The House

March 18, 2024

Carl Edmund Norris is thirty-two years old, loves to write, and wants a very quiet place to do it.  Today he is with a local broker looking at Old Robinhurst Manor in Hubbardston Massachusetts.

As they start up the driveway. Carl is struck by the huge elm trees lining the long driveway. Perfect, originally flat-topped, stone walls span both sides, but today undulate up and down because of the gradual uplifting caused by the long slow growth of the giant tree roots.

They inspect the outside first. There is a fine view to the east of Mt. Wachusett. As the broker and Carl walk around to the right of the house, the old fellow says, gesturing to the large old cemetery flanking the entire south side of the property,

“…of course, you have close neighbors on this side, nice and quiet though, most of the time”

His sly smile, and the Down East way he says this, makes Carl chuckle,

Carl, however, is not exactly overjoyed by the house interior. Lord and Lady Reardon showed unusual judgement in using mustard yellow damask wallpaper almost everywhere. All fourteen rooms will require an expensive facelift.

What saves the interior is the wonderful kitchen. The eating area has a big bay window that faces on the east mountain view. The huge fireplace has a hearth made from one solid piece of black soapstone, six feet wide, sixteen feet long, eighteen inches thick. Pointing to it, the broker comments,

“Must have taken a whole team of hosses to get that fellow up here.

“Best thing about the house, after the view:

says Carl with furrowed brow.

In the pantry behind the kitchen, a huge black soapstone basin, receives a never ending supply of fresh cold spring water, which runs out at the other end. Nobody alive today remembers where the water goes.

Carl can do the needed work himself, would enjoy a break from writing, and so buys the house. He completes the work, and has everything in place by mid-September. He has made his library at the southeast corner of the house with a view of the mountain and of the cemetery.

Love at First Sight

November 11, 2024

Carl knows a good deal about arcane matters of all kinds. He has strong romantic ideas about love in wizened heaths with wicked Witches. Sexually he embraces nothing perverted, but is totally open to imaginative foreplay with beautiful women. What the lady wants, she will get, within reason.

Samhain has come and gone without any sign of paranormal activity in the cemetery. Carl is back to his writing, and all is well. Today is pleasant and overcast. Every hour or two, Carl is in the habit of opening the top half of one of the east windows facing the mountain, and savoring the fresh air and view. Only occasionally does he choose one of the south windows for this. Right now, is one of those exceptions.

Carl’s eyes move slowly from the east, home of the old slate headstones, to the west, with the newer, early nineteenth century, polished granite or marble obelisks and slabs. There are almost never any visitors to this boneyard, because there is no one living today who knew any of the residents. Carl hasn’t seen even one visitor since he moved here.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, a figure appears, moving upward, as if out the ground, next to a simple headstone near the edge of Carl’s lawn. She is of medium height, slim and pale, with straight raven-black hair and deep blue eyes. She is wearing a long, tailored, black dress that hugs the exquisite curves of her lovely twenty-four-year-old body.

Carl thinks she may be the most beautiful woman he has ever has ever seen. He is totally enthralled with her, and falls immediately in love. She looks right at him, fixes his gaze for eight seconds, then disappears feet first, as if sinking into the earth.

Carl says to himself,

“It could be very perplexing to be in love with a ghost. I should probably try to forget this entire business.”

Why now does he look at the clock, noting that the time is 11:36 A.M.?

Carl wonders if the adjacent headstone is hers, so he walks downstairs, across the lawn, over the stone wall, to the headstone,

Here lies Rachael Heathwick

Dutiful Wife of Daniel Heathwick

Born October 31, 1803

Died November 11, 1893 

November 12, 2024, 11:34 A.M.

Carl is standing just inside the cemetery wall about six feet from Rachael’s grave. He is aroused sexually, and in every other way one can be aroused.

At 11:36, like solid smoke, Rachael comes up out of the ground, just as she did the day previous. She gives Carl a pale smile. Her eyes shift to the firm little tent of male urgency below his belt buckle. Her smile is now happier, mixed with a teasing look of female satisfaction. She speaks in a charming female voice that sounds as if it hasn’t been used much lately,

“You are mine, and will obey me completely.”

“Oh yes, Rachael! My name is Carl Norris.”

“I know who you are, and very accomplished for one so young. I am proud to be your mistress, and will address you as Slave whenever we are alone. You will address me as Mistress. You will have no orgasm except by my leave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress. I stand eternally ready, hard at your service.”

“Good. You learn quickly. Kneel!” 

Carl kneels. Rachael walks up close to him, and opens the front of her dress. The enslaving quality of her smell is beyond his expectation. There is also a faint hint of something chemical that he can’t identify, but he nuzzles, kisses, and licks, swallowing every drop of her fluid. For all of this passion, however, her skin remains very cold.

When she is satisfied, she closes her dress, and says, pointing east,

“Tomorrow at the same time, we will undress completely in that thicket. I will inspect and train your penis, then you will render prolonged service to me. You needn’t reply.”

Carl’s penis throbs with anticipation.

“What a woman!” he thinks to himself.

She turns and walks away towards the grave, then looks back over her shoulder and says,

“In the interim, I want you to contemplate what it would be like if I were to live again and move into the house with you. We will speak further of this at some point of my choosing. I will, of course, insist on a suite of three rooms to myself. I might even agree to marriage, if your ongoing ardor manages to satisfy me”

She says this last sentence without her usual grim formality, almost coquettishly. Thinks Carl, as his balls grow plump with semen,

“This one’s a serious cutie. Morticia Addams visits Hubbardston. Maybe the fact that I care nothing for marriage will give me leverage, but I doubt it”

As Rachael disappears into the ground, Carl’s mood changes completely as he looks up to see a tall man with a double bladed axe standing four hundred feet away on the other side of the cemetery, one hundred feet east of the old stone grave keeper’s building. The man appears to be looking at Carl, who wonders,

“How much did he witness?”

That evening Carl is to be seen in his library reading a short encyclopedia entry on the subject of formaldehyde.

 In the Thicket

Carl has placed a large blanket with a picnic lunch and chilled black currant juice in a clear spot within the thicket.

At 11:36 she rises, takes Carl’s hand, and they walk to the thicket. He strips quickly. She looks casually at his erect penis as he undresses her. Her white smooth skin, firm breasts, and

curvaceous hips are the most beautiful thing Carl has ever seen.

She walks the few steps to the blanket, mercilessly swishing her protruding buttocks, and lays down,

“Come here, Slave!” she says.

Carl walks over and lays down beside her,

“On your back” she says.

Now Carl feels her cold hands with sharp fingernails teasing him to a hardness he has never known. Every tiny capillary is becoming engorged, almost like a rash. His penis is curving upwards. What she does is a little painful, but at the same time feels very good.

Carl has high endorphin production, essentially rendering him a sexual Berserker. At some level she understands this, and seems to sense what the right level of stimulation is to fall just short of triggering orgasm. Slaves don’t get to cream, after all.

“This is the type of erection I expect to see from now on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress!”

Now she roles over onto her tummy, spreads her legs, and raises her hips. The splendor of this full view, that all men dream of, delights Carl beyond imagining. She looks back at him and says,

“Yes, every nook and cranny, Slave!”

Carl spends the next forty-five minutes paying total homage to Rachael’s beauty. Never has he felt such a sense of privilege with any woman. He contemplates what a sad thing it is for healthy men that so many women, even today, still suffer from what Carl calls RBS, Religious Body Shame.

Now they lay side by side in silence. A light breeze whispers though the thicket. Carl feels deeply satisfied despite his enforced chastity.

After a while she rises, gets dressed, and says,

“Tomorrow, Massachusetts will be back to seasonable coldness. You will need the higher indoor temperature, so I suggest we visit your bedroom. You did very well today, Slave.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

As they leave the thicket, Carl’s mood changes once more, as he sees the man with the axe again, in the same place,

“Look!’

he says.

Rachael sees him too. Carl says,

“I think he was watching us last time. I saw him there in the same place just after you disappeared.”

“That part doesn’t matter, trust me”

says Rachael, then in a cryptic tone,

“His name is Sheiffer Hoskins.”

Carl looks surprised,

“Who is he?”

“I’ll tell you in due course”

she says and disappears.

In the Bedroom

Carl keeps the temperature in the house at seventy-two degrees when it’s cold outside. He is waiting, and at 11:36, Rachael appears. He takes her hand and they enter the house.

“Let me show you the kitchen… want some lunch?”

“Neither is necessary. I explored the entire house one night while you were asleep, and I haven’t eaten anything since 1862.

“You must be very hungry. All the more reason to have a good lunch.”

She gives him a soft smile. Carl had a huge breakfast at 10:30 A.M., so they go hand in hand up the main staircase to Carl’s bedroom. Today they decide to have intercourse.

“You will have no orgasm today. When I know that you are getting close, I will remind you to stop and cool down.”

Two hours pass. She says,

“I’m satisfied. Dismount immediately, Slave!”

They lie in each other’s arms, like a married couple. They both feel happy. Carl says,

“It seems odd to me that you care nothing about food, but still enjoy sex. You mentioned the idea of living again…”

He stops because her eyes have grown fierce.

“I told you we would speak of this at a time of my choosing. Tomorrow you will get a long, hard switching for your disobedience. For this purpose, I expect you to procure a thin three-foot smooth apple-wood switch, and do not wear any tattersall or other checked shirt tomorrow. As you know, checks and stripes worn together are generally considered to be in very bad taste.”

She gives Carl a very superior and beautiful smile as she says this.

Carl’s erection grows even harder. He feels his buttocks begin to tighten and protrude, as he knows they will for her, again tomorrow.  

Stripes Without Checks

November 15, 2024

Another warm day. Perfect for a trip to the woodshed, or thicket.

11:36 She appears,

“Where is the switch?’

“In the thicket”

replies Carl.

She walks ahead, swishing to tease. She sees the switch cradled on two branches, grabs it, and slices the air.

“Perfect. Take off your clothes!”

Carl’s boner has a glistening pearl of lubricant at the tip. She sees it and slaps the tip hard with two fingers to dislodge it. Then she walks around and begins the switching. Pink stripes appear at first.

Rachael slowly increases the intensity, then keeps on and on, until Carl’s buttocks are entirely bright pink. His hurting-hard boner is throbbing visibly with frustration, and a long stand of thick lubricant dangles from the tip.

Rachael walks around and sees the strand. She smiles with wicked delight.

“It’s exciting to be a slave, isn’t it Carl?”

“With you as the mistress, yes, it is.”

Carl is trembling, and begins pumping thin air. She laughs,

“The spontaneous dance accruing to enforced chastity. You are too horny. You must stop this shocking display immediately, or you may reach orgasm without my consent.

“Also. I think the time is right to discuss the matter of my mortality. Please compose yourself, dry off, and get dressed. We can sit looking at the mountain while we talk.”

After Carl is dressed, they walk to the pair of big cedar chairs facing the mountain.

“I know that you are skilled in ritual because of your Grade Attainment with the Rosicrucians, and other fraternities. You will be the thaumaturgist, and I the object requiring change. We must procure a young girl whose life will be forfeited…”

“Wait a minute… I love you, but I will not murder an innocent young girl to give you the mere technicality of life. You have superb physical manifestation now…”

“Stop! Let me explain. I have no physical manifestation at all. It is simply illusion I impart to you. I was an accomplished Witch before my death. If someone were watching us now they would see only you talking to an empty chair.”

Carl looks dazzled, but feels better when he thinks of who might have seen them together, but didn’t - the man with the axe. Rachael sees this relief and knows what he is thinking.

“Now at least you know why I don’t need food, and why I look twenty-four… remember I was ninety when I died. Old for those days, but good health habits really do work.

“In my present state, I have no actual enjoyment of our activities, except that I can see you enjoy them, and also from my anticipation of being alive so that I will be able to once again experience sensation. I will also be able to reset to any age I want…maybe eighteen.”

Carl looks perplexed, as if he wants to speak.

“Let me finish. Back to our dilemma… I said nothing about an innocent young girl. That was your idea. We could procure a girl from among the ranks of Communist subhumanity. She will be somebody who would never amount to anything, except to manifest moral stupidity.”

Now it’s Carl’s turn to explain.

“No, Rachael. I’ve known people who managed to transcend the worst possible backgrounds. The same fire that melts butter, will forge steel. It happens as an innate revolutionary reaction to the complex of erroneous stimuli being served up as the norm, by misguided parents, teachers, and friends.”

“I cannot live again, if we don’t find someone.”

“That may not be true. Can you wait long enough for me to discuss this with a friend learned in practical matters of both arcane and profane science?”

“Possibly, but you must tell me more.”

“Have you ever heard of a fellow sometimes known as the Werebear?”

“No.”

“He’s a research biochemist who transformed himself into a grizzly bear, at first using gravitation at Full Moon as a catalyst, then later, electro magnetism, usable at any time.”

“Will he aid you in something like this?

“Yes, he loves women too. I also know some chaps who can shapeshift into wolves. They are heirs to the tradition of geneticist Osman Brinkerhoff, who studied with Ernst Rüdin in Germany. Somehow, between these two resources, I will find the answer.”

As they do back to Rachael’s grave, they see Hoskins again with his axe in the usual place.

Carl asks,

“I’m not asking who he is, but if he can’t see you, why does he always show up when we are together?”

“He watches constantly.”

The pieces have been coming together. Now Carl has a sudden flesh of understanding,

“He can see you. He’s a ghost appearing for my benefit, maybe to warn, frighten, or otherwise spoil our time together. Am I right?”

“Yes, you are. I’ll tell you more soon’”

Hilton Armstrong

Carl has known Hilton since their days at Harvard. In that period, they had many fine lunches at the Wursthaus, where they enjoyed bratwurst on light rye, with the splendid house dark beer on draft, or a bottle of Kulmbacher Leicht. On these occasions they usually discussed the fine points of Libertarianism.

November 16, 2024 11.42 A.M.

Short notice, but Hilton detected the urgency in Carl’s voice, so here they are again, just like in the old days.

Carl asks,

“Are you still with Liz?”

“Yes, she takes good care of her health, and is more beautiful every time I look at her. Are you still dating that skinny blonde from Brocton?”

“No, I have a new girl now, Rachael, but she’s a bit unusual. I need to save her life. That’s where you come in.”

Hilton looks intrigued. Carl continues,

‘What I’m going to tell you will sound as though I’ve been doing acid, but I have not. The girl is a ghost. She is able to impart what seems like physical manifestation to me, but is really only illusion. She wants to live again, and says a young girl must forfeit her life to provide the energy for the return, and I do the ritual.

“I love her, but her method is not acceptable to me. If a scientist can make man into bear, why not ghost into woman.”

“Jesus, Carl. I believe you, but just barely. Are you sure about the acid?”

asks Hilton, smiling as he continues,

“Just kidding. To create life: nutrient bath recapping tide pool conditions, Gentries solution, lightning, and a material protagonist.

“Piece of cake... also kidding, but worth a try. The protagonist is the hard part. Can she contain herself in such a way as to be completely immersed in the nutrient bath?”

Carl looks perplexed, but replies,

“I would say she probably can, but she told me she has no physical manifestation, but, as you know, some have said that spirit is simply composed of a finer form of matter. Since it has observable existence, it must be made of something. Also, what about the nutrient bath recapping normal human intrauterine conditions c. 1803?”

Hilton looks impressed by this question, and now more confident,

“Good idea. We can try both. Many things are possible. Gentries Solution revivifies recently necrotic tissue. Nobody knows how or why. We will use a full size bath tub, and you should perform a ritual to encase my procedure, just to cover intangibles. Also, you will owe me roughly six grand for your half of the costs. I will put in six of my own for the sake of research… I like the project. How about my home lab, day after tomorrow, at 9:00 A.M.? 

Nutrient Bath Briefing

November 17, 2024 11:36 A.M.

Today Rachael appears as she was at age eighteen, but with contemporary hair style, plaid girl-school mini skirt, and white blouse.

“Cuuute!”

says Carl joyfully, then continues,

“It’s a good thing nobody but me can see you, or I might get arrested for statutory rape. I’m not sure which version of you I like better. More years left in this one. I wonder if the chemistry is any different. I better sample…”

“Nuh uh! No sex for you today, Slave! We have business to discuss”

she says youthfully. Carl replies,

“I talked to Hilton. We have an appointment tomorrow at 9:00 A.M. in Cambridge. There is a technical question… Can you, as an entity, be contained wholly within a nutrient bath?”

“Not exactly. I can move the image you see into any place, and my being will have no stronger presence anywhere else.”

Carl looks befuddled,

“Whatever that means… All we can do is try. Hilton wants your entire being immersed in a nutrient bath recapping tide pool conditions, using Gentries solution, and lighting to activate the change. If it doesn’t work, we will try again with an 1803 intrauterine formula as the nutrient bath. I forgot to ask how he will manage the lightning, but he is so meticulous he wants me to surround his procedure with a ritual, just to cover every possibility.”

She looks hopeful,

“I can see at least some of you Harvard boys really don’t fool around!” 

The Laboratory

November 18. 2024

Carl drives to Cambridge alone, and Rachael, “preferring the aerial view,” catches up and is visible only to him, as he arrives at Hilton’s house.

Hilton opens the laboratory door and greets Carl with a quizzical look. Now Rachael appears also to him, and Carl says,

“Hilton, this is Rachael.”

 Hilton smiles,

“A very pleasant ghost! We just have to make this project work. Please come in.”

They go inside. The place recaps the laboratory of Dr. Frankenstein relative to function, but is more modern.

In front of the panoramic north window is Hilton’s long table with computer, printer, and file cabinets underneath.

The east wall has eight tiers of shelves. On the top three are hundreds of bottles of chemicals. The next two are for glassware: test tubes, flasks, retorts, beakers, Petri Dishes. The bottom shelves contain electrical devices and instruments.

Under the south window is long table with a sixteen-foot terrarium mostly for exotic plants.

On the west wall is the laboratory work table with polished stone surface, sinks, Bunsen Burners, and at the north end, an oversize Tesla Coil and huge Van der Graft Generator.

When Carl sees this last item, he suspects it will be the source for lightning. In front of these shelves is a large stainless steel tub filled with water almost to the top.

In front of the tub an eight-by-four cherry table. Carl begins unpacking his ritual accoutrements and setting them up as an alter on the table. There is a big bath towel and a new outfit of clothing for Rachael.

Hilton says,

“Everything is ready. If we need the 1803 bath, I can have it ready in ten minutes. I worked out the formula yesterday. Rachael, all ready?”

She replies,

“When I appeared to Carl yesterday as I looked at eighteen, he mentioned the extra longevity, so I will project that, but the image of physical manifestation of me, at any age, is only illusion. What do we do if I come back at my true age of ninety, or only as an embryo?”

Hilton replies,

“Gentries Solution can revivify necrotic tissue to what it recently was. Von Haptel took a tumor into an adult clone of the host within nine months, then ended the nutrient bath at that point. Nobody has used it to regress or further advance age in any subject, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be done.

“The main difference here is that we lack tissue in the usual sense. It may not be possible to revivify you at all, but as Carl said to me, everything that exists, even spirit, is composed of something. Your spirit is our tissue sample.

“All we can do is try. My only suggestion is that you remain steadfast in your projection of the desired result. All human accomplishment, after all, involves the focusing of will. Carl will enlist the spiritual realm with a ritual” 

Working Procedure

Hilton fires up the Van der Graft and tests it. The arc to the tub water makes a loud cracking sound like lightning. Then he drains out one foot of water, stirs in the nutrient formula, then the Gentries Solution. Says Hilton,

“Rachael, just to strengthen the suggestion of life taking itself for granted, please take a deep breath just before you dive under the water.

Carl immediately begins reading the ritual from the parchment upon which he wrote it yesterday in indigo ink:

“Ritual of Vitalization

Ne ~    4   OYN”

Next he performs:

Preliminaries

0. Rejoicing in the Sun

I. Assumption of the Form of Odin

   (Hilton, of Thor)

II. Vibration of the Names of Odin

    (Hilton, of Thor)

III. Tracing the Circle of White Flame

to the Four Quarters

IV. Ringing of Bell Three Times Each

to the Four Quarters.

Salutation to Odin

V. Statement of Purpose

“This working is to the vitalization of the eighteen-year-old body of Rachael Heathwick,

to be once again joined with her immortal spirit, here present.”

Drinking of the Mead of Inspiration

Conjuration Towards Desired End

Illustrative Drama of Senses on All Planes

Restatement of Purpose (Rachael loses the image of clothing, to the delight of both Carl and Hilton, gets into the tub, takes a huge breath, and completely submerges herself. Hilton immediately discharges the Van der Graff lightening into the tub. Carl finishes quickly.)

Consignment of Parchment to Flame

Ringing of Bell Three Times Each

to the Four Quarters

"In Furtherance of the New Aeon.

Love is the Law, Love Under Will.

Hail unto the Aesir and Vanir!

Hail unto the Alfar!

Hail Yggdrasil!"

Commencement of Actualization 

Commencement

The surface of the water breaks. Rachael peaks out of the water, raises her head up slowly, and smiles,

“It worked. I’m hungry. Gentlemen, I love you both very much, and thank you for this miracle of genius you have performed. My nakedness before was illusion, now it is real. Please turn your backs while I dress.”

She gets out of the tub, dries herself, and dresses.

“Okay, turn around.”

Carl grins, and hugs her. Hilton hugs her too.

She laughs happily,

“When do we eat?”

Carl drives them to the Wursthaus. On the way inside, Carl hands Hilton a big envelope plump with hundred dollar bills.

“I included an extra thousand to help with your projects.”

“Thank you, Carl”

says Hilton.

They sit near a window. Rachael orders prime rib, medium rare, with potatoes and spinach.

“I am positively ravenous. The last time I ate was 1893.”

They eat a leisurely lunch. Hilton heads home. The happy couple cross the Charles River, and check into the Park Plaza Hotel in Boston. They relax until dinner time then walk to the King of Siam and enjoy Ginger Duck. 

Shopping in Boston

November 19, 2034

After a splendid breakfast of Eggs Benedict at The Plaza Bistro, they walk up to lower Washington Street. Rachael needs clothes. Carl decides to get a few things of his own.

At Filene’s Basement, Rachael is dazzled by the variety of styles and prices. Carl buys two striped shirts from Allan Lolly of Nottingham England. He will later come to think of them as his Sheriff of Nottingham shirts.

At Jordan Marsh, Rachael buys several dresses and, with Carl’s approval, a bedspread from Finland. Carl gets a nice grey herringbone Harris tweed jacket, and a navy blue crew neck Shetland wool sweater, both from Scotland.

They spend the entire morning shopping, put their items in the trunk Carl’s car in the Underground Garage, then walk to Jacob Werth’s for beef tongue on light rye. As they eat, Carl says,

“I’m going to take you to the Naked “I” Cabaret, so you can see what sexy Twenty First Century girls do to tease men.”

She gives Carl a very superior look, and says,

“I already know how to tease men, or don’t you thinks I’m sexy enough, Slave?”

“Indeed, I do. What would you rather do?”

“How about a short harbor cruise?”

“Okay by me”

says Carl, smiling as he remembers the cute

girl with the “belly-button eyes” he saw at lunch on one of the islands, the day he took a cruise as part of the Tall Ships Parade.

It’s cold today and the breeze is stiff on Boston Harbor, but at least it’s sunny. Rachael finds the experience “bracing.” They enjoy clam chili at Legal Seafoods on the way back to the hotel.

The next morning after another splendid breakfast, Rachael looks at Carl and says,

“It’s time to talk about Hoskins. I wanted to wait until after my return to the living. If the bath procedure didn’t work, his activity would be irrelevant.”

Carl looks puzzled. She continues,

“When I was twenty-five, Hoskins was sixteen. He was employed by my husband, Daniel, to tend the lawn and shrubbery at our house in Gloucester. Even though our only contact was when I occasionally paid him, he became infatuated with me, and then totally obsessed. In October of 1828, he tried to rape me. Luckily, Daniel came home early, saw the attempt, and gave Hoskins a bad beating.

“Hoskins shame and anger grew much greater with the years. We would sometimes see him watching us at a distance. Finally, in October of 1836, he murdered Daniel with a double bladed axe. At that point, he disappeared completely from the area. I never saw him again. Three years later, I remarried, and lived a long, prosperous, and fairly uneventful life.

“In 1893, at age ninety, after a stroke, as I lay comatose in a hospital bed, Hoskins, at age eighty-one, came into the room with his double bladed axe, and dismembered me. I never felt a thing, but as I floated up out of my body, I saw him standing there, crying insanely over what he had done.

“Now that I’m alive again, he is going to haunt us, or worse. He is not to my knowledge, a Warlock, or in any degree adept in arcane matters. He is not the type of person who strives to higher manifestation, but obsessed people, as ghosts, can usually be seen by the living, at least thinly, if it is willed strongly.

Furniture

November 22, 2024

Rachael chooses her rooms at Robinhurst, and is satisfied with how Carl decorated them. They’re already furnished, but there are some pieces Carl wants to remove, so he swaps these with furniture from other rooms. All of it is to Rachael’s liking, but she says,

“Everything is perfect, except for one thing.  I’ve always wanted a giant maple lift-top desk with lots of compartments. Do you know where we can get one?”

“I’ll check the Internet first. Failing that, I’ll make some calls. We’ll find one.”

November 23, 2024

Carl locates a desk in Dedham Massachusetts. They rent a small van, find the address, and are delighted by what they see. The house is a huge, hipped-roof federal mansion, pastel orange, with cream trim, and copper green doors, very unusual and beautiful, nestled among tall white pine trees.

The desk is especially large, stained in a slightly greyish colonial maple color, and has an unexpected knot in the upper right quadrant of the lid. This adds country character to the demure elegance of the piece, and there are a good many compartments and small drawers. Rachael beams with delight,

“My grandfather had a very similar one, but I like this even better, everything about it.”

Carl dickers with the estate administrator, and they settle on eighteen thousand dollars, which reflects the beginning of a normalization of antique prices in the midst of the ongoing Libertarian revolution. Ten years ago Carl would have had to pay nearly twice this amount, but if he were able to wait another twenty years, would probably get the piece for five or six thousand.

The two men remove the drawers, put the desk in the van, then reinsert the drawers. Thick maple is heavy. Carl asks the administrator,

“Is it okay if we walk around the grounds, so we can see the house from all angles,

“Yes, the house is for sale too. I’ll be happy to show you the inside if you like.”

Rachael looks at Carl with a sense of interest. Carl says,

“Yes, we would like to see it. We’ll look outside afterwards.”

They have no intention of buying the place, but there are two other parties who will tour it simultaneously, so they don’t feel guilty about taking up an hour of the administrator’s time.

The house is magnificent. Beautiful plank floors. Lots of built-in book cases around chimneys. Carl and Rachael love the house, take the administrator’s business card, and go back outside.

Carl says,

“Imagine this house on our hilltop with one hundred more acres for good measure.”

She smiles,

“We could have it moved. Better keep writing.”

They walk around the periphery, then go up behind the house to explore the garden area, now very greyish brown and witchy-looking after the recent frost.

As they approach, Hoskins, axe in hand, steps out from behind a large pine tree, apparently to give himself the effect of being mortal. He snarls with contorted face, curled lips, clenched teeth, and says to Rachael,

“So we have come antiquing to Dedham, have we? Well, by God, Mistress Heathwick, I will once again make you dead ham.”

The axe-master walks briskly towards Rachael, raising his weapon high. Carl in turn, walks briskly towards Hoskins, who disappears. Carl says,

“There’s your threat.”

Rachael looks dismayed,

“Don’t be so sure, Carl.”

“Why, what did I miss?”

he asks.

“Hoskins has been after me for one hundred and ninety-six years. Obsession may find a way. He can’t impact us physically, but might devise a way to cause a reaction in something that can impact us. We need to get rid of him permanently. Have you any experience with banishings?”

Carl smiles, remembering,

“Yes, but never with an entity having any fixed purpose relative to me, merely a presence not desired by me. The workability of it may well have been that it produced a mutual reaction, as standoffishness would on the mortal plane.

“We need a cease and desist working, but there is nobody to enforce it. I can write it, then we can perform it, but if normal disinterest on your part didn’t work on the mortal plane, why would it on the spiritual? This is a contest of will with someone completely insane. We can’t expect him to react logically or predictably.”

Hot Cider

December 3, 2024 7:22 P.M.

It’s cold and windy outside. Carl and Rachael are sitting in the kitchen enjoying the fireplace. Rachael has brewed up a kettle of hot spiced cider. They talk about the future as they sip and dream. Carl has been sleeping on the events in Dedham,

“Something you said about Hoskins gave me a good idea, which then led to other ideas with other ramifications.”

She looks intrigued. He continues

“You said ‘We need to get rid of him permanently.’ We can’t kill a man who’s already dead, but a friend of mine can time travel. Since H.G. Wells, we’ve all understood the value of not changing anything in the past, because it will change other things, but now with the ability to actually do it, I find it difficult not to speculate about the possibilities.

“If I went back in time, I could kill Hoskins as a toddler, long before he met you. Even if he became a ghost at that point, he would not yet have found anyone to haunt. I could get away in time because at that age he would not be focused enough to contemplate revenge.”

Rachael thinks ahead to Daniel. Carl sees this in her expression and continues,

“The ramifications, of course, are that he would not grow up to kill Daniel. That probably means that you and I would never meet.”

Rachael looks thoughtful. Carl continues,

“I could kill Hoskins just after he killed you, make it seem to him like an accident, and get away before he figured out what happened. He would still be obsessed with you, but might never find out that you were buried in Hubbardston.”

Rachael replies,

“Shedding of the distractions of the body enables total psychic awareness. On the spirit plane people understand how all the goings-on of the physical world fit together, and know where everybody else is located. Hoskins would find me easily, and understand your involvement. The toddler idea would work to get to get Hoskins out of the equation, but then we are in the realm of changing other things as you mentioned…

“For example, it might easily lead to Daniel and I dying at an earlier age. As it was, we nearly drowned on two occasions when our sailboat capsized. After Daniel’s death, I gave up sailing. In any case, it is certain that you and I would never meet, and I’m so happy right now, I think it would be better not to tamper with the past. There must be some other way we can get rid of Hoskins, maybe get him a substitute obsession.”

Carl replies,

“Your rejection of him is the real obsession. That he continues to desire you is only what fuels the obsession. If you could kill his desire with a sexual turn-off, maybe he would lose interest in revenge over something which no longer frustrates him.  For men, physical deterioration, and immature behavior, are the most common sexual turn-offs.”

Rachael remains perplexed,

“With my health habits, the physical part would take a very long time. Besides, he already saw me grow old once before, and that didn’t stop him from finishing me off at age ninety. The psychic awareness would enable him to see through immature behavior or any other deception, no matter how well acted.”

Carl smiles,

“I’ll bet you were a cutie even at age ninety, and, now that I think of it, for a nutcase like Hoskins, there may be no such thing as immaturity. Who could be less mature than Hoskins himself?”

“True, the genetic throwback involved in constitutional psychopathy is really a return to a less mature level of development, isn’t it? Now that Hoskins no longer has physical desire, his obsession is only a habitual carryover from something that once troubled him. He acts like he doesn’t accept being dead. Most ghosts who haunt the living, do not.”

She looks thoughtful, realizing that she didn’t accept it either, and then,

“That’s it! Maybe we can get him to let us bring him back in a nutrient bath, then incarcerate him for life … a justifiable trick he would probably anticipate, but impossible without his cooperation, also very ugly to live with in the aftermath.”

As Rachael rises to get more cider, she sees Hoskins looking in the picture window with a furtive leer. He is displaying himself as naked, with stiff pork in hand. She looks at the tiny ghost-wiener and laughs coquettishly, out of instinct, rather than thoughtful intent. Hoskins scowls, and disappears. Carl looks at her,

“What’s up?”

Rachael laughs again,

“Hoskins’ libido, and not much else! He flashed me just now with a cocktail sausage, outside the window. He certainly remembers why he became obsessed… All this male-female business at times seems too hellish, a big price to pay for the ability to procreate.”

Carl replies,

“Don’t get discouraged. We’ll figure out something.”

She asks,

“What about Hilton? Maybe he could suggest something.”

Carl replies,

“I was thinking that too after you mentioned the nutrient bath. Hilton is a superb archer. Maybe he could fill an arrow with the solution and, with Hoskins standing in front of a brick wall, plus a synchronized lightning strike, fire the arrow through him so that it would shatter, filling a large portion of his space. Not total immersion, but worth a try. I can surround the entire proceeding with a ritual. There is no time limit to enact any part of it.” 

Back to Cambridge

December 8, 2024 9:42 A.M.

Carl and Rachael are sitting with Hilton in his anteroom. Hilton has listened to the whole dilemma, and all of Carl’s ideas. After switching on a device that can detect unearthly presences, he replies,

“We can lure Hoskins through a brick wall, but I’m thinking that the saturation would only revivify that part of him the space of which it fills. Since the spirit is associated with conscious intelligence, I would aim for his brain. Then we could keep his head alive in a nutrient solution for the duration of your lives.

“Another way would be to fill his entire space with a fine spray of solution, and then follow with the lifetime incarceration of his entire person as you mentioned, but in either case, the non-viability for you is that you’ll have him back at you eventually when his spirit is once again liberated by death. The non-viability for me is that I’ll have him after me too. The three of us will have to spend all of eternity dodging a crazed axe-murderer.

“Plus, how do we know that he hasn’t been listening to your conversations about all this? Even without my suggestions just now, he may have heard enough so that we would never get him near a wall, brick or otherwise. This is a very sucky situation! I’m not sure I want to be involved with it except, at the level of helpful suggestions… but I can’t think of any.”

Carl and Rachael look gray and emotionally fatigued, but then suddenly Carl brightens,

“I don’t know how yet, but we can get rid of Hoskins by entrapping him among other spirits even more evil than himself, or at least more systematic and organized in their regimens of torment. Think of the stories of Lefanu. The biggest problem will be the danger to us.

“We have to engineer the whole business, while at the same time, keeping totally aloof from it. We must act as puppet-masters, and yet maintain total anonymity. Our involvement must be untraceable on every plane, alas, unreadable even in the Akashic Record!”

Hilton chuckles with a smirk,

“Who would ever have thought we would end up involved in bullshit like this?… Okay, but as previously, I will consult, and not participate. I must stay intact for my future with Liz.”

Rachael smiles, with a mixture of gratitude and proper empathy.

Carl is having an outburst of imagination. He directs this especially to Rachel,

“There is a scenario I imagine, but I must first ask more about the spirit world… You mentioned total psychic awareness after death, but is deception among spirits not possible? Could a spirit be held in a situation of torment, or duty, by making him believe that it is the natural order of things?”

Rachael says,

“Yes, the psychic awareness transcends physical limitations, but functions within the context of what is believed. The spirits holding him in torment would also have to believe in the natural rightness of what they are doing, or he would detect it, and reappraise his own beliefs.

“The concepts of Heaven and Hell are based on this principle. Consider too the total invulnerability of the freethinker to guilt mongering fools on the physical plane. This also carries over to the spiritual plane. Such a cult could have no effect upon you or I.

“Hoskins is not a freethinker or he would not have obsessions, but he is also insane, and the effect of beliefs on behavior may be more erratic with such a person… In any case, tell us your scenario.”

Carl looks discouraged,

“What I imagine is somehow finding a situation which will lure Hoskins into believing that he can be a tormentor among spirits who create an illusionary world with all the trappings of physical torture, so that the torments will be experienced, and produce personal change, in the same way they would on the physical plane.

“The other spirits might accept Hoskins at first, then turn the tables on him, and end up putting him to the same torments he would afflict upon others. The distraction might keep Hoskins in a state of befuddled captivity forever.”

Rachael comments,

“Torture clubs exist. They always have, on the physical and spiritual planes, but getting Hoskins interested must represent a transfer of attention to them involving a proportionately diminished interest in me.

“Carl, constitutional psychopaths have pride, even arrogance, do they not? Maybe we can embarrass him about having so little going for himself. I think matter-of-fact contemptuous remarks said about him, will be more effective than well-reasoned insult directed at him.”

For the next few weeks, every time Hoskins shows himself, casual remarks about sexual and personal inadequacy pass quietly between Rachael and Carl. The goal is to infuriate Hoskins, increase his general hostility, but engender feelings of futility relative to the further persecution of Carl and Rachael.

As a Witch, Rachael remains accomplished in shapeshifting and transvection. Every evening after dinner, she visits the spirit world for a quick flight around in the shape of a raven. Finally, over a forest clearing, she sees a group of male and female spirit couples tormenting young spirit singles. This will interest Hoskins for sure. The problem is how to get him aware of them, without awareness of introduction or set up. 

The Plan

February 5, 2025

Thus far, Hoskins has been unaware of Rachel’s nightly flights. Tonight she times her transformation to coincide with a routine visit by Hoskins. She pretends not to notice him till the last minute, flies fast to escape him, then pretends to hide just as he catches up. He waits invisible. She comes out of cover and pretends to believe she has shaken him, then proceeds to the forest cove where the club maintains a slave compound and enjoy their nightly tortures.

She arrives without being noticed and lands in a tree affording a fine view of the proceedings. A young couple are having intercourse. The woman is on top. A few feet away with a good view of the couple from behind, a young man is tied down naked.

His genitals are cinctured with rawhide thongs. Surrounding them, a ventilated glass vessel containing thirty-six large hungry ants is positioned so that the woman looking back, and the victim, can see the nibbling. The young man gasps or screams every time he is newly bitten, which is about every ten seconds. The ants apparently like to sample different areas of a hard penis and plump scrotum.

Hoskins is far overhead, but can see everything. He is absolutely enthralled, and were he a living creature, would at this point, have a very bad boner. Rachael is aware telepathically of this arousal, but isn’t clear as to which he finds more exciting, the intercourse or the torture. Probably both. Sex is always cute, but she has to admit that the deep purple throbbing arousal of the victim moves even her very deeply.

Rachael moves on, as if searching for something else, lands here and there to enjoy a splendid vista, and then flies home, with

Hoskins trailing closely.

He doesn’t know anything about Witches, or even that she is one, and is perplexed by how she can, or why she would, shapeshift into a raven. What he saw in the forest, however, preoccupies him far more deeply, and he will visit that place again tomorrow night. Rachael and her endless insults, can just do without him for a night, or maybe even two.

The Torture Club

Last night Hoskins noticed a number of people talking on the outer edge of the area in use by the club. He feels approaching these people will involve the least intrusion, and checks for them again tonight. Things look the same, so he sets down at a distance and walks towards the gathering. Comes a challenge,

“Who goes there?”

“My name is Sheiffer Hoskins. Last night, I saw some of your splendid activity from above, and would like to make application for admission to your group, if that is possible.”

As Hoskins approaches, he notices how aristocratic each of members appear to be. He is intelligent, as are they, but that is where the resemblance ends. He has no education, no proper self-esteem to match the casual arrogance of the aristocracy. He has learned verbal skills bartering in produce markets, but may be over-reaching himself in this. The entire proposition may be a foolish mistake.

A tall, grim, very bleak-looking man steps forward. He is deathly pale and dressed all in black. He has a fine large dagger at his side,

“I am Simon von Blutengardt. Why do you want to do what we do, by joining us?”

“To instill obedience and respectfulness in sodden unclean spirits.”

“How do we know you are not these things yourself, seeking only carnal dominance?”

“All I can suggest is that you allow me to participate, then observe me, and decide for yourself.”

“Why do you assume that our inspirations are not merely carnal?”

“I am concerned only with the purity of my own motivation. Within any group there will be varying degrees if true commitment to higher ideals.”

“In your mortal existence, did you ever belong to a group such as ours?”

“No, I never knew that such groups existed until last night. Indeed, I was born to a poor family, and had to work long hours from an early age. Life never gave me time to think about much more than when the next time would be that I could next eat or sleep.”

“You answer very well for someone of, if you will excuse me, such ungainly appearance and oaf-like demeanor.” 

The others chuckle. Hoskins grimaces deeply as is struck a blow to the head, and does not answer back except to say,

“I have told you my background. If you except me, I will abide by your rules unflinchingly.”

Simon counters with a dark cryptic smile,

“We will see about that. You must give us time to consider. Can you return here for our decision at this time tomorrow night?”

“Yes, thank you. I can.”

Hoskins leaves humbly and abruptly. He is deeply troubled by this meeting, and is seriously considering the likelihood that he may be getting into something way beyond his understanding and control. He has never felt a sense of oneness with people of any ilk, and this ghastly crew is certainly no exception.

The torment he saw last night astounded and thrilled him, but now he has grave doubts. He spends hours pondering whether he should return tomorrow night, or guide a passenger pigeon from above with a demure note of apology, withdrawing his request. 

Mistress Erin

February 7, 2024 c. 8:00 P.M.

Hoskins has very good reasoning ability for one who is also an insane axe-murderer. He thinks back years ago to the small deformed boy he tormented for days before throwing him off a cliff, and can find no logical reason why these grand handsome people would not want to do the same to him. He decides to withdraw his request.

As he pilots the pigeon to its destination, two gigantic russet hawks fly in on him from behind, each catching one of his wrists. Their claws are fitted with thin iron bracelets. Small pouches of salt are fastened to their upper legs. The proximity of these two elements in small quantity returns Hoskins to the same physical vulnerability as bring mortal. He no longer enjoys the ghostly freedom from the consequences of materiality.

The hawks fly down and deposit him in front of a beautiful curvaceous auburn-haired woman with bright blue eyes: naked, glossy with sweat from sex, ripe with stink. She produces a truncheon made from a light wooden ball in a silk stocking, and loops it, catching Hoskins roundly in the nuts. The natural inertia of his reflex amounts to a deep curtsy. She smiles and says,

“Yes, that’s it. Now, again. Curtsey!”

as she rings Hell’s Bells for him a second time,

“I am Erin, your mistress. Your thingamabobs belong to me. From now on you will curtsey whenever I say, won’t you, Mister Hoskins?”

“Eeeh-yes Ma’am!”

gasps Hoskins, already her slave.

Two other naked beauties fasten a light iron band with small inlaid salt crystals around his neck. It has a locking couplet, and cannot be removed. Next Erin produces a short riding whip. Now comes a long hard beating that renders Hoskins a trembling white

candy-cane figure with throbbing red stripes of shame. As she leaves, swishing her shapely buttocks, she turns and looks back,

“Not so tough now, without your axe, are you, Baby Boner?”

Rachael the Raven, perched high in a nearby tree has observed the entire goings-on for the past two nights. Now to herself,

“What a delight, but it almost seems that getting Hoskins his proper station was a bit too easy. Maybe there will be a problem with easy escape. He has the evil desires appropriate to one of very low moral character, but is much smarter than I ever realized.”  

True Confessions

Hoskins is in a cell, tied down on a table-top, and ready. The assistant beauties have prepared him for a long torture session, with shaving, rawhide thong cinctures and plenty of slow burning wood-punk sticks.

Mistress Erin enters in sheer black underwear. Hoskins feels his penis grow harder now than ever before. It actually approaches the low end of what is considered average in length, but women like Erin love to tease about size. She looks at his boner and smiles,

“It’s time now for some answers.”

She lights a stick, and presses the glowing tip to the top center of his shaft. He gasps.

“If you don’t answer every question joyfully with the utmost of proactive polite candor, I will put deep little burns all over Tiny Thomas and all over your thingamabobs. Do you understand me, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress!”

“Why did you murder a fine man like Daniel Heathwick?” 

He hesitates, wondering how much she knows.

She burns him again on the sensitive underside. He squeals,

“Because he beat me, long and hard, in front of his wife.”

“Of course he beat you. You tried to rape her. Women don’t like to be raped, Hoskins.”

Now she gives him three more burns, the last one right under the pee hole. He cries out in agony,

“Oh please, Mam. I’m answering truthfully!”

“Yes, I know you are, but I will also punish you as we proceed. Why do you hate Rachael Heathwick? “

He doesn’t hate Rachael exactly, and so hesitates. Another burn on top of the tip.

“She won’t have me!”

“Of course not. Why would she want an insane brute like you or, for that matter, Tiny Thomas, when she can have a sane, fully mature man?”

Hoskins stammers,

“I, I…”

Erin nods to one of the assistants, who gags the torturee with a polished wooden ball secured by a leather strap.

Now Erin lights two new sticks and really goes to town on Hoskins with alternating hands. She gives him forty-eight more burns in rapid succession all over his penis. He is completely exhausted by this and passes out.

When he awakes two hours later, he aches badly, and looks down to see that a long thick hatpin has been stuck though his balls. This medieval kabob-skewer feels very cold, and his cullions are a purplish black in color. What could have brought him to this? 

Soul Searching

When a man lies for hours with a cold hatpin through his balls, new, more constructive, viewpoints may begin to emerge.

Can a man like Hoskins, with no soul, that is, empathy for others, have an epiphany based upon soul searching? Perhaps not, in the usual sense, but he can certainly come to appreciate that all actions have consequences, and there may be better options for his own behavior

If all these people who Hoskins doesn’t care about, do care about themselves, isn’t it logical that they should oppose and resist the things he does that hurt them? Are they really being so unreasonable to fight back? Is Hoskins so special that he should expect them to simply accommodate anything that he does?

Even a constitutional psychopath can come to understand the practical value of a moral code for the smooth conduct of human affairs, and a cold hatpin speaks with unusual eloquence in this regard.

Hoskins also finds, even in this situation, that his boner for Mistress Erin just won’t quit. Perhaps in the future, cooperation with the fair sex might be a better course of action, if he ever gets the chance to utilize his new found wisdom.

For example, even the humble posture of merely repairing and polishing a beautiful woman’s shoes as her cobbler, and to see her smile at the results, is better than being adversarial towards her, and certainly more enjoyable than chasing her with an axe.

If he could spend eternity in gentle service to a beautiful woman, without hatpins, would he prefer it to be to Rachael, or Mistress Erin?

It may be that Hoskins has begun to relinquish foolishness. What if he could bring both women together as friends, and then serve them both, one, with periodic visits from the other? How can he keep other men out of the picture? He is in no position to address Rachael on this matter, but here comes Mistress Erin now. What can he say to her? What can he offer her that she doesn’t already have?

The Contract

Mistress Rachael looks down at Hoskins’ balls, then into his eyes.

“How do feel this morning, Slave?”

“Contrite, and completely obedient”

replies Hoskins.

“Of course, who wouldn’t? More to the point, what have you learned?”

“That I must serve beautiful women humbly, and never be hurtful towards them in any way.”

“You answer well for one of such ungainly appearance and oafish demeanor, but you think illogically. Why would you feel entitled to serve beautiful women?”

Hoskins cannot answer,

“I, I…”

“Aye, aye, indeed! We are not aboard ship.”

Now, raising her voice,

“Rotsulia, please join us!”

Into the clearing waddles the very fierce, angry Queen of Odiferous Obesity, the legendary Rotsulia Porcine. Her hams and thighs are caked with her own excrement. A huge cloud of flies follows at a safe distance, fearful of her gaze, but nourished by her smell. Mistress Erin speaks familiarly, but carefully jockeys to keep the porker downwind.

“Rotsulia, here’s another for you.”

The old sow grabs both ends of the hatpin, and lifts Hoskins high off the table till the wrist and angle restraints are drawn tight. He arches his back. Now she drops him, and slaps his face so hard that it nearly breaks his neck. She roars loudly,

“Me keep you. Your face, my toilet forever!”

Mistress Erin snickers gleefully as she fastens a leash to Hoskins’ iron neck band, then unties his wrists and ankles. Rotsulia grabs the leash jerks her new victim off the table, squats, besmirches his nose, then drags him away. He manages to get to his feet and stumbles along behind his new mistress.

Erin laughs,

“Goodbye, Mr. Hoskins. Bon appetite!” 

Rachael, as usual, is perched in her favorite tree, and having read Hoskins mind prior to his interview with Erin, now feels very secure about her future, and returns home.

She tells Carl the entire story, adding,

“I actually feel a little sorry for Hoskins, because he seemed to be well on the way to a fairly balanced view of things.”

Carl smiles,

“I think we’ll find ways to help you get over it quickly.