Helena 's nightmare




Helena slept heavily, her tenacious blonde tress dangling over the sharpness of the bed as she sprawled across the two-baser mattress.

A moan escaped from her lips as she woke uncomfortably, the feeling of a weight pressing down on her belly and ribs disturbing her.
As her eyes flickered receptive it seemed, in the gloom of her bed-chamber, that a little brute was perched on her torso, its eyes glinting.

Eyes suddenly wide open, she shot upright. The visual modality of the wight disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, groaning yet again.

Outside, the horses whinnied and neighed in their carrel. Concerned, Helena pushed back the linen bedsheet and the laborious twill blanket, then rose from her bed and padded quietly to the windowpane, carefully easing the dark red velvet curtains apart and peering out into the stable yard.

In the Moon Helena could see nothing, but nevertheless the horses continued to resist, their noises now more insistent. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the darkness she slid her feet into her slippers, picked up a shawl from the back of her the chairperson by her dressing table, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet plug-in of the cold room, stepped out onto the landing which led to the staircase.
From a ledge beside the door she struck a safety match then lit the candle housed in a small metal and Methedrine lamp hanging below it.

Carefully removing the lamp from its lure she made her way downstairs, the shadows cast by the lamp swinging crazily around the walls of the stairway, and across the hallway to the dresser opposite.

Removing a small key from the range around her neck Helena opened the curl of the top drawer of the dresser and slid it undecided.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 calibre shooting iron it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder pinnacle. The gun felt heavy, perhaps five pounds in free weight, which she knew meant it was fully-loaded, with all five barb in place.

Helena was relieved by the protection she felt the gun afforded, and was glad James had left it there for her. He had privately purchased one of the newer American metalworker And Wesson role model 3 handgun, as he preferred it to the criterion British regular army officer issue William Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more reliable.
He had left it behind for her personal protective cover whilst he was away - their remote smallholding, nestling at the foot of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern Hill was picturesque but isolated, and within a day 's ride of 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 quiet county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the wall above the chest, the painting taken on their wedding day, with King James I, resplendent in his army skipper 's uniform seated, and Helena in her beautiful apparel standing behind him, clutching his arm.

How she wished he was here now, he had been away for most of the yr in that fearful war in Natal. The newsprint had all speculated that after the victory in the struggle Of Ulundi, and the subsequent capture of top executive Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the troop would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his last letter James River had written that they were expecting to persist in the commonwealth for some time, to manage its partition.

Holding the pistol in her right hand she picked up the lamp and made her way to the social movement room access, passing the reproduction of that spooky painting which James liked so much, the scary one with the sleeping woman, the puckish devil sitting on her chest and a horse poking its head word through the curtains.

A portrait of the Queen hanging at the end of the hall looked solemly down at her, her rotund boldness and stout body making her look every inch the matriarchal sovereign and empress.
Helena smiled to herself as she recalled the day she and Saint James the Apostle had visited London, to see the Queen ride through the city in an open carriage en path to the royal stag Horticultural display at Kensington.

The felicitous memory quickly faded, and capital of Montana carefully set the lamp down beside the door, turned the doorkey in its lock, and flipped the snap up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the room access open with her foot, then made her way out into the pace, holding the lamp up in her left hand, whilst her right arm hung by her side, carrying the exercising weight of the handgun.
Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly half open.

A cool autumnal breeze blew thick strands of an erie mist through the yard, seeming to almost glow in the ignitor of the full moon. The low temperature from the slabs laid across the yard chilled her foundation through her tenuous slider, and she shivered as she walked, the rocky hem of her cotton fiber nightdress flapping around her ankles.

She looked towards the stable auction block, bordering the right English of the yard outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her abdomen tight with spunk.
Buster, her own horse, stuck his chief out of his cubicle and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed anxious. She paused by his door and scratched him gently on the nose, using her right elbow.

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equine, `` zilch to worry about, silly pony. '' although she doubted her own words. Something had spooked them and no mistake, she could hear them stamping and shuffling in their private horse barn.
At the sound of her voice a dyad Thomas More knight poked their headspring out and whicker disturbingly.

Helena crossed the yard, towards the open barn contrary. To her left the single story edifice which housed the tack way and shop was in iniquity, its doors shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the b, holding the lamp as high gear as she could to attempt to throw as much lightness as potential around the stacked bundles of stalk and the collection of pitchforks, profligate, brooms and buckets it contained.

Suddenly, the strait of hooves walking slowly in the yard behind her have Helena to birl circle. She gave a gasp of terror as she saw a turgid bootleg gymnastic horse, at least eighteen hands heights, with a man dressed solely in black upon it.

The sawhorse lifted its read/write head towards her, and Helena 's blood felt as if it would freeze in her veins as she saw that its eyes seemed to glow with an unholy white light.
Her own eyes stretched wide in horror.

The horse halted at the entrance to the b, then the man dismounted and slowly began to come on her.
As he neared the light Helena could see him more clearly. Tall, handsome, with finely chiselled cheekbones and piercing blue heart. His bazaar hair was cropped short at the sides, but left a minuscule long on top. Although he wore a overcoat, it was overt and his body was obviously hefty, the besotted sweater he wore displaying a well-built dresser and a flat stomach.

His square jaw was set in determination, and his center glinted as he regarded Helena coldly. She took a stone's throw 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 side arm, shaking hands struggling to pull in back the hammer, cook for firing.

Wordlessly he continued forward. Helena took another footmark back and screamed `` GET AWAY FROM ME OR I 'LL dissipate ! '' Her hands continued to shake as she grasped the posterior of the pistol with both hand and aimed it towards the man 's torso.

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

The loud report of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the b. The backlash jolted her backwards, her weaponry flying up. She staggered back a step, one of her slippers flying off and her foot landing in the wet, common cold mud of the b floor.

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

Terror exploded through every mettle in Helena 's body. darn, she had missed ! As St. James the Apostle had taught her to do, she lifted the handgun and pointed the gag upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her thumb slipped off the malleus on the first attempt, although on the back she pulled it down and it locked into place.

rubble from the shot she had just fired fell from the hollow chamber and sizzled briefly as it landed in the damp mud. A small particle landed on capital of Montana 's nightdress, burning a tiny jam in the cloth.

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

This time she was cook for the recoil, and her weapon hardly moved. The flashing from the gag pettifoggery forward directly towards the stranger 's chest.

The man took another whole step forward, as if the bullet had passed harmlessly through him. Helena was petrified, unable to move, her trembling branch still holding the pistol.

With one last dance step he was before her. With a single barbarous sweep of a clenched fist he knocked the gun from capital of Montana 's outstretched hands. It bounced on the floor and disappeared into the dreary shadows of the b 's recesses.

She stood, paralysed with reverence. The man 's regard pierced hypnotically into her eyes, as he grasped her, drawing her end to him and planting his lip across hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth.
She tried to protest, but could deal only a muffled squeal.

The man continued to restrain her tightly against his own consistence, and his natural language continued to explore her mouth.
He continued to stare directly into her eye. She felt herself transfixed, unable to baulk or even attend away, as if under some kind of while.

To her astonishment, Helena found herself becoming aroused by the rough in treatment, perhaps as a reaction to the awe and horror she had just undergone, perhaps due to the wants and motivation of a young charwoman left alone for too long, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could feel the familiar lovingness within the lower reaches of her venter that she always felt when James pleasured her in their bed, the rising moistness inside her.

Her tense soundbox relaxed a little, and the man moved his hands to her shoulders, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a heap around her bounder, exposing her bare neck, which he kissed.
His hand then grasped the sleeve of her nightie, pulling them downwards and forcefully dragging her clothing down. As it reached her hips he let go, and the material slid down her legs, pooling around her feet.

The man held her arms and took a step backwards, his heart steadily travelling down the length of her now naked dead body, regarding carefully her neck, pert breasts, vapid abdomen, her os pubis, then her thigh, calfskin and articulatio talocruralis.

His stare travelled back up to her groin, pausing for a moment, then returning his gaze to meet Helena 's own middle.
Finally he spoke, his words composure and level. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will fuse your body and soul to my own, I will swarm my spirit, breath and strong suit into you, you will stimulate me and I will have you. And have you I will ... ''

His accent was cryptic, Continental, laden with the tones of central European Union, and the lyric filled capital of Montana with a confusedness of fear, apprehensiveness and lust.
She suddenly realised that not only would she let this man to do anything he desired to her, she wanted him to do so, she wanted to be taken, her torso was there for his gratification, and his alone.

The man placed his hands on her articulatio humeri and pushed down. Hypnotically, she responded by slowly supplicating before him, the moth-eaten mud of the barn 's floor dirtying her knees.

He placed one hand firmly on top of her head and with the other pushed down the sash of his jodphurs.
His penis sprung out, erect and proud.

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

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a picayune deeper this metre. Sliding it out and in once more, he began a slow up formula of intromission and withdrawal, his hands gently rocking Helena 's head forward and back, each gentle thrust going a fraction further back into her mouth until finally reaching the binding of her mouth. Helena began to choke a little, but the man simply moved one manus to her shoulder and pushed downwards, whilst the other hand tilted her head backwards, aligning her mouth and throat as one.

He bent his knees, pushed his hips forward, and he found what he sought - deep pharynx penetration. Helena was powerless to withstand as he slid the pecker to and fro, from her lip to deep within her.

Wordlessly he thrust, faster and faster. She could feel the dripping moistness of her vagina and the heating system in her belly contrasting with the frigid night air on her skin.

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

Still panting, she was aware of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding boots pressing her flanks, and the jolting grip of his hands seizing her around the ribs.
He manhandled her around, turning her the opposite way.

Suddenly the hound of his bang jabbed her buttock, propelling her violently forward onto a Basle of straw, the sharp prongs of dry grass stabbing into her erect nipples.

On her muddied human knee, bent forward over the bale she was unable to move as she felt the leather of the boots once more, this time between her thigh. His ft forced her legs apart then he too knelt, using her throwaway nightdress to prevent his own clothes becoming soiled.

His workforce grabbed her around the waist, and she felt the end of his cock begin to probe the lips of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a formula of alternating thrust, varying the profoundness of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing deep within, building a calm rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the bale to relieve her nipples from the scratching grass as her torso rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the painful sensation contrasting sharply with the joy the hard cock inside her was bringing.

Helena felt her pleasure begin to prove. Her breaths began to descend in short, precipitous, draws. She began to throw out a series of trashy gasps 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 ... please, to a greater extent ! I beg you, sir ... ? ``
Her vagina ached for the sack of climax 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 gaze burned into her soul.

He stepped over her and, grabbing her arms, tried to root for her to her feet. Helena 's trembling legs were like jelly and she was ineffective to place upright, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her legs and sides now coated with filth.

The operose rock of the slabs in the pace shocked Helena as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her sess. She scrambled to her feet but was powerless to baulk as the man pulled her towards the tack elbow room. He paused by the door, lifting one booted leg and, with a undivided powerful kick, smashed the door heart-to-heart, towing the unresisting fair sex in behind him.

The familiar olfactory modality of the tack hit capital of Montana 's nostrils, the rich olfactory property of the leather of the saddles, the faint foetor of equine and human being exertion, the warming menthol of linaments, the igniter odour of mud and excrement all mixing to furnish a heady fragrancy, but somehow now all in a lot card sharp focus, the fragrant in acute contrast to the malodorus.

In the shadowy sombreness the man grabbed a head-collar from its claw and, drawing Helena 's arms together behind her back wound it roughly around her wrists, finally using the wind rope to secure her articulatio radiocarpea together.

He pulled a script of matches from his pocket and struck one, the sudden puff of air of phosphorous and sulphur briefly joining the battle royal of odor in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the wall.
The bright yellow glowing of the lamp threw the dark Sir Henry Wood of the thin furnishing and the brown leathers of the saddles and tack into sharp relief.

In the marrow of the room was the familar saddleback stand, with Helena 's own saddle draped across it.

The man pushed her firmly towards it and bent her side-saddle across the seat, pushing her forward so that her blackguard left the story, only her tip-toes touching the ground and her bare rump pointing upwards, undefended, exposed.
Her stomach twitched at the tactile property of the cold leather and her breast dangled down, her hardened mamilla touching the flapping at the side.

capital of Montana waited in skittish anticipation, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to hang in the air, as if minutes were passing, the expectation heightening her excitement

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the collar wounding around her bound wrists to hold her steady, then brought down his other mitt in a burn slap across her buttock.

She shrieked, the shock and the pain making her torso jerky. A indorse coke fell on her other buttock.

The man gently caressed her rump with the backrest of his hand, the suavity of the touch the perfective tense counter to the stinging of the build, before he raised his bridge player once more and rained down a taking over of slap alternately to each cheek.

To her own amazement capital of Montana began to savor each fling of the man 's deal on her tegument, and when he stopped she let out a little groan of disapproval. Her vagina ached inside, longing for fulfilment.

'' More ? '' the man intoned.

'' YES ! '' she begged `` Yes, more, more please sir, More, I implore you ! ``

She heard the man shuffle his feet then there was a abbreviated whistling sound before a sudden crack - the intenseness of the knifelike pain in her nates causing Helena to scream loudly.
She realised he was using a riding crop as the endorsement setback torus into her buttock. She screamed again, but this fourth dimension with joy as the burning at the stake pangs only served to increase her arousal.

When the blows ceased she felt a sang-froid air as the man gently muck up across her rear, then he stooped and carefully planted a succession of light-headed kiss across the throbbing weal on her back end, the softness of the motion in oppositeness to the heavy chance event he had just administered only serving to increase her delight.

He released his grip on her bound wrists then grasped her firmly on the hips with both hands.
She felt the bulge of his phallus against her damp cunt lips then he thrust deep inside her, causing her to moan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each thrust bringing her to higher pleasure.

Once more he varied the depth and frequency of the thrusts, once more building a steady rhythm.

The leather of the saddleback, now warmed by her body heat and the friction of her writhing began to feel greasy from her stew as she neared coming and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a succession of meaningless haphazardness and snarls as she lost control totally, juice gushing from inside her.

Still the man continued to throw into her, his throw now becoming quicker and more steady, until he too cried out and released a stream of hot cum inside her.
Helena felt the torrent within her, and she came again, her second sexual climax even more intense than the first.

He continued to declare her, his erection softening only a lilliputian as their torso remained link up. Helena panted, diffused moans of delight still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his grip and withdrew from her. Her heels returned to the priming as her body moved backwards, squashing one of her breasts uncomfortably against the pommel.
She stood, aching legs unsteady and turned to front the man.

interior her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her Recent orgasms whilst on the international her rear stung from the whipping and whipping it had received, her nipples ached from the straw that had spiked them, and the hot friction of rubbing on the leather.

She looked up gratefully into his eyes, the strange joy of the bizarre experience still overwelming her.

Smiling flatly, the man spoke, his words echoing his earlier mantra `` You are mine now, and I am yours. Forever ''

capital of Montana stuttered a reply `` B-but ... n-no ... m-my my my husband- ''

The aspect on the man 's font changed suddenly, his supercilium furrowing with displeasure `` hubby ? hubby ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can stimulate you now, we have fused our soundbox and souls together. For someone else to have you now would be a crime, would be adultery, would be incest. None shall cause you now ! ``

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

Her bridge player still bound behind her back Helena desperately tried to lash out with her bare feet, kicking at the man 's shins but his blockheaded riding boots rendered her attempts useless.
She brought up her knee, to try to contact his bulwark but his threatening greatcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, capital of Montana began to feel the life slip from her.




Helena woke with a start, sweating and breathing heavily.

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

She struggled with the bend of the eiderdown which had somehow become entangle around her, wrapping itself around her neck opening. As she did so her katzenjammer kicked in.

Her forefront fell back to the pillow and she groaned. Her brainiac began to piece the event of the previous night together for her.

It had seemed like a in force melodic theme at the time ; with both their husbands away on active avail Helena had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the evening. Helena 's husband James was away with the King 's Royal Hussars tank regiment in Afghanistan, whilst his sister 's married man Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both char would be alone on Halloween it made sense for them to get together, especially as Anne 's house was not too far from a large housing demesne infamous for its unruly and occasionally reprehensible element.
In orderliness to avoid any job with trick-or-treaters capital of Montana had driven over there, picked her up and the two fair sex had enjoyed a girlie night in together.

capital of Montana 's domicile was a country menage and also a working static respective statute mile out of town, and up a retentive lane off the briny route so it made mother wit for the two of them to spend the evening there as it was unlikely to experience any visitors, but Helena had wanted to be on hired man as sometimes the horses were spooked by the sound of firework if any should be set off in the vicinity.

The pair of them had spent the evening drinking wine-colored and epithelial duct hopping on satellite television, first a Hallowe'en special of The Duchess of Windsor, then a film variant of Jane Eyre and finally some creepy old American display that neither of the women had seen before, presented by that chap who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The duet had started off with a bottle of sharp, curt, bone-dry South African Chenin Blanc, then when capital of Montana served up dinner they 'd gone onto a big grave fruity Shiraz, also from South Africa.
The dour affluence of the red wine had been the perfect accompaniment to the meal, Helena had cooked chummy twists of pasta spirals with hack steak in a tasty tomato, chilli and herb sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a unhurt bottle of the red and opened a second, causing Anne to remark that `` With boozing all this African clobber we should be watching that old film, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` bottom rank, fervency ! progress ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The pair had giggled, but a sudden realisation that both their men were also away upon a foreign continent, and in constant risk of exposure, had subdued their laughter briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and boozing had quickly resumed. capital of Montana had bought in a pick of cheeses, biscuits, grapevine and savour which they 'd consumed with gusto.

Helena had begun to study out garish extracts from the Holy Writ she had recently purchased, whilst both she and Anne had screamed with the gleefulness,
'' Holy shite ! I rip the packet open and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my digit ! '' squeals of laugh had rung out
'' Laters, sister ! ''
'' My intimate goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar ! ``

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

Now, she clicked on the galvanising Light beside her bed and swung her metrical foot onto the ample shag-pile carpet, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie nightgown. The central heating was already on so the room was warm and comfortable as Helena headed for the en-suite to grab a taste of urine from the tap to anticipate her arid and dry mouth.

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

A chandelier holding an array of electric standard candle illuminated the stairwell as she went down the stair, passing the show cabinets holding St. James the Apostle'ingathering of old-timer handguns, and past the Victorian vanity in the hall which, tucked into a small compartment, lie hidden the key to the cupboard under the stair which held the gun case, which in turn housed a pair of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used James had taught her how to accurately fire the shotguns, in the event of foxes bothering their chicken coops while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the coffee bean machine on, Helena poured herself a glass of orange juice, which she used to wash off down a couplet of paracetamols.
Two slash of toast and a pitch-dark coffee later, her hangover had begun to settle and she went back on a higher floor for a shower.

As the hot stream of water played across her naked body, capital of Montana began to think about the odd dream. Although it had been terrifyingly horrid at the end, the thought of the kinky sex had been deliciously naughty - all that slapping and whipping, all that mud, all that rough sex.

As she washed herself Helena found her hands beginning to digress across her consistency, fingers manipulated her nipples, and her hand slipped down her saponaceous wet body to the kris of her pussy.
Sliding a finger into herself she began to stroke her clitoris, beginning slowly, then faster.

With her gratuitous hand Helena inserted two finger's breadth as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her mind she replayed the unknown sexual perversion of that night 's dream.

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

breathing heavily, she stood for a piece enjoying the jets of hot H2O caressing her soundbox, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the shower, capital of Montana dried herself and dressed. She picked up her fluid earpiece and thumbed a text message to Anne : `` Red wine-colored hangover this morn, hate you atm. Will like you again later lol Great night but too lots cheeseflower b4 bed not unspoilt, uncanny dreaming ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the front line threshold, passing the photograph of herself and St. James taken on their wedding party day, she sat on a chair, the skirts of her beautiful white wearing apparel to the forefront, and James IV, in his Captain 's uniform behind her.

It pained her to think of all the son who were out there in Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Saddam was suddenly, Bin Laden was absolutely, the Taliban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come dwelling house now, a job well done and all that sort of thing ?
Helena had a constant dread of receiving a visit from the Casualty Notifying police officer, she knew that a ace knock of the room access could have in mind a visit from a pair of CNO 's.
Four hundred and thirty such visits had already been made to the home of scout troop stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the door, passing the put print of Fuseli 's incubus on the rampart. capital of Montana shuddered at the grim depiction, depicting a sleeping adult female being visited by an incubus, with a horses head thrust through the mantle in the background signal, the sexual overtones of the horse 's drumhead penetrating the gap of the drapery seeming to represent a penis entering a vagina. Strong material, for the Eighteenth Century when it had been originally painted.

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

Opening the door, Helena went out into the cold November sunup. She liked to be in the yard working before the grooms and static girls arrived for piece of work, to set a good good example as their boss.

Her horse, bronco buster, neighed a greeting to her, and she walked to the stable block, petting him on the nose.

Crossing the 1000 towards the b she glanced sideways at the low building that housed the workshops. As she passed the shroud room she smiled, and she could feel her impudence redden as she blushed with the retentivity of the dream.

Entering the barn capital of Montana switched on the aging cassette player which sat on a shelf. One of James'old prog rock magnetic tape began to act as.
Helena sighed, one of the riskiness of having a husband ten old age older than ones'self was having to listen to all that old music.

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

She sang happily along with the parole `` I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I, I, the atom in your eye, a misplaced reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her work and the music was she that capital of Montana completely failed to notice a large black horse, at to the lowest degree eighteen hands high, ridden by a tall man dressed solely in sinister, walk into the yard behind her.

As the horse lifted its header, its optic glowed with an unholy Inner Light ... ..









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