The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The only sound was the hum of car against road. Alyson hadn’t spoken to David in hours and Leah was in the back seat listening to her iPod. The radio had been turned off a couple hours earlier to prevent David from turning the sound down any time he said anything at all. It was a habit that had annoyed her even back when they were dating—especially when it was a good song. Now the quiet helped lull her into the near-catatonia she’d come to prefer.

It was a talent, if you could call it that: to be able to almost self-medicate with her thoughts. Maybe the peace she obtained is what people who meditated felt, but she didn’t know... What she did know was that eventually you had to face your life again. Either face it or take a permanent vacation—and she wasn’t entirely sure which concept held more appeal.

She didn’t need the radio or pills to build up her walls. What was it the Beatles sang? Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see. It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out, it doesn’t matter much to me. That was her goal: getting to that state where she’d be outside it all. And why not? She couldn’t trust her husband, and her daughter didn’t need her anymore… had never needed her that much.

Ironic. This should have been the thing she would have wanted to be alert for. What she’d eagerly awaited. The one dream that David seemed to really get from the beginning. The House In The Country. Now David was making good on this vow as penance for one too many broken vows. Maybe to make her a liar when she’d shouted in his face for what seemed like the thousandth time, “That’s the problem with you, David: you make promises you can’t keep, as if the promise is as good as the thing you’re promising. If wanting good things for me—for us—was all you needed to do, you’d be the ideal man.”

Now they had their big house in the country, with—from what she was given to understand—the big bay window you could sit in and daydream. Charlotte helped me pick it out—she’s so sorry, too—but we were never alone for a second. The real estate agent was there the whole time. The bay window. The wood floors. The big kitchen. The couple of acres. The pond. Picked out for her by her husband and the woman he cheated with—her sister. Maybe they considered house-hunting together, like their affair, to be just “one of those things.” Maybe it also “just happened.” If she allowed it to, it could really piss her off.

They turned down the dirt road to their new house, and after a couple minutes it came into view. Perfect. Just what she’d always wanted…but now she felt like an imposter. She wasn’t the perfect wife or mother and she didn’t have the perfect husband or daughter. They looked ideal on the surface: a very attractive couple, with a very attractive and intelligent daughter. But all you had to do was scratch the surface. Maybe the house had termites. She could hope.

Leah walked quickly to the front door. Perhaps eager to see the house, but probably even more glad to get out of the confined space she’d shared with her parents’ long silences. Alyson found herself staring at her tall, striking daughter and wondering where the time had gone. She’ll be a self-sufficient one—she already is.

“Hello,” a voice called out to the left of them, and she turned to see a man waving and walking toward them. He must be the neighbor, Alyson thought, noticing there seemed to be a slight indentation that marked the property lines. Alyson didn’t have to look to know that David was putting on his game face. It didn’t matter how unhappy they were as long as he could still put on a good show for the neighbors.

“I’m Edward Zimmer, neighbor to the north,” the man said, reaching out to shake hands with each of them in turn. Alyson thought he would be quite handsome if not for the dark circles under his eyes. His hands were rough, calloused. His sandy-colored hair was starting to grey at the temples, and he could have used a shave. He was a sharp contrast to David, who was almost always well-groomed.

“David Williams, and this is my wife, Alyson,” her husband said, holding out his soft hand with the perfectly oval nails.

“Of course.” Edward gave a surprised laugh, which he quickly muffled.

“You might have seen my husband here with a redhead. My sister. The house was, oh, quite the surprise.” She tried not to reveal that she was examining his reaction. Had he witnessed a glance or a touch between David and Charlotte that made him think they were a married couple? Did Alyson look ignorant and naive to him? She would be seeing this man for as long as she lived there, and she hated thinking that he saw her as stupid or naïve.

David added, “My sister-in-law lives over in Harper. She saw the listing, and knew we were in the market for a house like this. My wife has always wanted to live in the country.”

“I surprised my ex-wife with this house, too, many years ago. Not sure it was a pleasant one for her.” Edward’s expression became shuttered. “It’s just my daughter Marianne and me. I think we do all right.”

“Big house for just the two of you,” David said. “It’s just the three of us for now—our daughter is the impatient girl on the porch—but we’ve been talking about having another one. No idea why.” He gave a laugh that Alyson compared unfavorably to the arrogant bray of a jackass.

“Leah is just eager to see her new home...think back to when you were young...er.” Alyson feared that she’d failed at the teasing tone she’d attempted. Was David really going to tell this man their life stories? Well, she knew which chapters he would leave out. “Don’t worry about your peace being shattered, Mr. Zimmer. I’m not anticipating the pitter-patter of little feet, unless we get a dog. The only one thinking about another child is David.”

“Call me Edward, please,” he said, politely ignoring the tension.

“Edward, man-to-man, may I ask a favor?” Alyson struggled not to roll her eyes, knowing where David was going with the man-to-man crap. “I travel a lot—I’ve taken some vacation time, but there will be good stretches where the girls are alone. I’d appreciate if you would keep an eye out.”

“Of course. This is a pretty safe area, but it’s always a good thing to have a neighbor to turn to. I’d have kept an eye out anyhow, and I’m sure you folks will do the same. I work from home. I’m a carpenter...that’s my workshop over there. If I’m not at the house, I’m probably there.”

Alyson tried not to be charmed at Edward’s obvious effort not to make her feel like a frail, helpless female. “Girls” indeed. To think she used to find David’s manly act attractive, having liked the feeling of being taken care of when younger.

“Our daughters look about the same age,” he continued. “Maybe after you get settled in Marianne can stop by, or Leah is certainly welcome to wander over here. And, David, if you ever want to stop by the shop, feel free. I wish I could offer more adult female companionship for you, Alyson, but there are clubs in town.”

Alyson nodded politely, but found herself comparing the two homes. She noticed a young woman peering out the front window of the Zimmer house. Even from a distance Alyson could tell she was pale and tiny. Weary-looking. The blonde, who Alyson assumed to be Marianne, was staring openly at them. Her gaze was piercing. David was going through all the sounds of a proper goodbye on behalf of both of them, Marianne stepped back from the window and into the shadows of her house.

Alyson turned toward her own house and expected to see Leah on the porch. She wasn’t. After a quick glance across the lawn, she noticed the open window. Memories came to mind of the time she was late getting home from errands, and Leah—then ten—had come home from school, calmly put a chair under a window and crawled inside came to mind. Alyson found herself fighting the impulse to follow suit; instead she waited for her husband to appear with the key and allow her entry to the next stage of her life.

The inside was both strange and familiar, the decor a combination of objects that came with the house and personal items which had been sent on ahead . It was jarring to see lamps and pictures and knick-knacks outside of their places, and knowing that this would now be where they belonged.

Alyson dispassionately noted, once again, that this was pretty much her dream-come-true. When she was a little girl, she’d longed for a big, elaborate dollhouse to decorate. It had been amazing to her that people really lived in houses that beautiful. Now she was here, and she didn’t care as much as she should.

As if David had heard her thoughts, he said, “The style is called Folk Victorian. It’s less frou-frou-ey than regular Victorian or Queen Anne or whatever you call it. We got this house for a steal! Do you like it so far?”

“I’m going to find Leah,” she said, heading toward the staircase.

She found her daughter in the first bedroom she came to. Leah was looking out the window, sunlight bringing out the natural red highlights in her hair. The room contained Leah’s bed, and some of her things. She could almost imagine it was herself looking out the window. Alyson cleared her throat before speaking.

“So what do you think?”

“Nice,” Leah said.

“Nice? Is that all?” She’d rather hoped one of them would be excited.

“What should I say? Now you and dad have a new place to fight. Yippee.” Leah looked repentant when she saw her mother’s expression. “Mom, look, I know what happened isn’t your fault. I just can’t believe you went along with this move...it’s just going to make it harder when you two file for divorce.”

“Who said we were divorcing?” It was a thing you had to do for your child—lie about how dire your marriage was, and about its true chances of survival.

“You suppress things—you hold back—but all that anger is in you. You think you’re apathetic, but you’re really in denial. Some day you’re going to completely blow a gasket.”

“Is that what you learned in psychology?”

Leah shrugged. “No, that’s what the school counselor said.”

“The school counselor said that about me?” Alyson tried to swallow her outrage. Of course Leah had a right to seek comfort and understanding, but still she felt ashamed. She didn’t want this person judging her, even if she’d never met him, or now lived one hundred and fifty miles from him.

Leah grinned. “No, he said it about me; I was just smart enough to know where I learned it from.”

Alyson looked at her daughter and felt herself grinning back. It felt good.

“Seriously, mom. Dad doesn’t get that about you. He’s confused when you blow up over some little silly thing, and hardly react to the big stuff. He misses that when you scream about his not mowing the lawn, you’re really screaming about Aunt Charlotte.”

They both looked at the window. “Bet he’s already hired some local guys to do it. The lawn—not Aunt Charlotte,” Leah said.

Alyson stared at her daughter. Her daughter stared back. They both started laughing. They didn’t stop until they were gasping for breath. That felt good, too.

Alyson looked at their bed. The bed they’d slept in together for their entire marriage—until three months prior.

“So where are you sleeping?”

David shook his head like he couldn’t believe she had the nerve to ask. “This is a new beginning. You said you wanted to really try.”

“Every morning that you wake up, alive, un-smothered, it means I’ve really tried. Do you really want me in bed next to you?”

“You’re really a scary and vindictive bitch sometimes.”

She fought back her fury. Better to keep it at cool sarcasm than to go Lorena Bobbitt on him. “I keep getting the impression you’re thinking that there’s a statute of limitations on how long I should be upset over this.”

“Isn’t there? I fucked up—bad, I know it. Isn’t there a limit to how long I have to pay for it?”

“May I ask a question?” She tried to keep her expression neutral.

Much to his credit, he looked suspicious. “Okay. Yes. What?”

“Did you fuck Charlotte in our bed?”

“You’re not seriously asking that. I told you it was the once!”

“What bad luck for you that you got caught the one time—what were the chances? Who came here and arranged the furniture we sent ahead?”

“She wants to be forgiven, too. You know what? There’s a bed in the room down the hall...I’ll sleep there.”

“No, David, I’ll sleep there. In a bed my sister didn’t position...or inhabit.” Alyson had seen the room during her walk-through of the house. The room was a generous size while still seeming cozy. The bed: a four-poster, the colors—feminine There was the bay window she’d wanted all her life. Alyson wondered why Charlotte hadn’t put Leah’s things there. Perhaps she’d imagined that Aly would want to use it as a writing room. Damn her sister for being right. If David imagined her being inconvenienced by being out of the master bedroom… well, let him. Her first project was to find a writer’s desk that didn’t appear too modern. She imagined she could even sit in the window with a pad and paper.

The bed looked welcoming and the day had been long. She turned off the light, and the limbs of the elm tree outside the window cast long shadows across the floor. The sheets felt crisp, as if they’d recently been changed. She imagined it was another thing her suddenly helpful sister had decided to attend to. She wondered if Charlotte had known that one of them would end up there.

Just before she fell asleep she thought she heard laughter.

Alyson was eight and her father could do no wrong. He’d worked so hard all week, but now it was the weekend, and they were watching cartoons, and Charlotte was nowhere to be found. It should have been in the house in Detroit—the duplex. Instead they were sitting in the family room of a Folk Victorian house. Alyson giggled at the thought that maybe it was a doll house, and maybe they were just some of the accessories—the little tiny toys that lived there. What a weird, funny thought.

Her father turned to her and said, “Laurette...want to go for a walk?”

Laurette? “Yes, Daddy. Where will we go?”

“The overlook, of course.”

Suddenly she was afraid and… angry? “No, why don’t we stay here, or go to see the Zimmers. We can visit the baby.”

“Now, Laurette, we don’t have to go there now, but you’ll have to go eventually. I just thought you might want me there.”

Yes, it was anger. “Why? You won’t protect me! I’ll just do it alone!” She got up and stomped out of the room, knowing her daddy would follow her. Only he didn’t. She kept walking...out the front door, through the woods, down to the path, and then up the hill, until she could look down and see the lake, and all the houses across the lake.

She’d grown up along the way. She was a woman now. She reached behind her and unzipped her dress, letting it fall in the orange-red dirt. She wondered if there was someone across the lake watching her. The heat of the noonday sun was almost painful against her nipples. She liked it. She laid down in the dirt, closed her eyes and waited, fingering herself.

This time it would be different.

Alyson sipped her coffee and contemplated the strange dream she’d had the night before. Actually, she thought she might have had several dreams, but she only remembered the “storyline” to the last one.

She didn’t even know anyone named Laurette. She didn’t recognize the man either—it certainly wasn’t her father after the first couple minutes. The house was this one, and she supposed that made sense. Again, the old things with the new.

The nudity—well, it wouldn’t be the first dream where she got naked in a public place, although in the dream the body seemed unlike her own. The breasts were the same size, but with a different shape to them—more upturned. The flatness of the stomach was definitely pre-baby. The folds of her sex seemed unfamiliar, too.

She’d awoken pretty aroused, but then again it had been a while since she’d had sex with herself, let alone another human. The libido was bound to have returned at some point. Welcome back, she supposed.

She spent the first part of the day rearranging the furniture. It was her house, after all. It felt defiant, and good, and yet she left most of the pieces that came with the house right where they’d been. She didn’t know where David was, and didn’t care. Leah was asleep in a hammock in the back yard, in her tennis skirt, which she’d chosen to wear although she hadn’t played in two years. She’d taken a sketchbook and a cold drink with her, but couldn’t have been out there more than ten minutes before Aly looked out and saw she’d dozed off. At least she was in the shade of the trees.

Alyson realized the house was quiet—perhaps too quiet. She walked to the kitchen to pour herself an iced tea, and noticed the bottle of champagne that David had suggested they open the night before. She then looked at the orange juice.

Five minutes later she was carrying a pitcher of Mimosas and a glass into the family room. She sat in an overstuffed chair next to the window, enjoying the breeze, sipping her drink, and thinking about what she could do with the rest of the day. Perhaps try to write. She set her drink down, closed her eyes and began to brainstorm ideas for her next story.

It seemed like only a few moments before she opened her eyes again, but it had to have been longer because Leah was now curled up in a chair with a book, and Aly’d never heard her come in.

Alyson laughed. “I must have fallen asleep, Bug.” She hadn’t called her daughter that in a long while.

Leah smiled. “Must have! This is a really good book. Listen...”

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

“Isn’t that creepy?” Leah asked.

“The Haunting of Hill House”... yes. Shirley Jackson.”

“We read another story by her in English class. I didn’t like it much. I like this.” Alyson noticed her daughter seemed to be lisping slightly.

“I’m glad—she was a talented woman.”

“She’s no J.K. Rowling, but she’ll do in a pinch. What are you looking at?”

“Your toenails—when did you paint them bright red?” Aly could have sworn that her nails were unpolished earlier that morning.

“A while ago...you like?” Leah stuck out her legs and kicked her feet at her mother in a paddling motion. Her skirt hiked up, and Alyson saw she wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Leah, sweetie, you’re showing a little too much! Why aren’t you wearing panties?”

“Because I like the idea of being able to expose myself if I feel like it. Is that wrong?” Leah walked over, picked up the drink on the table, and took a gulp of it. “This is delicious.”

Alyson realized she was strangely unoffended. Realistically, she knew her daughter would never say quite that to her, and yet she had said it, and it was all right. As to the drinking: it was supervised, and Leah was practically a woman.

“No, Bug, it’s not wrong at all! It can be a real turn-on to do that...I had a dream about it just last night—exposing myself. I woke up, and my pussy was wet...”

“Did you masturbate?”

“No,” Aly said with a laugh. “For the life of me, I don’t know why not!”

Leah licked her lips, revealing a pierced tongue. “Do it now, Mom! We could do it together!”

A dog barked in the distance, and Alyson’s eyes popped open. In the next several seconds she determined that Leah wasn’t there, that her drink was full, and that there was no way she would have had the previous conversation with her daughter. A dream. A damned realistic dream at that.

Alyson realized she was turned-on, and felt momentarily ashamed. Maybe it was like exhibitionism; doing something forbidden could be arousing. And what she’d dreamt was plenty forbidden. At the same time, who didn’t have bizarre dreams now and again—even dreams that evoked odd emotions?

She heard Leah laughing outside the window. Alyson got up and looked out to see that she was sitting on the edge of the hammock, and talking with Marianne Zimmer. The girls’ voices were low, and she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Time to play hostess,” thought Alyson, feeling the sudden need to be maternal. She called out the window and asked if they would like to come in for lemonade. Leah looked to Marianne, deferring to her, and the blonde girl nodded, picking up a box sitting at her feet wrapped in the Sunday Funnies.

She introduced herself to the neighbor, sizing up her daughter’s potential new friend. She was much as Alyson remembered her—tiny, blonde, seemingly frail, but with a very direct gaze. Like granite. She was pretty sure this young woman could stand her ground, and that made her determined to make sure Marianne wouldn’t use that apparent strong will to persuade her daughter to get into trouble. With the dark circles under her eyes, the girl was either on drugs, or didn’t sleep a whole hell of a lot, and the two were not exactly mutually exclusive.

“Welcome,” Marianne said, holding out the box to her. There was a neatly folded piece of paper on top. Alyson was taken aback—did her father send her over with a gift? It just didn’t seem like something a girl her age would think of on her own. “It’s nothing much—I got a deal on it. It’s all about the ‘O’. I had it stashed away, I mean. Dad also had me write down our number in case you need anything.” The girl shook her head, and smiled at her own babbling. Alyson found herself reluctantly moved at the girl’s effort to be casual about the present.

“Well, thank you,” Alyson said as she unwrapped the package. “A coffee maker. How sweet!” She tried not to glance at the Mr Coffee on the counter, but it didn’t matter.

“Call it a spare. You never know when the one you have’ll break or something...”

“Good thinking, thank you again! Let me get you girls some lemonade, and then I’ll get out of the way.” She had no intention of doing any such thing—she wanted to find out more—but Marianne made it easy.

“You should sit with us.”

Alyson caught the look of surprise on Leah’s face, mingled with the abject fear that her mother would humiliate her at any second. Alyson noticed her daughter’s bare feet sported unpainted nails, and then her eyes drifted up to the hemline of the skirt. She knew it had been a dream, but she still couldn’t shake it.

“Well, I think I’ll straighten up, and start dinner. You’re welcome to stay.” All the better to eavesdrop, while seeming to not want to be a pest.

“Maybe another time,” Marianne said. “I...I have other plans.”

She wasn’t sure if she believed her, but nodded. “It’s an open invitation.”

While she fiddled around the kitchen, the girls sat at the table and made small talk. She’d ascertained earlier that Charlotte—helpful Charlotte—had unpacked the pots and pans that she’d sent ahead, but now couldn’t seem to recall which cabinet they were in. She tried to casually determine their location, and pretend she didn’t feel like this wasn’t really her kitchen. She came to the cabinet next to the sink, pulled the handle...and it didn’t budge.

“You have to kick it,” Marianne said, getting up and walking over. She walked over to demonstrate, and it popped right open. There was also an orange smudge left behind. “Whoops, sorry about that!”

Alyson stared at the footprint, recalling her dream. “It’s okay, I’ll get it. Where is there orange dirt around here?”

Something wavered in the granite gaze. “Where isn’t there orange dirt around here? I mean, okay, not everywhere, but the soil is filled with iron-ore, minerals, rocks. Mrs. Krueger has...had a garden out back, and dad likes to garden, but anyone that starts from scratch could break a shovel with all the rocks.”

“Tell me...I know there’s a lake around here...is it in walking distance?” Alyson knew what she was thinking was crazy. What was she thinking? Now that she thought of it, she recalled the hills on the drive out had that color to them, and she’d probably incorporated it into her dream the night before. Still, she had to pursue it a little bit more.

“Sure, tons. You want to make sure that the roads have signs that say public access, but yeah, if you head north you can pretty much can pick about any road and reach water in five minutes.”

“Is there any place with a nice view of the lake in walking distance...some place where you can look over the lake?”

Marianne was no longer meeting her gaze, but was staring at her feet. There was a long pause before she answered, and Leah saw her daughter over Marianne’s shoulder starting to look embarrassed.

“Yes, there is an overlook. Kids go over there to party. Sometimes they shoot off firecrackers or hikers go there.” Marianne hesitated, and Alyson continued to look at her with a neutral expression...waiting. “If you want to go, you just head through the path in the woods behind your house, walk east down the little dirt road, and you’ll see a hilly path on your right, and about a quarter mile down—it’s there.” Marianne was now looking fixedly at a refrigerator magnet that seemed to advertise the local pizza place.

“Thanks, maybe I’ll take a walk there later,” Alyson said. “When was the last time you were there?”

“Jeez, mom,” Leah hissed under her breath. “What do you care?”

Alyson knew how she was coming across, she didn’t need Leah’s reaction to tell her that; still she waited for an answer.

“I don’t know...the last time. Not since...not for a while.” Silence. “Not since what happened to Laurette.” With the last line, she met Alyson’s gaze again, and seemed to be searching for a reaction. Aly wondered if she had given anything away, and it was her turn to look away. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a head of lettuce.

“Laurette?” she asked. She hoped she sounded calm. She began to wash the head in a sink.

“Laurette Krueger. She lived here. I grew up with her. Well, she was older, but we were friends. I thought… I think…we were friends.” Marianne trailed off on the word “friends,” her voice barely a whisper.

Alyson couldn’t help it—she turned around again.

“What happened?”

“She…she died. She fell, and she died.” Marianne began to cry. She looked so vulnerable all of a sudden, trying to stop her lower lip from trembling by biting it. Her words were so raw, so simple, they could have been the words of a young child.

“Mom, oh my God!” Leah walked over and put her hand on Marianne’s arm. “I’m so sorry.” Marianne shook off the touch, but not unkindly.

Alyson heard herself apologizing. “Marianne, I’m sorry—I didn’t know. It was...I don’t know why I couldn’t sense it was a bad topic.” She was a liar though: she had known, and had pursued it anyhow. Why?

“It’s okay,” Marianne said, still trying to compose herself while Alyson scrambled to get her a tissue. “They put up a fence up there since then. Everyone said they should have did that a long time ago, and that the city is lucky the Kruegers didn’t sue. They didn’t stick around long either.” The blonde girl seemed determined to force herself to sound detached. “I still don’t want to go there...not ever.”

“Of course not. I don’t blame you.” Alyson still didn’t know what to make of Marianne, but her grief seemed real.

“Hey,” said Leah, “want to see my room? We can go talk.”

“Another time. I really should be going.” Marianne smiled at both of them. “I’m sorry to act all baked. And hey, sorry I scared the crap out of you...and woke you up,” she added, addressing Leah.

“Nah, it was no big,” Leah said, blushing.

“I didn’t even realize you were asleep at first. You were talking,” she said, walking toward the door. “Before I woke you up, you said, ‘Do it now, mom. We can do it together!’ Weird, huh?” The last words were tossed over her shoulder as she walked through the door.

Leah blushed furiously as Alyson tried to keep her expression neutral. There was no way she was going to let her daughter know that they’d quite possibly shared the same dream.

Just then David entered through the door Marianne had just passed through. “How are my two best girls?” he asked.

Leah looked amazed, her blush fading. “Wow...Dad! You did not just say that!”

“What?”

“It implies my sister is a close third, “Alyson said, actually glad of the opportunity to change the topic.

David sighed. “It only looks that way if you’re determined to cast me as the villain.” He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a soda. “So are you two enjoying the beautiful house that the villain bought?”

“Yes, we really appreciate the dungeon and the keyhole that drips blood.”

David scowled a little, clearly unsure if he was being mocked. He strode over to the kitchen table and sat. “So what’s for dinner?”

Alyson looked over at the head of lettuce in the sink, contemplated the general weirdness of her life, walked over to the fridge, and pulled off the magnet. “Sir Luigi’s Pizza!”

Over dinner, David claimed he had been in town mingling with the locals. Alyson couldn’t help but wonder if he was telling the truth, but let it go. She was too busy worrying about Leah, who seemed a little withdrawn.

“Did you see that Marianne Zimmer was over? She left right before you got back.” Alyson felt phony trying to have a normal conversation with David, but she hoped the normalcy would help Leah. They expected a lot out of a seventeen year old—to put up with the tension and fights.

“Oh, right. I saw her and meant to ask, but was too busy dodging bullets.” Alyson chose to ignore the implication that she and Leah had ganged up on him. “That was nice of her. Do we like her?”

“I do,” Leah said. “Is that okay?”

Alyson asked, “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. The way you were staring at her, and asking all the weird questions...you practically asked her if she went up to the overlook to tweak.”

“To what?” asked David, reaching for another slice of pizza.

“Smoke meth, “Alyson explained. “Well, she does have enough dark circles under her eyes, but I promise that’s not why I asked.” Leah gave her a doubtful look. “Honestly.”

“Okay. Anyhow, I liked her. I’d like you both to trust me a little.”

“I trust you...a little,“ David said.

“Dad!” Clearly his joke was a flop.

Alyson said, “Leah, I do trust you. You’re very smart, and very responsible, but moms worry. Anyhow, I’m more inclined to think that Marianne just isn’t sleeping right, maybe because of Laurette.”

Leah met her gaze. “You mean the trauma of...what happened?”

Alyson hesitated. “Yes, that. I like her, too. So far.” Alyson wasn’t sure that she did like Marianne, but what she did know was that the girl knew more than she was saying. She had to believe that Marianne, whether or not she would confess to having the knowledge, might be able to protect Leah.

Maybe she was being silly. There was no indication that anyone was in danger. Just a few odd dreams, and perhaps a dream in common. If there was nothing odd going on, it could be her little secret that she even thought that way. She didn’t get to be a writer without an active imagination.

“Ahem...Laurette?” David wiped pizza sauce off his chin.

Leah answered. “Laurette was a girl, or a woman, who used to live here. She fell off a cliff or something. Marianne knew her.”

“Ah, right. Something about that was mentioned.”

“Thanks for telling me, David.”

He looked at Aly. “When? We hardly talk. It hadn’t come up. And, frankly, it has nothing to do with us, other than explaining why they left so much of their furniture behind...not wanting the memories.”

Alyson thought it perhaps had a lot to do with them. It wasn’t anything she could really express though. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

David seemed to take her apology as more than it was. He beamed. Alyson studied him, wondering if she loved him at all anymore. Shouldn’t she know by now? She’d realized long before that her marriage was a compromise, but feared being on her own. She liked the knowledge that not everything was her responsibility...that someone else was making note that the oil should be changed, and the smoke alarm batteries should be replaced.

She settled for fresh batteries in the smoke alarm, and less than stellar sex. She wondered if Charlotte liked fucking him. Hell, maybe it was a fair trade after all—he could fuck her sister, and she could have a man around the house, if only for a couple weekends a month. Maybe he could also provide fresh batteries in the vibrator.

The fact was that she was 36-years-old and still felt about the age of her daughter. She didn’t want her husband—not David in particular, just a husband in general—to be nailing her sister. She was too young to not be getting a regular pounding. She was attractive, she knew that; she wasn’t sure she wanted to be the sort of woman that screwed around on her husband—was, in fact, infuriated to be married to the sort of man who screwed around on his wife…but God help her if it wasn’t tempting

She considered crawling into bed with her husband, but found herself strangely unwilling to move out of the room she’d slept in the night before. Even more unwilling to give David hope. She couldn’t really say, “David, I just need use of your penis for a while...please don’t read more into this than my wanting to play cowgirl for a few. Just lie on your back and I’ll do the work.”

Instead she stood up and began to clear the table, and was amazed when David, for the first time in memory, got up to help.

Alyson considered staying up. Like Hamlet, she was wondering “what dreams may come.” If she were to understand this, what choice did she have though? Sleep was inevitable. Understanding might only come with sleep. The dreams didn’t scare her, they never had—the fear came with waking up.

Looking at her two coffee pots, she instead warmed some milk. She went upstairs and took a long bath with a generous dose of beads from the jar labeled “Aromatherapy: Sleep.” She sprayed her pillow with the mist from Bath and Body: “Scented with Lavender and Vanilla, and said to promote sleep.” She slipped into a white linen nightgown that felt good against her skin and, almost like a bride on her wedding night, slipped in between the covers, waiting.

Sleep eluded her. She wanted it—needed it—too much. It was like those 3-D paintings…you had to relax your eyes, and if you couldn’t.... She couldn’t help but think that if she could dream, she could begin to really understand.

The bedroom door opened and she saw David’s silhouette. He was bare-chested, wearing only pajama bottoms. He was leaner than she remembered, and she felt sadness that she hadn’t noticed before. Her voice was defensive. “What to you want?”

“Don’t be angry, dear. Let’s make up. At least let’s declare a truce for the night so we can get what we’ve both been wanting.”

She should have been annoyed; what a cocky thing for him to say under the circumstances. She felt herself begin to grow aroused. The soothing scents, the soft sheets and linen nightgown rubbing pleasantly against her skin, and the unfulfilled desires kindled by the dreams made her long to have human contact.

“Okay, but this is just a temporary truce...it changes nothing. Just for tonight.”

“Mmm, of course...just for tonight,” he said, slipping underneath the crisp sheets and reaching for her. His mouth found her mouth, as his hand reached for her breast. Her nipple hardened under his touch as his tongue invaded her mouth. She felt an urgency, which she put down to months of abstinence, rise in her. Yes, she wanted this.

“Baby, let me eat your pussy—you know how much you love that,” he whispered against her mouth. She did love that, but he had never seemed to be much of a fan. “I’ve missed tasting you.”

She wanted to call him a liar, but before she could protest he was between her thighs, her panties disappearing, and his tongue seeming to know exactly where she needed it most. And then it hit her: this was another dream—one that would get her no closer to the mystery, but for now it was more than okay.

Alyson wondered if David was in his room with his pajamas tented and having a hell of a wet dream. As she felt her pussy juices begin to coat his tongue, she realized the freedom from the responsibility that came with dreaming. This wasn’t real.

She moaned. Dream David was a superior lover. She wondered...

“Eat it,” she ordered. “It’s nice to know you’re good for something, you worthless piece of garbage.” He stopped.

“What did you say?” he rasped.

“I...look...I’m sorry, don’t stop!” So much for getting what she wanted in her dreams.

“You do not talk to me like that, Jaime! You do not talk to me like that ever.“

Jaime? She tried to ask who Jaime was—who he was dreaming of—but found herself unable to speak. Was she another lover? Dream or not, he would get the hell out of her bed! If only she could speak. He sat at the edge of the bed now, and she looked at him, expecting to see the face of her husband. Instead she saw Edward Zimmer. She gasped. It seemed to echo in the room. She tried to say something...anything...but the gasp seemed to be the only sound she was permitted.

He looked at her and she expected him to feel the same shock, register the same surprise…but there was none. “I’ve let you get away with too much,” he said. “Too fucking much.”

She heard herself speak, but the voice was not her own; the words a surprise: “What are you going to do about it, Eddie? What can you do about it? I left you, and that brat, and I’m never coming back.”

Alyson felt herself grow more aroused. As if someone had whispered a secret in her ear, she understood. The taunting smile she gave him was all her own. Fuel for the fire.

“Maybe,” he said, “but you’re here now.”

He grabbed her wrist in a grip that, outside of the dream world, would be punishing. He pulled her over his knee, exposing her bare flesh. She tensed in anticipation, pressing her thighs together.

He spanked her hard. Harder than could be mistaken for mere foreplay, and she found she needed it, wanted it...she might not be Jaime, but the spanking was hers. The big hand punishing her was her due. Her thighs clenched for a different reason—because it caused stimulation to her aroused pussy. She found herself opening to his touch, though...wanting that vulnerability more than the stimulation, and knowing that she might just come from the perfection of the moment.

She could feel the breeze from the window on her ass, bringing a moment of relief before the next blow. His hand began to dip between her legs every fifth slap, and then more frequently. She could feel his arousal pressing against her. She knew he wanted her to say “Enough!” but even if she’d regained the power of speech, it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

At last, his fingers lingered between her legs, slipping inside her. Fucking her. Her wetness allowed him smooth entry, so much wetness that she was sure she’d soaked his pajama bottoms as she gave herself up to his possession. Finally, he touched her clit and her body tensed and released in the most intense orgasm of her life.

Anger seemingly gone, he laid her back against the sheets, and kissed away the tears she hadn’t realized she had shed. “I’m sorry, but it’s for the best,” he whispered. She nodded, knowing it was true, opening to him.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” he asked.

“Soooo good, Eddie...so good....” She kept moaning those words over and over again as he filled her. She wasn’t quite sure when “Eddie” became “Daddy,” but what did it matter? She would be so good, and it felt so good, and he was Eddie, and Daddy, and master, and savior... and she couldn’t stop coming. And when he looked at her, really seeing her, she came hardest of all.

Alyson opened her eyes to see daylight streaming into the window. She realized that her legs were wide open and her pussy was exposed...and still wet. It occurred to her that if David or Leah had opened the door, they would have gotten quite a view. She was sure that she looked for all the world like a woman who was well-fucked.

“Mmmm, what a dream!” she muttered, her hand slipping between her thighs. She hadn’t felt that good since...forever! Some of it was already slipping away, but there was enough to hold on to, enough to bring her to another orgasm, thinking about her lover.

She knew it was supposedly just a dream, but it felt real, and knowing that Edward Zimmer possibly had a version of the same dream made her feel connected to him. There was no way that she could tell her heart or her body that the next-door neighbor hadn’t satisfied her the way a woman longed to be satisfied, and there was no way she could think of herself as anything other than his.

Alyson slipped out of bed and walked over to the window. She found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of her neighbor. Instead she saw Marianne in a sundress, watering the garden. She slipped into a robe, glanced in the mirror to make sure she looked all right, and went quietly down the stairs. She didn’t want to have to explain to Leah or David.

The grass was still damp with dew as she hurried over to the pretty blonde girl, all the while shooting glances at the Zimmer home and Edward’s workshop. The first thing she noticed was that Marianne looked better-rested. She looked at Alyson and gave a half-smile. Alyson was at a loss for words: not wanting to seem crazy, not wanting to make the girl cry again.

“Marianne, I got some mail yesterday…it was just junk mail, the last name was Zimmer, but I didn’t recognize the first name. May I ask your mother’s name?”

“My biological mother? Catherine.” She smiled wider when she saw Alyson’s disappointment. “But she goes by her middle name.”

“Jaime.” Alyson didn’t make it a question.

“Yes, you seem to be in possession of her junk mail.”

“What did you mean, biological mother?”

“She gave birth to me, but she also took off when I needed her most. Not maternal. You can toss out her mail...she isn’t coming back.”

“I lied about the mail...surprised?” There was something about this girl that made Alyson want to be blunt. Perhaps it was the sense that Marianne always knew more than she said...and liked to hint at that fact.

“Of course not, but lying isn’t very maternal either. You should be ashamed. So, did you dream about my mother?”

“Not really.”

“Mmmm, did you dream you were my mother? Laurette does the old bait-and-switch a lot. Would you like to be my mother?”

“I...So, is my house haunted?”

“No, but your dreams are. You didn’t answer...do you want to be my mother? Not Jaime, but Alyson?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“No, I’m sure you’re not—not yet. Do you smell coffee?”

Alyson did. “Stop distracting me. Is my daughter safe?”

“I suppose it depends on what you mean by that, but Laurette doesn’t aim to hurt people…well, not women, and not most men—she just likes to play with them, mold them into what she thinks is best. I don’t think she likes David a whole lot, but I’m pretty sure she likes Leah a lot...So do I. If you could have seen the dream I had about her last night...not that Laurette didn’t give me a nudge in the right direction, but your daughter and I had a whole lot of fun. I think I could really love her.”

“I...you really can’t...shouldn’t tell me about that.”

“But Alyson, people can’t help what they dream, especially around these parts. Tucker Langenkamp certainly can’t control his dreams—if he could he wouldn’t be going all bughouse. It’s okay, though—I won’t let him or his friends anywhere near Leah.”

Marianne looked toward Alyson’s house. “Oops, at least you have a spare.”

“I don’t understand you!” She felt an urge to shake her.

Granite gaze. “If you were my mom, if Leah were my sister, I would protect both of you...so would Daddy...so would she. Would you like to be my mother? Would you like to sleep with my dad? Or would you like me to just lick your pussy right here in the garden? Want to come all over my face? You can be a little rough with me—tough love, Mom.”

“Stop it—just stop it!”

Alyson heard David call her name, and she opened her eyes. She was in bed with her nightgown hiked up and her hand buried between her legs. Her husband seemed to be sitting in a way to block her from the view of Leah. She rearranged her clothing and sat up.

“This is getting really old!” she said.

“Breakfast in bed is old?” David asked, nodding at the tray on the nightstand.

“No.” She caught Leah’s expectant gaze. “It’s sweet, thank you. Both of you.”

“You might want to wait to thank Dear Papa,” Leah said, giggling. “He shattered the coffee pot into eight trillion pieces.”

“At least we have a spare,” Alyson said.