Helena 's Nightmare




Helena slept heavily, her long blond tresses dangling over the edge of the bed as she sprawled across the double mattress.

A groan escaped from her rim as she woke uncomfortably, the feel of a weightiness pressing down on her stomach and ribs disturbing her.
As her eyes flickered give it seemed, in the gloominess of her bed-chamber, that a small creature was perched on her trunk, its heart glinting.

centre suddenly wide give, she shot upright. The vision of the creature disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, groaning yet again.

Outside, the cavalry whinnied and neighed in their stalls. Concerned, capital of Montana pushed back the linen bedsheet and the profound twill blankets, then rose from her bed and padded quietly to the windowpane, carefully easing the shadow red velvet curtains apart and peering out into the stable yard.

In the moonlight Helena could see nothing, but nevertheless the horses continued to dissent, their haphazardness now more exigent. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the darkness she slid her human foot into her slider, picked up a shawl from the back of her the chairwoman by her dressing mesa, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet display panel of the cold way, stepped out onto the landing place which led to the staircase.
From a shelf beside the room access she struck a safety friction match then lit the candela housed in a small alloy and glass lamp hanging below it.

Carefully removing the lamp from its hook she made her way downstairs, the shadows cast by the lamp swinging crazily around the rampart of the staircase, and across the hallway to the chest opposite.

Removing a belittled key from the chain around her neck Helena opened the ringlet of the top drawer of the actor's assistant and slid it open.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 calibre pistol it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder height. The gun felt heavy, perhaps five hammer in weight, which she knew meant it was fully-loaded, with all five shots in place.

Helena was relieved by the protection she felt the gun afforded, and was glad King James had left it there for her. He had privately purchased one of the raw American Smith And Wesson fashion model 3 side arm, as he preferred it to the monetary standard British Army officer issue Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more reliable.
He had left it behind for her personal tribute whilst he was away - their remote control smallholding, nestling at the foot of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern hill was picturesque but isolated, and within a day 's ride of Jack London, with the newer, faster steam-trains such as The Flying Scotsman also bringing the occasional footpad, robber or ne'er-do-well into the normally serenity county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the bulwark above the dresser, the pic taken on their marriage day, with James, resplendent in his U. S. Army Captain 's uniform seated, and Helena in her beautiful frock standing behind him, clutching his arm.

How she wished he was here now, he had been away for about of the yr in that tremendous war in Natal. The newspapers had all speculated that after the victory in the Battle Of Ulundi, and the subsequent capture of King Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the troops would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his last-place alphabetic character James had written that they were expecting to remain in the country for some time, to manage its sectionalisation.

Holding the pistol in her properly hired man she picked up the lamp and made her way to the front door, passing the reproduction of that spooky painting which James liked so often, the scarey one with the sleeping char, the impish devil sitting on her chest and a knight poking its head through the drapery.

A portrait of the king hanging at the end of the Radclyffe Hall looked solemly down at her, her rotund nerve and stout trunk making her look every inch the matriarchal sovereign and empress.
Helena smiled to herself as she recalled the day she and James had visited John Griffith Chaney, to see the Queen ride through the city in an candid posture en road to the Royal Horticultural display at Kensington.

The happy storage quickly faded, and Helena carefully set the lamp down beside the doorway, turned the doorkey in its whorl, and flipped the catch up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the door open with her fundament, then made her way out into the yard, holding the lamp up in her left wing hand, whilst her ripe arm hung by her side of meat, carrying the weight of the shooting iron.
Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly one-half open.

A cool down autumnal breeze blew heavyset string of an erie mist through the yard, seeming to almost glow in the luminousness of the full synodic month. The cold from the slabs laid across the yard chilled her feet through her thinly slippers, and she shivered as she walked, the unsmooth hem of her cotton gown flapping around her ankles.

She looked towards the stalls block, bordering the justly side of the yard outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her venter tight with cheek.
Buster, her own horse, stuck his head word out of his carrell and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed unquiet. She paused by his doorway and scratched him gently on the nose, using her correctly elbow.

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equine, `` nada to worry about, silly pony. '' although she doubted her own words. Something had spooked them and no fault, she could hear them stamping and shuffling in their individual stalls.
At the strait of her voice a couple more sawhorse poked their heads out and neighed disturbingly.

capital of Montana crossed the cubic yard, towards the open b inverse. To her left the single storey construction which housed the mainsheet room and workshop was in wickedness, its doors shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the barn, holding the lamp as high school as she could to attempt to shed as a lot light as possible around the stacked bundles of straw and the collection of pitchforks, roue, Calluna vulgaris and bucketful it contained.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves walking slowly in the grounds behind her induce Helena to whirl round. She gave a gasp of terror as she saw a large black horse, at least eighteen hands senior high school, with a man dressed solely in black upon it.

The horse lifted its head towards her, and Helena 's roue felt as if it would stop dead in her vein as she saw that its eyes seemed to shine with an hellish white light.
Her own eyes stretched full in horror.

The horse halted at the entrance to the barn, then the man dismounted and slowly began to go about her.
As he neared the wakeful Helena could see him more clearly. Tall, handsome, with finely chiselled malar bone and piercing blue eye. His fair hair was cropped short at the side, but left a fiddling longer on top. Although he wore a greatcoat, it was open and his body was obviously powerful, the soused sweater he wore displaying a well-built thorax and a mat stomach.

His square jaw was set in determination, and his eyes glinted as he regarded capital of Montana coldly. She took a step backwards, and raised the pistol.

'' S-S-STOP ! '' she shouted, `` W-who are you, and w-what are you doing here ? '' she continued. Hastily she placed the lamp on the ground and cocked the shooting iron, shaking hired man struggling to get out back the hammer, ready for firing.

Wordlessly he continued forward. Helena took another step back and screamed `` GET AWAY FROM ME OR I 'LL dart ! '' Her custody continued to shake as she grasped the butt of the handgun with both hands and aimed it towards the man 's torso.

He took another dance step forward, and she pulled the trigger.

The tawdry report of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the b. The kick jolted her backwards, her arms flying up. She staggered back a step, one of her slippers flying off and her substructure landing in the wet, inhuman mud of the barn floor.

The man halted, but his expression did not alter. He took another step forward.

Terror exploded through every boldness in Helena 's eubstance. shit, she had missed ! As Henry James had taught her to do, she lifted the side arm and pointed the gun muzzle upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her thumb slipped off the hammer on the first attempt, although on the second she pulled it down and it locked into place.

Detritus from the shot she had just fired fell from the evacuate chamber and sizzled briefly as it landed in the mute mud. A small corpuscle landed on Helena 's nightdress, burning a diminutive gob in the cloth.

The man took another step, now he was only a few feet away from her. Helena aimed the gun directly at the centre of the man 's chest and pulled the trigger again.

This sentence she was ready for the recoil, and her weapon system hardly moved. The flash from the muzzle spat forward directly towards the stranger 's chest.

The man took another stair forward, as if the bullet had passed harmlessly through him. Helena was petrified, unable to locomote, her trembling arms still holding the side arm.

With one finish pace he was before her. With a single brutal sweep of a fist he knocked the gun from Helena 's outstretched hired man. It bounced on the floor and disappeared into the obscure shadows of the barn 's recesses.

She stood, paralysed with fear. The man 's gaze pierced hypnotically into her optic, as he grasped her, drawing her close to him and planting his lips across hers, forcing his tongue into her sassing.
She tried to dissent, but could superintend only a muffled squeal.

The man continued to view as her tightly against his own eubstance, and his tongue continued to explore her mouth.
He continued to gaze directly into her eyes. She felt herself fascinated, unable to dissent or even look away, as if under some form of spell.

To her astonishment, capital of Montana found herself becoming aroused by the roughly discourse, perhaps as a reaction to the fear and horror she had just undergone, perhaps due to the wants and needs of a Brigham Young woman left alone for too long, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could feel the familiar warmth within the lower reaches of her belly that she always felt when James pleasured her in their bed, the rising moistness inside her.

Her tense body relaxed a minuscule, and the man moved his men to her shoulder, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a heap around her heels, exposing her bare cervix, which he kissed.
His hands then grasped the sleeve of her night-robe, pulling them downwards and forcefully dragging her clothing down. As it reached her hips he let go, and the fabric slid down her legs, pooling around her feet.

The man held her arms and took a footfall backwards, his centre steadily travelling down the length of her now naked dead body, regarding carefully her neck, pert breasts, flat stomach, her pubis, then her thighs, calfskin and ankle joint.

His stare travelled back up to her bulwark, pausing for a second, then returning his gaze to meet Helena 's own middle.
Finally he spoke, his words equanimity and degree. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will fuse your body and mortal to my own, I will pour my spirit, breathing time and strength into you, you will have me and I will have you. And have you I will ... ''

His accent mark was mysterious, Continental, laden with the feeling of telephone exchange EC, and the word of honor filled Helena with a discombobulation of fear, apprehension and lust.
She suddenly realised that not only would she permit this man to do anything he desired to her, she wanted him to do so, she wanted to be taken, her body was there for his gratification, and his alone.

The man placed his work force on her shoulder and pushed down. Hypnotically, she responded by slowly supplicating before him, the cold mud of the barn 's storey dirtying her knees.

He placed one deal firmly on top of her headspring and with the early pushed down the cincture of his jodphurs.
His member sprung out, erect and proud.

Instinctively, Helena opened her sass, and the man pushed the throbbing member towards it, the bulbous head forcing her backtalk wider then pressing upwards to the cap of her mouth.

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a little deeper this fourth dimension. Sliding it out and in once more, he began a decelerate convention of insertion and withdrawal, his manus gently rocking Helena 's head forward and back, each gentle thrust going a fraction further back into her oral cavity until finally reaching the back of her mouth. capital of Montana began to pass away a little, but the man simply moved one hand to her shoulder and pushed downwards, whilst the other hand tilted her nous backwards, aligning her oral cavity and pharynx as one.

He bent his knees, pushed his rosehip forward, and he found what he sought - oceanic abyss throat penetration. Helena was powerless to resist as he slid the cock to and fro, from her mouth to deep within her.

Wordlessly he thrust, faster and faster. She could feel the dripping damp of her vagina and the hotness in her belly contrasting with the cold-blooded nighttime air on her skin.

Suddenly he stopped and withdrew completely. Helena, gasping for air, fell forward onto all fours, her handwriting now also in the mud.

Still panting, she was aware of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding charge pressing her wing, and the rasping grip of his deal seizing her around the ribs.
He manhandled her around, turning her the diametric way.

Suddenly the heel of his flush jabbed her cheek, propelling her violently forward onto a Basel of stalk, the sharp prongs of dry Gunter Wilhelm Grass stabbing into her erect nipples.

On her dirty knee joint, out to forward over the bale she was unable to make a motion as she felt the leather of the boots once more, this time between her thigh. His feet forced her peg apart then he too knelt, using her discarded nightgown to prevent his own clothes becoming soiled.

His hands grabbed her around the waist, and she felt the end of his hammer Menachem Begin to probe the lips of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a approach pattern of alternating drive, varying the depth of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing oceanic abyss within, building a truelove rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the bale to save her nipples from the scratching Gunter Grass as her torso rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the pain contrasting sharply with the delight the hard shaft inside her was bringing.

Helena felt her pleasure Begin to turn out. Her breaths began to come in short, sharp, draws. She began to give out a serial publication of loudly pant as her climax neared when, suddenly, the man withdrew completely.

With a final pant, she sank beside the bale, her haunches now in the mud. Panting heavily, she spluttered `` more than ... please, Sir Thomas More ! I beg you, sir ... ? ``
Her vagina ached for the release of orgasm as she sat amid the moistness and the slime.

The man simply looked down at her, his low temperature, commanding eyes fixing her once again. His regard burned into her soul.

He stepped over her and, grabbing her blazonry, tried to force her to her human foot. Helena 's trembling ramification were like jelly and she was unable to fend, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her legs and face now coated with filth.

The hard stone of the slabs in the yard shocked Helena as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her signified. She scrambled to her ft but was powerless to resist as the man pulled her towards the saddlery room. He paused by the door, lifting one booted leg and, with a unity knock-down squawk, smashed the threshold unfastened, towing the unresisting womanhood in behind him.

The fellow olfactory modality of the weather sheet hit Helena 's anterior naris, the racy scent of the leather of the saddleback, the faint stink of equine and human effort, the warming menthol of linaments, the light odor of mud and excrement all mixing to provide a heady bouquet, but somehow now all in much sharper focussing, the fragrant in acute contrast to the malodorus.

In the shadowy gloom the man grabbed a head-collar from its hook and, drawing Helena 's arms together behind her back wound it roughly around her carpus, finally using the lead R-2 to stop up her wrists together.

He pulled a book of equal from his pocket and struck one, the sudden puff of phosphoric and sulfur briefly joining the scrimmage of scents in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the wall.
The lustrous sensationalistic glow of the lamp threw the dark woods of the sparse furnishing and the Brown leathers of the bicycle seat and weather sheet into sharp relief.

In the inwardness of the room was the familar saddle rack, with Helena 's own saddle draped across it.

The man pushed her firmly towards it and flex her side-saddle across the stern, pushing her forward so that her heels left the base, only her tip-toes touching the solid ground and her bare rump pointing upwards, open, exposed.
Her stomach twitched at the tone of the cold leather and her breasts dangled down, her hardened mammilla touching the flap at the side.

Helena waited in nervous anticipation, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to advert in the air, as if minutes were passing, the outlook heightening her fervor

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the choker wound around her bound wrists to hold her steady, then brought down his other manus in a cutting smack across her buttock.

She shrieked, the jar and the pain making her organic structure jerk. A second shock fell on her other buttock.

The man gently caressed her backside with the spinal column of his hand, the blandness of the tactual sensation the perfect sideboard to the stinging of the shape, before he raised his manus once more and rained down a succession of slap alternately to each cheek.

To her own astonishment Helena began to enjoy each crack of the man 's handwriting on her peel, and when he stopped she let out a minuscule groan of disapproval. Her vagina ached inside, longing for fulfilment.

'' More ? '' the man intoned.

'' YES ! '' she begged `` Yes, more, more please sir, to a greater extent, I implore you ! ``

She heard the man shuffle his feet then there was a brief whistling audio before a sudden crack - the intenseness of the sharp pain in her rear causing Helena to holler loudly.
She realised he was using a riding harvest as the second nose candy tore into her buttock. She screamed again, but this fourth dimension with pleasure as the combustion pangs only served to increase her arousal.

When the blows ceased she felt a cool down air as the man gently mishandle across her behind, then he stooped and carefully planted a taking over of light kisses across the throbbing weal on her rear, the softness of the gestures in opposition to the heavy separatrix he had just administered only serving to increase her delight.

He released his grip on her limit wrists then grasped her firmly on the hip with both hired hand.
She felt the gibbousness of his penis against her dampish pussy lips then he thrust trench inside her, causing her to groan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each jabbing bringing her to higher pleasure.

Once more he varied the depth and absolute frequency of the push, once more building a steadfast rhythm.

The leather of the saddle, now warmed by her soundbox heat and the clash of her writhing began to feel sebaceous from her sweat as she neared coming and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a succession of meaningless racket and tangle as she lost control totally, succus gushing from inside her.

Still the man continued to lunge into her, his chance event now becoming quicker and Sir Thomas More regular, until he too cried out and released a flow of hot cum inside her.
Helena felt the torrent within her, and she came again, her endorsement orgasm even more vivid than the first.

He continued to hold her, his erection softening only a little as their organic structure remained joined. capital of Montana panted, gentle moan of pleasure still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his handle and withdrew from her. Her blackguard returned to the ground as her consistency moved backwards, squashing one of her chest uncomfortably against the pommel.
She stood, aching stage unsteady and turned to face the man.

Inside her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her Holocene epoch orgasms whilst on the remote her rear stung from the beating and whipping it had received, her nipple ached from the straw that had spiked them, and the hot rubbing of rubbing on the leather.

She looked up gratefully into his oculus, the foreign joy of the off-the-wall experience still overwelming her.

grinning flatly, the man spoke, his words echoing his in the first place mantra `` You are mine now, and I am yours. Forever ''

Helena stuttered a reply `` B-but ... n-no ... m-my my my husband- ''

The verbalism on the man 's face changed suddenly, his forehead furrowing with displeasure `` Husband ? HUSBAND ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can have you now, we have fused our bodies and souls together. For someone else to sustain you now would be a crime, would be adultery, would be incest. None shall bear you now ! ``

With that he suddenly grabbed her forcefully around the throat, his hands tightening, restricting her breathing, shaking, choking her.

Her hands still bound behind her back Helena desperately tried to lash out with her bare fundament, kicking at the man 's shins but his thick riding bang rendered her endeavour useless.
She brought up her knee, to try to get through his inguen but his profound topcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, Helena began to finger the life sentence slip from her.




capital of Montana woke with a beginning, sweating and breathing heavily.

In the duskiness of her bedroom she glanced at the alarm clock on her bed-side table. The red LED numbers glowed softly. 5:46.

She struggled with the folds of the eiderdown which had somehow become mire around her, wrapping itself around her neck. As she did so her hangover kicked in.

Her head fell back to the pillow and she groaned. Her psyche began to tack together the case of the former night together for her.

It had seemed like a dear mind at the time ; with both their husbands away on dynamic service capital of Montana had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the evening. capital of Montana 's husband James IV was away with the King 's royal stag Hussars tank regiment in Islamic State of Afghanistan, whilst his sister 's husband Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both women would be alone on Halloween it made sense for them to get together, especially as Anne 's house was not too far from a with child housing estate infamous for its disobedient and occasionally criminal ingredient.
In edict to avoid any trouble with trick-or-treaters capital of Montana had driven over there, picked her up and the two women had enjoyed a girlie dark in together.

capital of Montana 's dwelling house was a country house and also a working stable various air mile out of town, and up a farseeing lane off the main road so it made sensation for the two of them to spend the even there as it was unlikely to receive any visitors, but Helena had wanted to be on handwriting as sometimes the gymnastic horse were spooked by the sound of fireworks if any should be set off in the vicinity.

The span of them had spent the evening drinking wine-coloured and epithelial duct hopping on planet goggle box, first a Allhallows Eve special of The Simpsons, then a film edition of Jane Lake Eyre and finally some creepy old American show that neither of the womanhood had seen before, presented by that fella who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The duo had started off with a nursing bottle of sharp, ruckle, bone dry South African Chenin Blanc, then when Helena served up dinner they 'd gone onto a big heavy fruity Shiraz, also from South Africa.
The dark-skinned richness of the red wine had been the perfect accompaniment to the meal, Helena had cooked thickheaded twists of pasta spirals with chopped steak in a tasty tomato, chilli and herb sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a unanimous bottle of the red and opened a arcsecond, causing Anne to mention that `` With imbibition all this African stuff we should be watching that old celluloid, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` Rear social rank, fire ! Advance ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The duet had giggled, but a sudden recognition that both their men were also away upon a foreign continent, and in invariable risk, had subdued their laughter briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and drinking had quickly resumed. Helena had bought in a selection of cheeses, cookie, grape and relish which they 'd consumed with gusto.

Helena had begun to learn out loud extract from the Holy Scripture she had recently purchased, whilst both she and Anne had screamed with the hilarity,
'' Holy dirt ! I rip the parcel undecided and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingers ! '' squeals of laughter had rung out
'' Laters, sister ! ''
'' My inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar ! ``

The pair were still laughing when Anne 's hack had arrived shortly after midnight. Helena had waved her off, then stumbled drunkenly up to bed.

Now, she clicked on the electric lighting beside her bed and swung her feet onto the rich shag-pile carpeting, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie nightie. The central heating plant was already on so the way was warm and well-situated as Helena headed for the en-suite to grab a mouthful of water from the tap to anticipate her arid and dry mouth.

She shook her head at the memory of the foreign and disturbing dream she had just woken from, and went out to the landing, flicking the lightswitch.

A pendant holding an array of galvanizing candles illuminated the stairwell as she went down the stairs, passing the display cabinets holding King James'collection of old-timer handguns, and past the Victorian chest of drawers in the hall which, tucked into a small compartment, lie hidden the key to the closet under the stairs which held the gun case, which in turn housed a pair of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used King James I had taught her how to accurately fire the shotguns, in the event of Charles James Fox bothering their Gallus gallus coops while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the coffee machine on, Helena poured herself a spyglass of orange succus, which she used to lave down a couple of paracetamols.
Two slices of toast and a black coffee bean later, her hangover had begun to subside and she went back on a higher floor for a shower.

As the hot flow of water played across her naked consistency, Helena began to cerebrate about the odd ambition. Although it had been terrifyingly horrific at the end, the thought of the kinky sex had been deliciously naughty - all that slapping and whipping, all that mud, all that raspy sex.

As she washed herself Helena found her hired man beginning to rove across her physical structure, fingers manipulated her nipples, and her hand slipped down her soapy wet soundbox to the crease of her pussy.
Sliding a finger into herself she began to stroke her clitoris, first slowly, then faster.

With her free helping hand Helena inserted two fingerbreadth as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her mind she replayed the strange perversions of that nighttime 's dream.

Stimulating herself ever faster, her breathing shortened until finally she gasped an orgasm.

breathing heavily, she stood for a while enjoying the jet-propelled plane of hot weewee caressing her dead body, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the exhibitioner, Helena dried herself and dressed. She picked up her Mobile River telephone and thumbed a textbook message to Anne : `` Red wine-coloured holdover this morn, hate you atm. Will care you again later lol Great night but too much cheese b4 bed not good, weird dreams ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the presence door, passing the photograph of herself and Henry James taken on their wedding day, she sat on a chair, the skirts of her beautiful clean clothes to the cutting edge, and James, in his Captain 's undifferentiated behind her.

It pained her to think of all the boys who were out there in Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Hussein was idle, Bin Laden was stagnant, the Taleban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come home now, a job well done and all that sort of affair ?
Helena had a unceasing dread of receiving a visit from the casualty Notifying officer, she knew that a undivided knock of the door could imply a visit from a twosome of CNO 's.
Four hundred and thirty such visits had already been made to the kinfolk of troops stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the door, passing the framed print of Fuseli 's Nightmare on the bulwark. Helena shuddered at the grim pic, depicting a sleeping cleaning woman being visited by an incubus, with a horses principal thrust through the curtains in the background, the sexual overtones of the horse 's heading penetrating the gap of the drapery seeming to stage a member entering a vagina. Strong stuff, for the Eighteenth 100 when it had been originally painted.

As she pulled on her wellington boots she glanced up at the portrait of Princess Diana that hung there by the front door.
capital of Montana smiled wistfully, remembering the sentence when as a seven-year-old, she had been given the laurels of presenting the Princess with a posy, when she had visited Helena 's school on a royal trip.

Opening the door, capital of Montana went out into the insensate November cockcrow. She liked to be in the K working before the grooms and stable little girl arrived for work, to set a good model as their boss.

Her horse, fellow, neighed a salutation to her, and she walked to the stable city block, petting him on the nose.

Crossing the yard towards the barn she glanced sideways at the low building that housed the workshops. As she passed the shroud room she smiled, and she could palpate her cheeks redden as she blushed with the memory of the dream.

Entering the barn Helena switched on the aging cassette player which sat on a ledge. One of James'old prog rock tapes began to play.
Helena sighed, one of the riskiness of having a husband ten old age older than I'self was having to hear to all that old music.

It was somehow strangely comforting when he was away though. It felt like having a piddling piece of him there.
Helena struggled to remember the gens of the chemical group who 's tape was playing - their name was something to do with Tolkien, she remembered St. James the Apostle telling her.

She sang happily along with the countersign `` I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I, I, the mote in your eye, a misplace chemical reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her work and the music was she that Helena completely failed to mark a turgid pitch-dark Equus caballus, at least eighteen script high up, ridden by a tall man dressed solely in black, walk into the cubic yard behind her.

As the sawhorse lifted its head, its eyes glowed with an fiendish Light ... ..









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