** The shower is blissfully warm and fills the bathroom with steam. I’ve already washed the sweat salt from my body and shampooed my hair. Now I’m just luxuriating under the cascading water. My brain is as fogged as the bathroom. I’ve been trying to recall the hours I lost today. No matter how hard I think no explanation for them comes to mind. I walked to the top of the hill and walked back, the round trip should only have taken about two hours. Instead the whole afternoon and early evening have passed. I can’t make any sense of it. Someone opens the door allowing a wave of cold air to billow in. Mercy pokes her head into the room. “Dinner’s ready. I brought you a robe.” She gives me a lingering look before closing the door. After I towelled myself dry I put on the robe; it’s pure silk and barely reaches to mid thigh. It’s not one I own. I tie it closed and head to the dining room. Mercy is looking at me as I enter. “Your mother was far too bitter for her own good.” “She probably was a skinny titless teenager.” Hope muses. “Don’t be too hard on Valerie.” “But look at the damage she did. The girl has no self-confidence and believes she’s ugly.” “Well what Melinda thinks doesn’t matter does it?” “Excuse me,” I’m offended at being talked about like this. “Why don’t I matter?” “I didn’t say you don’t matter, I said what you think about yourself doesn’t matter. We can see the truth.” I’m feeling uncomfortable. “Are you saying you think I’m attractive?” “Of course you are.” That’s as much a formula as my enquiry into father’s health. “You’re mad.” “See, no self image at all. That woman has a lot to answer for.” I am plain. I’ve been plain all my life, hadn’t my mother spent so much time stressing the fact to me? No amount of well meaning flattery is going to change that. “What’s for dinner?” I ask to change the subject. At that precise moment Cook places a plate of roast lamb with mint sauce, roasted potatoes, carrots and parsnips in front of me. I was relieved there were no mushrooms but that didn’t last long. Cook came back with large bowl of mushrooms as a side dish. Despite my earlier reservation as soon as I saw them I wanted them. Mercy and Hope both had the lamb, neither had mushrooms. “What about father?” I ask after finishing the last mushroom on my plate. I had not yet eaten a single mouthful of lamb. “Cook took his up to him,” offers Hope. “He will like that,” I say stupidly. I realise that he has not called out once since these women arrived. “I should go up and see him.” “After dinner; we’ll all go up.” I begin eating my lamb. My head is staring to swim. “Have you figured out the nature of your control yet?” asks Hope. “You said I don’t have any… three to one.” “That’s true now. I meant the control you had before we arrived.” “Father was in control, not me.” “So you still don’t understand. Wasn’t he dependant on you for everything? You cooked, you kept the house clean, you made sure he washed and you made sure he had clean clothes to wear.” “How does being his drudge put me in control?” “Did he decide when you fed him? Or what? Did he make any decisions about anything you had control of?” Hope’s eyes are fixed on mine. “Well, no.” “So he ate what you wanted him to when you wanted him to eat it? He wore what you wanted him to wear when you wanted him to wear it?” “Well yes, I suppose…” “You had nearly absolute control,” “It never felt like I did.” I put my fork down and rub my forehead “You had control but no freedom. You were trapped into your role by your sense of duty but you controlled every aspect of how you conducted your duty.” I digest this. She continues, “Today, we have removed your responsibility as well as your control. You haven’t had any duties to perform nor have you had any control. You’ve been quite lost, I think.” “I’m feeling really rather warm,” I say. My eyes have fallen on Mercy’s ample cleavage; I lick my lips. To cover my reaction I shove a slice of lamb into my mouth; mint jelly dribbles down my chin. “Would you like to experience freedom from responsibility? Would you like to abdicate control completely?” “How?” My head is too muzzy to think clearly or quickly. Hope has moved around behind me as we talked now she leans over my shoulder. She reaches down to the bow that fastens my robe’s sash and with a single motion pulls it undone. The sash hisses through its loops and comes free in her hand. “Put your hands behind your back and I’ll show you, my dear,” she says sweetly. Mercy is close now. “You’re quite safe with us.” The closeness of the two women is overwhelming. Blood is surging through my arteries pumped by my pounding heart. Sweat is tricking from under my hair and down my spine. I want to wipe the sweat from my brow but my hands are trapped; something is being wrapped tightly around my wrists. “How do you feel now?” asks Hope “Hot…dizzy. Why are you tying me up?” “To demonstrate true freedom.” “What? That’s stupid. I have less freedom now than before.” I’m confused and annoyed. “What freedom did you have before?” “I could use my hands.” “Where did that get you? You could use them and you had control but all that led to was lack of freedom. You were trapped by responsibility. Now you have no responsibility you are removed from the trap of duty. In short, you are free.” “You mean since I can’t do anything for Father with my hands tied I don’t have any responsibility?” “Doesn’t matter whether you do or not does it? Either way you can’t do anything about it. Whatever happens now is outside your ability to influence. You are totally helpless so you are totally free.” “I’m not totally helpless.” I say standing up. Hope and Mercy grab my arms. “No? Really?” they say in unison. My robe gapes open and there is nothing I can do about it. Father starts calling for a cup of tea and there is nothing I can do about him either.” “Now,” says Mercy. “We shall demonstrate your freedom.” “Let’s visit your father,” adds Hope. “You’re going to take me to my father tied up? Father was furious when I told him you were coming.” “He’s going to be bothered that you’re tied up, but not for the reason that you think. Don’t worry about your father, Cook’s mushrooms work wonders.” They march me into father’s bedroom. He is sitting up reading. An empty teacup sits on the bedside cabinet. “Melinda, my treasure…” he starts and then stops. “What’s going on?” He asks after a moment of silence. “She is a treasure,” says Hope. She is not smiling and her tone is brittle. “You have taken advantage of her for too long, William.” “And her bitch mother has convinced her she is ugly. But that was part of your plan wasn’t it, William? An ugly girl is so much easier to keep at home than a popular, pretty one.” Mercy has drawn herself up, almost threatening. “What do you want, Hope?” Father is cautious. “We have brought Melinda so that you can see for yourself. She can no longer help you. We will not allow it.” “What right have you to deny me her help? I am her father!” There is anger, and desperation too, but he is still pathetic. “You are dead. You feed on her life to sustain your own existence. It is time for you to go.” Hope spits the words at him with contempt. “She is my rock.” “Anchor stone you mean. While she does those things you can’t do for yourself she binds you to this plane. Leave her alone, dead man. Just go!” I gape at the two of them. “What do you mean he’s dead? I can see he isn’t dead. He stays in his bed and I look after him. That’s why I’m here!” The last words erupt as a scream. “Easy,” Mercy wrapped her arms around me pulling me to her in a hug. “This was your father fifteen years ago. Then he died. He died but he anchored himself to the plane of the living through you. He can’t leave this room where he died but so long as you keep being his anchor he can live on until you die; or until you cease to serve him.” “She must serve me! I need her. You interfering cows; she is mine! I bound her to me!” The same rage he had when he strangled me is back. I can feel his will crushing mine. “Serve me.” Without me he would really die; he needs me “Let me help him.” I plead. “No,” says Hope flatly. “But…” “She is mine!” Father’s voice blasts the room. Hope staggers and Mercy and I lurch against the wall. I fight to get free of her. She holds me in a fierce embrace needing all of her strength even though my hands are bound. Father needs me. I must go to him, serve him, nothing must stop me. “Stop that,” Hope speaks sharply. I’m not sure whether she is talking to my Father or me. Whoever she means, I can’t stop. I have only one thought. I must get to my father; I must help him, ease him and get the things that he needs. “She can’t help you, warlock.” Hope hisses back at my father. “You will depart this place and your bond to her will be broken.” My father’s will is weakening. His strength was not so great after all. Mercy wrestles me from the room. She leads me back downstairs to my bedroom. I cannot sleep with my mind in this kind of turmoil. What were they going to do to father? Of course I couldn’t sleep. Then Mercy whispers in my ear… *** Mercy calls me to breakfast. I haven’t showered but I’m hungry. There is just cereal and toast. “Your Father has gone.” Hope says as I enter the kitchen. “I know, I don’t feel the need to check on him anymore. I can feel he isn’t in the house.” “Does it bother you?” “He always used me. For the last fifteen years he used me. I don’t miss him.” It doesn’t bother me. I am just relieved. You called him a warlock?” “He was one, not an especially powerful one but a warlock all the same.” Mercy nodded her agreement. “Warlocks need familiars; they usually call and bind minor demons to serve them. Your father never used demons. Your mother was a witch and first he bound her but he was drawn to you when you were born. He used his binding spell on you.” “He made me his slave.” I have found that stony place inside me again. “You are free now,” says Hope. “And there is the matter of payment,” adds Mercy. She runs her tongue over her lips and pouts. Her meaning is clear, “both of you?” I ask. “Oh yes, definitely both of us,” Mercy purrs. “You’re both witches?” Hope laughs. “Of course, just as your mother was.” “Tonight,” I say. “I will come to you tonight.” *** I spend the day walking. I can wander as far as I wish. Mercy and Hope know that I will return for them so they don’t worry. I wonder if the ducks have settled their differences. When I reach the pond I find they have after a fashion. Only the new ducks remain. They are the conquerors, the other ducks have fled. I throw the few crusts I have with me but these ducks ignore my bread as the others had done. Perhaps they already fear being poisoned by the stagnant water they have conquered. I pass the pond and climb the hill behind. As I expect, Cook meets me on the summit. “You’re a hedge witch, aren’t you?” I ask. “You use plants and herbs as the basis for your magic.” “And mushrooms,” she agrees. “You made Mercy and Hope want me?” “No, I made you want them. They already wanted you.” “I haven’t wanted anyone for such a long time. I didn’t know I still could. Why did you do it? I thought you were with them.” “You needed help. Your true nature had been subverted by your father’s binding.” She watches me closely. I don’t suppose you know where you were conceived?” I look her in the eyes. “Mother told me years ago. She never told me what it meant but I know.” She nods. “They seem friendly enough but they never do anything without weighing the benefit to themselves. They want to control you. They believe they have already. Witches can’t bind the way warlocks can; they need to control you another way. They think tonight will cement your loyalty to them.” “Tonight won’t be enough.” It won’t be anywhere near enough. Not now. She looks back at me. “I know.” *** It is not long after dinner that Mercy announces she is going to bed. I can see the lust burning in her. Its brightness almost dazzles me, drawing me along behind her. It makes the sparkle of her soul glitter tantalisingly. Hope watches us leave. She is ready for me as well. She will have to wait just a little, not as long as she fears. I have never fed my true nature because of my father’s binding. I will sate it tonight. Mercy undresses me with a fevered haste I am sure she did not expect. I caress her and watch her lust flare. She is mine. She yearns for my touch and hungers for my body. I straddle her and kiss her. Even with my eyes closed the blaze of her lust blinds me. “Do you know,” I ask as she massages my breasts. “What the result is when a witch and a warlock rut in the middle of the warlock’s summoning circle?” Her eyes widen in fear but there is no way for her to free herself from me now. Instead she names me as I gorge on her lust and her soul. “Succubus.” *** The sale of the house provided me with sufficient funds to buy a small business in a distant town. It was the sort of business that suits Cook’s talents and suits mine as well; after all who is more a people person than a succubus? I turned the ‘closed’ sign to face out into the street; only one couple remain in the restaurant. They are a young with bright souls that gleam in their love for each other. It’s closing time but they are happy to choose from the limited selection that remains. “I want them,” I say to Cook as she prepares their meals, “both of them. Their souls call to me. I can feel the heat of them, feel their passion.” “There’s no problem,” she reassures me. “They ordered mushrooms.” |
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| Sun, Feb 14 2010 11:20am GMT 2 | ||
 Greyowl59 699 Posts |
G'day Malcolm,
Fab! I was not in total surprise about the ending, as one line alerted me to sexuality earlier and I twigged. I loved this given that I write about this in my own material, including Peacock and Two Lives. With the editing and honing this will be a cracker. It's a great idea and an enjoyable story. Greyowl59 (Charles) |
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| Sun, Feb 14 2010 11:39am GMT 3 | ||
 Ancient Woodland 575 Posts |
I just read the original and now this - definately an improvement.
Very readable with some interesting undertones.
Good stuff. AW |
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| Sun, Feb 14 2010 01:12pm GMT 4 | ||
 Rust 18 Posts |
Wow, what a terrific ending.
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| Mon, Feb 15 2010 04:25pm GMT 5 | ||
 Weens 953 Posts |
I commented on the other post before I found this. A good story
Malcolm, it turned into a direction that proved quite a surprise.
There was one little hint as to sexuality, when Mel licks her lips
as she looks into Mercy's cleavage. I was intending to ask about
that, but that question answered itself as I read on. I would still
like a little more description of the witches and a little more
smell in your descriptions, especially of the shower she is
luxuriating in ( women love smells in the shower), and the dinner
that is served up to her. An enjoyable story Malcolm.
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