18 comments/ 77175 views/ 12 favorites Gingerbread By: MichelleLovesTo "Damn it, John, do you really have to be a walking, talking, driving cliché? The road isn't even paved anymore...where the hell are we?" John had known the silence was drawing to an end. Historically, his sister could only hold her tongue for so long and, once she'd crossed her arms over her ample chest, he'd known the quiet would soon be interrupted. He clasped the steering wheel tighter. "We're not lost--just a little turned around. We'll hit a town soon." "Yeah, well, you'd better ask for directions the first chance you get so I can stop staring at acres and acres of identical trees." He knew he shouldn't take the bait, yet he did. "Or what? What are you going to do, Greta? You know what was the best look for you? When you had the red spikes in your hair--like horns. It allowed people to get a head start." "What I'm going to do is call Dad and tell him you screwed up...again." Greta reached for her purse. "We can't even get any radio stations to play...good luck getting a signal." "We'll see," she said, pulling out her phone. After several seconds, she tossed the cell over her shoulder and into the backseat in disgust. John fought back a smirk. "Gah! I still don't know what this stupid field trip is going to accomplish," she said. "Want to sing 'Over the river and through the woods'...goth style?" He explained once again--even though they both knew the answer. "Dad thinks that seeing the grandchildren she disinherited will move our grandmother. Maybe he's right--since you washed the blue streaks out of your hair, you come across as pretty innocent...until you speak." "Fuck you!" He began to chuckle. His sister really did look innocent, wearing a sedate summer dress and with her hair back to its natural blonde, but she still had the vocabulary of a sailor. Greta seemed to be fighting back her own laughter, but then her expression became sober. "John--you know dad isn't looking out for us anymore, right? It's all about Lily...he's worried she'll leave him if he can't support her. If he still cared about us, he'd have shown some interest in the last couple years." Their step-mother was a real alpha bitch--no doubt about it. Marriage to her had altered their once-loving father. For a few years John found himself hating all women just a little, thinking them all capable of using their bodies to manipulate a man. Recently, he'd come to the conclusion that a guy who'd let his dick do his thinking deserved what he got. "I know," he answered. "I figure we still owe the old man a few things from before Lily got her hooks into him. If it works, you'll have money for your band and I'll have money for the restaurant. It's worth a day or two of kissing up to some old woman." "Sure, if we actually get there in one piece," Greta said, but with no real animosity in her tone this time. He understood--she was not alone in feeling better about saying what they both had been thinking. He'd never let his sister know it, but he trusted her instincts. She had a way of knowing things. When their mother had become ill, Greta had seemed to know from the beginning that she wouldn't rebound. Or the first time they saw Lily: Greta had just seemed to know that she was no good, even though she'd looked like sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth. Greta underplayed her knack though, pointing out that most of the time she was just as in the dark as everyone else. Suddenly, a deer appeared in the middle of the road. John swerved to avoid it, and the next thing he knew he felt a jolt as they went off the side of the road and down a sharp incline. They narrowly missed a row of trees as the car came to a halt, pitching both of them forward. Only then did he have time to feel fear. "Jesus, Greta, are you okay?" he asked, looking at his sister. She inhaled and slowly blew it out before answering. "Yeah, you?" He gave a ragged sigh. "You mean, with the exception of knowing that deer is somewhere laughing its ass off and telling all her friends that she bagged a big one?" "I bet Lily's car has airbags." "I'll take that bet," he said, looking behind them. "I'd also bet that there's no chance of getting out of this ditch on our own." He felt frustration boiling up. "You might as well bitch me out right now." "I'll save it for later. How 'bout that? I'll call you at 3am a month from now, and really let you have it." Greta unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed into the back seat, apparently to give her phone one last try. John felt tender toward his sister at that moment: a strange brew of thrilled that she was okay and glad that she wasn't in the process of ripping him a new asshole--even if it was, in part, due to bitching out her useless cell phone instead. "Yeah, right! 'Can you hear me now?' my ass! No, I can't hear you now, you nerdy freak!" "Hey, Greta, wanna go for a walk?" he asked, sounding resigned. They changed into more comfortable shoes and got out of the car. Greta started up the incline, but John stopped, noticing a trail. Greta protested. "That will lead us into the woods. I want out of the woods." "Hear me out. We haven't seen a house for miles, and there's no sign of anything but more road and more trees on the horizon. A trail has to lead somewhere, right? A trail is bound to be shorter than a road--it's a path for people to get from point A to point B on foot." Greta stared at him for several seconds, considering his words, and then her own. "If we do stay on the road a car might come by." "When was the last time there was a car? Though I suppose there's a chance." Greta could be right and he'd already gotten them lost once. If they went with her plan and it went to hell, at least they'd be even. There was also Greta's occasional party trick of knowing things she wasn't supposed to know. "Okay, road it is," he finally offered. Greta sighed. A wrinkle appeared in the center of her forehead. "Know what? Just grab the flashlight in case it gets dark and let's do the damned path." It figures, he thought, grabbing the flashlight and taking huge strides to catch up with his sister. Maybe later they could have a debate over whether the sky was blue or plaid--whichever one he chose, Greta would choose the other one. They were silent for several minutes as they walked along the path--no sounds but their feet scuffing against the natural debris. Light filtered through the trees, dappling everything it touched, and John could hear small animals scurrying through the brush. Despite their predicament, John felt his stress ebb away at the beauty around them and, as near as he could tell, Greta felt the same. Soon they began to talk, joking and speaking in phrases that only they would understand: the language of siblings. Neither of them noticed they had strayed off the path until they were boxed in on three sides. After a brief argument over whose idea it was to take the path, and whose fault it was that they veered off the path, Greta said, "Whatever! What now?" "Track back--what else?" After a few minutes it became clear they were lost twice over. John turned to his sister in an attempt to come up with a new plan of action, only to find that she was crying. As he wrapped his arms around her he couldn't help but be amazed at how she could piss him off one minute and a moment later bring out every protective instinct he possessed. "C'mon, it's going to be okay. We'll figure this out," he said, stroking her hair, and trying to comfort her. She pulled back and looked at him with huge blues eyes which matched his own. "You can't know that. We could just go in circles forever, and it's going to get dark soon. Remember when we'd go on family trips to Grandma and for a joke Dad would turn out the headlights, and we'd all scream? It's going to be dark like that!" She brushed away a tear with the back of her hand and, in that moment, looked much younger than her age. "There are still a few hours. We'll probably find a way out by then and, even if we have to spend a night in the woods, I'd never let anything happen to you." He hoped he sounded convincing. They walked on, trying to make note of landmarks and stopping only to dine on berries. As the day went on, the same scenes which had before been peaceful and relaxing felt ominous, the scurrying of animals seemed sinister, and bugs were showing up in droves. He could see Greta's nerves fraying as she swatted mosquito after mosquito. He tried to keep his stride confident while figuring out what the safest plan was for sleeping in the woods--other than "don't." Greta touched his arm, looking to her right. "That way," she said, sounding sure as she pointed and headed off without waiting. Again, he found himself following his sister. He assumed she'd heard something or had an intuition, but he couldn't help noticing she'd looked none too happy. It was as if she were about to begin a much needed, but unpleasant, task and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. It was the same way she'd walked up to their mother's casket. He stopped short for a moment as they came to a clearing with a little house; goats and sheep grazed on deep green grass. The sight was jarring in contrast to where they had been and instantly made John feel ridiculous for his earlier concern. He began concocting a version of the story where he'd not been the least bit worried and knew everything would turn out fine--and that he'd known Greta was worrying for nothing. The house was small, cozy-looking, and in excellent shape for being in the middle of the woods. As they approached the door, John looked around, seeing no clear path. The dwelling seemed to be completely isolated, though for all they knew they were close to a town. There was the smell of something delicious cooking behind the door. Greta knocked on the door, looking strangely solemn, and they waited for several seconds before it opened. John had speculated that the owner would be some modern-day Grizzly Adams, or else an old woman resembling one he'd once read about who lived alone on an island for 40 years. What he wasn't expecting was for the owner to be relatively young and quite beautiful. She had to be approaching middle-age, as indicated by a few strands of grey in her wavy black hair, and by the beginnings of wrinkles around eyes the color of emeralds, but she was still stunning. She looked pleased to see them, but not at all surprised. She smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. "Visitors. Delightful. I was just making stew...come in." John looked at Greta, who shrugged. They followed the woman and saw a one-room cottage with minimal furnishings and a huge fireplace where the stew was cooking. There was a surprisingly large bed in the corner--reminding John he was pretty tired--and a ladder that reached to what appeared to be a loft. The only covering on the wood floor was a large, worn rug. The woman went to stir the pot, and John couldn't help but notice the shapeliness of her behind through her thin, worn dress. "Ma'am," John said to the woman's back, "we were lost in the woods and...do you have a working phone or a way to get to a town?" The woman turned around. "Stew will be done soon. I'm sure you're both starving. Of course you were lost, dear, but--in the words of the song--now you're found! You would be surprised how many lost people end up here. No phone." John thought that strange. It seemed like finding her cabin would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Unless... "Then we're close to a town?" he asked. "No, I cannot say that's true--at least not close enough to be going anywhere tonight. I'll try to be a good hostess even though what I have to offer is humble." "Oh no! It's lovely," said Greta. "We weren't trying to say there was anything wrong with your home. It's cozy, and what a beautiful view! We didn't want to put you out at all. I'm Greta Ostrander and this is my brother, John." "I'm Rabea." The woman held a slender hand out to each of them. As her hand lingered in his own, he noticed the ring she wore--it seemed to be encrusted with many sparkling jewels, and completely out of place. He had the incongruous thought that in the position they were in, they could play Ring-Around-The-Rosy. She let go and John felt strangely bereft as the warmth of her skin was taken away. "Are you by any chance twins? You both have the same big blue eyes and blonde hair." Greta laughed. "No, John's two years older. Not twins--just pure Scandinavian. John's name is really Johannes," she said, sounding for all the world like a little sister trying to get a rise out of her brother. "A pleasure to meet both of you." Greta looked around the small cabin. "Do you live here alone? That would have to be scary at night!" she said with a certain amount of wide-eyed interest. "Anything that comes around is more scared of me than the other way around," Rabea said with a laugh. "Why don't I make you both a little snack of gingerbread and root beer and you can cool off in the spring behind the house?" John, no fan of gingerbread or root beer, almost said he'd prefer to wait for dinner--until he heard Greta's stomach growl in the quiet of the cabin. It had been a long day, and he knew she hadn't had breakfast. He also didn't want to seem ungracious. The spring seemed like a good idea, too. He was pretty damned tired and was afraid that, hungry or not, he would pass out in his stew. Looking back, he realized that he had heard the sound of bubbling water earlier. Greta offered to stay in the cabin, helping with dinner, but Rabea would hear none of it. John smiled at how, even after two years of being in a goth band and doing God-Knows-What, his sister remembered the manners their mother had taught them. As Rabea gathered their snack, he found himself watching her again. Living there and being self-sufficient had obviously kept her in fine shape. When he glanced at Greta, he found her was silently laughing, having witnessed his perusal. She looked him in the eye and mouthed the word, "pig." He smiled and shrugged. He noticed Greta kept looking at something on the ceiling of the loft, and John followed her gaze. Across the thick beams there was yarn woven into an elaborate pattern like a spider's web. "Hoping to catch flies?" John joked when he noticed Rabea looking at them. "Something like that," was their hostess's reply. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister shiver. He looked over at her, questioning her with his eyes, but she smiled apologetically and shrugged. They headed out to the spring with their root beer in tin cups, each with a thick slice of gingerbread. Greta munched along happily, and in the two minutes it took to get to the spring her piece was gone. John handed his to her, noting the crumbs around her mouth. She thanked him with a small belch. "Niiice manners." He gazed at the clear spring with the water bubbling toward the surface. "Since we don't have bathing suits, how are we going to do this?" "We could strip down to our underwear and then afterward slip into our clothes, letting our 'unmentionables' dry on that rock over there," Greta suggested around mouthfuls of gingerbread. "This is delicious! You drinking the root beer?" He turned his empty tin cup upside down and echoed her earlier belch. The root beer had been surprisingly tasty and he'd gulped it down. "Sorry. Hey, I thought of something weird. It's summer..." "That's odd alright." "Shut-up. What I mean is that it was pretty warm even in the shade of the forest and we've been sweating all day..." "You're saying asking us to use the spring was a not-so-subtle hint." "Could have been. But here's the thing: the cabin wasn't that hot at all--even with a fireplace that you could use as a parking garage." He took a sip of root beer and, finding it surprisingly tasty, quickly gulped down the rest. Greta's brow wrinkled. "Hey, you're right. Maybe because of the proximity to the spring?" "Okay, that could make sense," John said. He wasn't sure if it did make sense, but what did he know about springs? There had to be a logical explanation, and that seemed to work as well as anything. Greta set aside her empty cup and lifted her dress over her head. Even though what she wore was no more revealing than a bathing suit, he averted his eyes and slipped out of his own clothes. The bubbles tickled and Greta began giggling. John had to admit it felt invigorating after the long day. After a few minutes he looked over and noticed his sister was rather flushed, even in the chill of the spring. She was also staring at him. "What?" he asked. "Oh, nothing, nothing." "You were staring--is there something bothering you?" "Other than being lost because you can't follow directions?" she snapped, sounding defensive. John didn't think he would ever get used to his sister's mood swings. He'd had a long day too, which explained why he splashed water in her face. Soon it became a full-fledged water fight which left them both soaked. Finally they settled down. "Greta? Is there something weird going on here? Something I don't see, but you do? You were acting really...odd in the woods." Greta didn't speak for several seconds. "I had a weird feeling--like I knew the way to the cabin, and I was scared about going there, but with every step I took it seemed a little better." "So it's all okay?" "What's it like for you, going on a roller coaster?" "What in the hell are you talking about?" he asked at her abrupt change of topic. Greta looked into John's eyes. "For me, it's really scary. I know that as safe as it all seems, things happen...things go wrong. But then, well, it stops being scary and becomes exciting...or maybe it's both--scary and exhilarating. You've committed yourself to it and they can't stop the ride. You've given up your power for the moment, and it's freeing." John looked around at the peaceful surroundings and the little cottage. "This is a roller coaster?" He noticed his sister was massaging and stroking herself in an idle way. He knew she must be sore, but still he couldn't help thinking that her fingers lingering along the top of her bra or along her inner thigh was not something he should really be seeing. Maybe it was not the massage so much as the strange gleam in her eyes that, on another woman, he might label as arousal. He knew that was crazy--Greta was just sore and tired. "Maybe not, but I was scared and I'm still a little scared, and there is not a damned thing I can do about it." Her fingers made lazy circles by the elastic waist of her panties. "You're not saying Rabea is dangerous?" He laughed. She seemed strong and self-sufficient, but a serious threat? No way. "I'm saying that it doesn't matter either way--we're here. For the time being, we have no control over where the ride goes." When they exited the spring, John noticed that Greta's nipples were jutting out against the material of her bra. He caught himself staring before he realized what he was doing. Greta noticed his stare but merely smiled. He quickly looked away and changed into his clothes. When he looked again, he noticed that the thin dress was not much better cover. In fact, with the setting sun behind her, the fabric was near-transparent. He had the strange feeling she knew that. "Let's go see if dinner is done," he said, rushing toward the house. Rabea was setting the small table when they entered. There were three tall red candles in the center of the table and a large red stone in the center of it all. She turned and looked at them. "You both look refreshed. Did you enjoy the spring?" "Mmm, yes, it was terrific!" Greta answered for both of them. "Have a seat, please--both of you. Did you enjoy your snack?" "I did! So much that I ate poor John's gingerbread too!" Greta said as each of them picked a chair. Gingerbread Greta scrambled up the ladder and John followed. He noticed a trickle of wetness running down her inner thigh--his come--and felt a strong sense of ownership. He was eager to complete his claim by filling her other holes. Up in the loft, craving the addictive touch of the one another, they fell back on the spread blankets that seemed to be there just for them. They couldn't get enough of one another. John just wanted to use Greta again and again, only realizing in the abstract that what they were doing was considered wrong, and not caring the least bit. As he continued to exploit her for his pleasure, he could see by the window's moonlight the beginning of bruises appearing on her pale skin, and it only aroused him more. He could imagine her at a slightly younger age, going to their father for every little problem and expecting him to solve it. He realized with clarity why Lily had shut them both out, but more so Greta... Competition. While he knew his father would never cross that line, or even admit that the thought had entered his mind, it became clear that his sister being a hot blonde with big tits got her a little extra leeway. He was filled with anger and desire and he realized how often his sister had used her wiles to get her way, and he knew his anger was reflected in the renewed freedom he felt to take what he wanted. Besides, she objected to none of it--encouraging all of it: pain, abuse, and humiliation all seemed to stimulate both of them even more. He lost count of how many times they fucked, realizing that it was more than he should probably be capable of, and yet they continued. At one point he began to ask her what else turned her on--other than eating pussy and fucking her own brother. And she told him. She whispered and moaned embarrassing secrets, no longer secret--a steady dialogue of hidden fantasies and perversions. John loved it as she stripped away any residual desire to treat her with respect. He told her if he'd known what she was, he would have used her much earlier. Her response was a loud orgasm, her pussy clamping and spasming around his cock. He eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was shoving Greta away from him; now that he was through he had no more need of her. John woke up to another erection and a feeling of overwhelming nausea. Even as he vomited he considered how he would use Greta next, but after his stomach was emptied things began to look different. He looked at the bruised woman next to him, with the wilting flowers in her tangled hair, and saw his sister--the sister he loved, and had never thought he could hurt. The realization of what had happened washed over him, and he began to cry. He was filled with self-loathing. A tear hit Greta's face, waking her. "Good morning," she purred, reaching for him. John whispered, conscious of the closeness of Rabea, "No, Greta, no. What are we doing? What did I do to you?" "You gave me the best fucking of my life. I'm so sore...mmm. And sticky." She laughed throatily. "I want your cock in me again...and again." John looked over the edge of the loft; the cabin was temporarily empty. He turned back to his sister. "Greta, listen to me! We don't have much time. There is something wrong with both of us. I...I think I need you to throw-up." She looked confused, trying to figure out what strange new game John wanted to play. "I don't get it. I just want to fuck!" "Just fucking do it, you cunt!" It tore him apart to talk to her like that, but he knew it was the quickest way. She obeyed. When she was done she looked confused, but the unthinking desire had left her eyes. "John...what... I don't understand," she said, positioning her body as modestly as she could. "Rabea did something to us...something to make us want that. Want each other. Want to be perverted." "No, I did want you and those things. I mean, maybe they were just fantasies, but they turned me on. I'd masturbate thinking of these things, and I had a boyfriend who liked to spank me...and I'd always wanted to do another woman. When I was a kid I used to have a fantasy about a woman kidnapping me and making me her little whore. I loved fantasizing about fucking you..." As Greta spoke, a horrified look came across her face and she clapped one hand over her mouth, although she kept talking. John realized that she clearly could not censor her thoughts, and he scrambled to figure out why she couldn't stop revealing secrets. John reached over and pulled the blue blossoms out of her hair, causing her, at last, to fall silent. She began to cry. Where before she couldn't stop talking, now she seemed too ashamed to speak, and John couldn't comfort her under the circumstances. The last thing she needed was to be held by her naked brother. "Greta, I know--it's okay. We'll deal with this later. I need you to pull it together for now and I need you thinking. We have to get out of here!" Greta nodded, but neither moved toward the ladder. John found it odd that Rabea had left the ladder. Perhaps she was done with them, and wanted them to leave. Then why weren't they leaving? "Can you go down the ladder?" he asked. "I mean, can you make yourself go down the ladder." Greta shook her head. There was several seconds' pause and then she looked up at the web made of yarn. She went to reach for it, but seemed to realize she would be unable to protect her modesty. Instead John stood up and grabbed at it, tearing it down and away from them. He could feel whatever held them there fall away with the falling of the web. "Let's get out of here," he said, moving toward the ladder. "Don't look, okay?" There was no answer he could give her that would make it right, so he nodded with his gaze averted. When they were at the bottom of the stairs John looked around the cabin, but he didn't see their clothes. There was a simple wardrobe next to the bed; he quickly grabbed one of Rabea's dresses, tossing it toward his sister. Finding no men's clothes, he wrapped a shawl around his waist. He would have preferred something a little more masculine, but that was the least of his problems. He looked out the windows, making sure the witch was nowhere in sight. Finally he looked at Greta. The dress was snug around her breasts, but being covered seemed to help her cope. "Now what?" she asked. "We leave, right?" "Well, we don't know where we're going. We should probably gather supplies...look for a map..." "She can't be far. She'll be back!" "I'll handle her." "Do you not get that she's not just your average chick living by herself in a clearing in the woods?" "There's such a thing...an average one, I mean?" He saw her disapproving look. "I know, but we need to at least find something to help us leave a trail, markers, something so we don't go in circles." "Knives! We can use them as weapons and to make notches in trees." "Good." John headed to the area where she'd prepared food the night before. He found one large knife which was seemingly used for everything. Walking to the table, he picked up their flashlight. "John?" "Yeah?" "There's a root cellar beneath us--the door is under the rug." John turned around to see Greta staring at the rug in the center of the floor, tears streaming down her face. "How do you know that?" "I just do." She trembled. "Just like I knew something was wrong when I saw the house and Rabea--before I saw them--but I went ahead anyhow. I had to come here and bring you." "What's down there?" "I...I think people like us. Other people she trapped." Seeing John's look of alarm she added, "I don't think they're alive. We have to leave now...please believe me." "I have to look," said John, pressing the knife into Greta's hand. "You know that, right?" Greta stepped aside, resigned, helping him to move the rug. He wasn't surprised to see the door. His sister turned away, seeming to know what was there, but knowing that he was right--he would never have peace until he saw it for himself. The door wasn't locked, and as he lifted the door he saw there was a ladder. He hoped Rabea was so secure in her magic that she would be in no hurry to return. When he got to the bottom of the ladder he saw there were rags which were once clothes, and there were rats, and another web of yarn with several of the real article... and there were bones. In the corner two skeletons were embracing. He wondered with a shudder if they had fucked to death or died holding on to each other for comfort at the end. He wasn't sure which was worse. But Greta was right...no survivors. "John, hurry!" There was urgency in Greta's voice. John imagined that the real hell, as bad as it was down there, had to be in the waiting. He started up the ladder and, once at the top, his sister hugged him in relief. He tried to ignore what he hoped to be the residual effects of whatever was in the food. As they headed toward the door, Rabea walked in, making John think, Of course. She looked younger--not just refreshed, but as if years had been erased. She appeared to be only slightly older than them. "Just let us go," Greta cajoled. "We'll leave you alone and just forget this." "I'd believe you--except I'm not simple minded. You might as well drop the knife. It can't be used against me--if you attempt to stab me you'll either stab yourself or John instead. Clever, huh?" Rabea laughed. "I should have just let you do it, but we had so much fun last night. My friends are much more fun when they are alive and fucking--instead of victuals." John thought of the stew and hoped like hell she meant her "friends" ended up as rat food. Of all the things he'd hoped for in life, this was by far the oddest. Greta dropped the knife and slugged Rabea in the face. "Fuck you!" John stepped forward to help her out, but fell to the ground as his heart began to pound painfully in his chest. Through his pain, he heard the woman's mocking voice. "Want to see his heart explode? I'd prefer to keep him alive to mate with you more, but I have other ways if need be. Ever hear the expression about being hornier than a two-peckered goat? Would you like to meet my goat, Greta?" "Stop, just stop hurting him! I'll do whatever you say." John felt the pain receding. "Of course you will. Hey, John, stop being a pussy and watch your girlfriend." John looked at both of them. Rabea smiled and said, "Verzectus Voluptis." Greta fell to the ground. His heart pounded again--this time naturally--as he wondered what agonies his sister was suffering. She threw back her head and began to moan. He knew, then, that she was not in the midst of pain, but pleasure. He knew the sounds of his sister's release, now, as well as he knew his own. Rabea commented, walking the couple feet toward John, "You know, someone can actually die from pleasure? She's far from that though. You'd be surprised how long Greta will last and what a big puddle she will make on the floor." She reached out to stroke his hair and he flinched. "The smell of her arousal will permeate the room soon. You know all about the smell of her desire though, don't you? She's yours now. Why not take her again? Won't it be hotter to know you're choosing it?" "Stop!" He pulled back from her. "I'm not interested." Greta was muttering a steady stream of profanity as her body betrayed her again and again. "Really? I think you are, and I know she is from, oh, everything she said last night. Maybe I'll offer her the goat again if you don't want to play." Rabea walked toward the helpless girl. "Would you rather have your brother or the goat? Beg for it." Greta grabbed the woman's hand, looked up at her with parted lips and said, "Verzectus Voluptis," twisting the ring off Rabea's hand and thrusting it onto her own finger. Rabea fell to the ground, mirroring Greta. "But how...mmmm...no...that shouldn't work!" The two women climaxed next to one another, clinging to each other in the end while John looked around the cabin for a new weapon. John grabbed a cast iron skillet and brought it crashing down on Rabea's head. She collapsed as his sister rose. Greta gave a shaky laugh. "Thank God she never charmed the rest of her cookware." "Look!" John said. Rabea was aging quickly. Greta leaned over and grabbed an arm, beginning to drag the woman toward the fire. "C'mon John--a little help here? Or are you set on the final scare when she wakes up and grabs for us?" When she put it that way, what else could he do? He grabbed the other arm, trying not to think of exactly what they were doing. When the flames hit Rabea she awoke and began to scream. He clamped his hands over his ears and looked to his sister. She seemed surprisingly calm as she gazed at the suffering woman. She mouthed something he couldn't make out, and the witch fell silent. Greta looked back at John and spoke evenly. "We should leave for now. I'm not exactly fond of the smell of burning flesh--at least I don't think I am." John followed his sister outside, where she began to spin around like a little girl--joyous. He considered the possibility that Greta was having a breakdown. A well-deserved breakdown. He pondered joining her. Finally, she collapsed on the ground, her laughter echoing in the clearing. He knelt next to her, worried about if burning a body might cause a literal stink. "Greta, we have to figure out what to do. The smoke might bring people, and who the hell will believe us? I know you've been through a lot, but you need to pull it together." Greta pointed to the chimney and to the smoke, which seemed to instantly dissipate as it touched the sky. "You know how they say 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas'? ...Vegas has nothing on an enchanted cottage." "We still have to get out of here." There were many things John didn't understand, but he knew that nothing could be served, no help could be given to Greta, as long as they remained. "Oh, I don't think I'm meant to leave--at least not yet. I wouldn't like to piss off Baba." The juxtaposition of big, blue innocent eyes and cunning smile was jarring. Greta fell back into the thick grass and stared up at the sky. "What does that cloud look like to you? I think it looks just like that dog our neighbor used to have, Hobo." John grabbed Greta by the arms and sat her up. "Okay, what in the fuck are you talking about? Who's Baba and what do you mean, you're not leaving?" Greta moved a few inches away, breaking John's hold. She rubbed her upper arms. "Brother, you do like to leave your mark, don't you? It's okay...like it rough myself, but you know that. "Baba came to me last night after you were done with me." John flinched. "I dreamt her, but she was as real as you and I. She told me that she was the one who had brought me here – not Rabea. We sat right here and she explained to me that Rabea had displeased her and that she needed my help. She taught me the words and phrases to get me started-- provided I could get the ring. Echoing Rabea's spell was all improve, though. It was really intense and hot the way we clung to each other--a shame you had to end it so soon. "I woke up this morning, and it all seemed so simple, initially. Then you made me vomit and I had to face what we had done--all those nasty, filthy things you did to me and with me. I knew I had a dark side, but you, John...? Women piss you off, huh? "I was ashamed. I thought maybe we could get away and forget all this--I even convinced myself the dream was just a dream. Then Rabea caught us, and I knew what I had to do. John, why did you have to delay us by going in the cellar? I have to admit that I prefer you pinning my ankles behind my ears to playing the Boy Scout. Boy Scout John just bumbles along and gets us lost or nearly killed. "It's okay, Big Brother--I took care of it all. But when I did, my last chance to be free left. As soon as that ring slipped on my finger, I knew this was where I was meant to be. John was frantic as the words sunk in. "No, Greta, we can get out of here and go back to normal. First we'll get the ring off." "Over my dead body...literally. What normal life, John? We slept together a ridiculous amount of times. Tell me you can sit across from me at Thanksgiving and not remember what we did? We have been as intimate as two people can be...not just because we screwed, but because we shared our most secret desires...and they were soaked in sin." Greta laughed in delight. "We will never have sex that good again with anyone else, so why try?" He reached out to grab her arms again... and then stopped, knowing he looked absurd with his arms stuck out in front of him. "I can't leave without you...I won't!" Greta tore off the thin material of her dress, revealing a body as perfect in sunlight as in firelight. He tried not to stare. "Of course you aren't leaving. At least until we are both ready. Eventually I really must pay Daddy a visit!" Greta crawled into John's lap, straddling him. He knew he should push her away. "No Greta, we can't." "Of course we can--we did. And you want to because you can't forget... ever. Still, you are my brother, so I will help you..." And then she began to whisper in a strange language. He grew harder, knowing they weren't going anywhere for a very long time.