AUNT EDITH

By Gary Brandner

from Hot Blood: Tales of Provocative Horror anthology

Skip's arms seemed bound immovably to his sides, his legs tight together, and his body braced stiff and straight. He was being propelled toward the entrance of a cave — dark and moist and unknown inside. He tried to speak, to call out, but no sound came from his constricted chest. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Some three hours earlier Skip had been sitting beside a lithe blond girl in the front seat of his BMW. His arm was around the girl's shoulders with his hand resting lightly on the upper swelling of her young breast. He nodded toward the blue-trimmed white cottage set back from the street where they were parked.

"So this is where Aunt Edith lives," he said. "I was expecting something more like Dracula's castle."

The girl swept her long hair to one side with a graceful movement of her head. "I suppose you say that because of the stories they tell in town about my aunt."

"I have heard that she's not your typical sweet old lady," Skip said. "Nobody seems to know what goes on out here, but there are some mighty interesting theories. Some people say the old girl is practicing voodoo. Or raising up the dead. Or maybe she's really a vampire and sleeps in her coffin." He grinned. "My guess is that she's building a monster out of spare parts. What's she really up to, Audrey?"

The girl gave a nervous little laugh. "You really shouldn't make fun. Aunt Edith may be a little… different, but she's the only family I have. I lost both my parents when I was a little girl, and she's been awfully good to me."

"From what I hear, your father left Aunt Edith a nice chunk of money to be good to you. At least until you're twenty-one and get what's coming to you."

"You know a lot about me."

He gave her the grin again. "I work in the bank, remember? I just don't like to see your aunt piss away what's rightfully yours."

"Skip, that's unkind."

"Hey, I was only kidding," he said. "Don't go all serious on me."

She regarded him with huge blue eyes. "It isn't the money, is it? That's not what attracted you to me?"

"Sweetheart, you know it isn't. I love you and I want to marry you. Do I look like the kind of a creep who would just want your money?"

"No, but tell me again why you do want me."

Skip pulled her close against his chest and nuzzled the top of her blond head. "I love you because you're young and cute and fun and sexy. I would want to marry you if you didn't have a nickel. At least that way we'd be starting off even."

As he spoke Skip's hand slid down and cupped the girl's ripe breast. He felt the nipple come alive under his fingers and thrust against the soft sweater.

Audrey turned in the seat and pushed herself against his hand. "My darling, I believe you. But I do hope you'll get along with Aunt Edith. You know how important it is that she approves. She has control of everything until my twenty-first birthday, and that's almost two years away."

"Believe me," Skip said, working with his hand, "I do know how important it is. And don't worry — I get along fine with old ladies. They want to mother me." He slid the hand down across the gentle mound of Audrey's belly to where the Spandex pants molded themselves to her crotch.

Audrey twisted in the seat, riding on his hand. "You make me vibrate like a violin string," she whispered.

With a show of reluctance Skip pulled away. "We'll have a concert later. Now we'd better go on in and meet Auntie," he said. "She'll be wondering what we're doing out here."

For a long moment Audrey sat back against the seat, breathing deeply. "Lord!" she said. "One more minute with your hand down there and I wouldn't have cared if Aunt Edith and the whole darn town had come and stood around the car to watch us." She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them. "But you're right, darling. We'd better go in."

They walked together up a path of crushed seashells to the front door of the cottage. Behind a gauzy curtain a warm orange light glowed inside. Audrey opened the door with a key and they walked in.

The smell of sandalwood and some spice wrapped around the young couple as they entered. Skip gazed around at the cluttered living room. It looked like one of the so-called occult shops that were so popular these days. All around him were Zodiac symbols and other strange runes and signs he did not recognize. They were on wall plaques, plates, samplers, cushions, even sewn into the carpet. Colored bottles, ceramic figures, masks, strange pictures covered all available space. A stuffed monkey grinned at them from a trapeze.

"Do you really live with all this stuff?" he said. "I mean, this is weird."

"You get used to it," Audrey said with a laugh. "Anyway, I did. It's the only home I've known really."

Skip continued his survey of the room until his eye fell on a row of six blunt, erect figurines that marched across the oak mantel. He frowned at them, trying to call up the source of the sense of familiarity he felt, but it eluded him for the moment. Then he laughed aloud as recognition came.

"Hey, do you know what those things look like?" he said, pointing.

Audrey blushed and lowered her eyes. "Yes, I know, but don't blame me. Aunt Edith makes them."

"She makes them?"

"It's sort of a hobby. Aunt Edith is really quite talented. She makes up her own special plastic for them. Do you want to feel one?"

"No, thanks," Skip said quickly. "The old girl must be really spacy. No wonder they tell those wild stories about her in town."

"Hush, I think she's coming."

"Is that you, Audrey?"

The voice from the rear of the house was too rich and vibrant to fit the mental picture Skip had of elderly Aunt Edith. When the woman herself entered, his mouth dropped open.

Her presence seemed to fill the room. Tall and straight she stood, with hair of burnished copper flowing loose around her fine shoulders. Her cream-colored skin was without wrinkle or blemish. She wore a white and gold hostess gown. The top was cut to provide a matched pair of silken bags slung from her neck to carry the full, swaying breasts. An expanse of midriff was bared to reveal the delicious curve from rib cage to waist where the flare of her hips began.

Dimly, Skip became aware that Audrey was speaking.

"Aunt Edith, this is Skip Dial, the fellow I've told you about. Skip, my aunt, Miss Edith Calderon."

"How do you do, Mr. Dial." The woman made his name sound like music. A light smile touched her lips.

Skip had to swallow before he could get his voice working. "Hello," he said finally. "Please call me Skip."

"I'd like to." A mischievous spark danced deep in the woman's sea-green eyes. "Please come to the table. I've made some bouillabaisse. It's a specialty of mine."

"One of my favorites," Skip mumbled.

Aunt Edith stepped forward and took his hand to lead him into the dining alcove. He felt as though a jolt of electrical current had jumped from her fingers to his.

As they sat eating the savory fish stew Skip found it difficult to pay even polite attention to his fiancée, so powerful was the primitive aura of the aunt. Once when she rose from her seat and passed behind him on her way to the kitchen, a silken hip had brushed softly against his shoulder, making him flinch at the shock of physical pleasure.

During a lull in the table talk Skip said to the red-haired woman, "I was looking at the collection of things in your living room. Very, uh, interesting."

"Yes, aren't they. They mostly have to do with my avocation. I'm a witch, you know. I imagine you have heard stories to that effect."

"They do say some outlandish things about you." Skip put on a tolerant smile to let her know that he was much too sophisticated to listen to the town bumpkins.

"Some of the things are probably quite true," Aunt Edith said.

Audrey spoke up, surprising Skip, who had almost forgotten she was there. "Please, Aunt Edith, you're not going to start on your theories of witchcraft again?"

"Not if you don't want me to, dear," the woman said.

"Hey, I'd like to hear about it," Skip put in, turning up the wattage on his smile. He looked around with a mock puzzled frown. "I don't see a broomstick anywhere."

"Flying is not my specialty," Aunt Edith said in her voice of dark velvet.

"Witches specialize?"

"Oh, indeed. Of course, there are a few general practitioners around, but there is so much to learn in the occult field that they never get really good at anything."

Skip leaned forward, his eyes caressing the expanse of golden bosom that threatened to overflow the restraining silk. "What's your specialty, Aunt Edith?"

She smiled at him. "Transferring souls."

He waited for her to go on, and when she did not, said, "Do you mean you can lift a soul right out of someone's body and put it somewhere else?"

"That is basically it."

"Sounds like a hard way to go," Skip said. "I mean for the guy who gets his soul lifted."

"Skip, you can say that again." Aunt Edith turned to her niece. "Audrey, I'm afraid we haven't a thing in the house for an after-dinner drink. Would you mind awfully running down to the store for a bottle of Hennesey? You do drink cognac, Skip?"

"Well, sure. Look, I could go and pick it up. My car's right outside."

"No no no. The store is just a short walk from here. And it will give you and me a chance to get acquainted."

"I don't mind," Audrey said. "I like the fresh air after dinner. Aunt Edith will take good care of you."

Skip mumbled something as Audrey went out the door. Aunt Edith rose and floated over to where he was sitting.

"Shall we go into the living room?"

Skip felt light-headed at the implied intimacies in her voice. The woman's sandalwood scent filled his head. As he got up, his shoulder bumped the resilient undercurve of her breast. Aunt Edith made no attempt to move away from his touch.

When he got his tongue in place Skip said, "Uh, tell me about this soul transfer business that you do. Exactly how do you go about it?"

They walked together into the living room. Skip fancied he could feel the heat of the woman's body even when they did not touch.

"It's rather a complicated business," she said, "but I can give you a general idea. There are certain specific moments when a man's soul is outside the protection of his body. It is at this precise instant that it must be stolen. You may have heard of the ancient superstition that says one of these unprotected times is when a person sneezes. Today we still say 'God bless you' when someone sneezes to ward off any nearby evil spirit that would snatch away the poor fellow's soul."

Skip smiled knowingly, but Aunt Edith's expression remained serious.

"There are," she continued, "other circumstances in which a man's soul is even more vulnerable for a second or two."

"That's really interesting," Skip mumbled, though he had been paying scant attention to what the woman was saying. She was facing him now, standing close enough that he could almost feel her heartbeat.

Struggling to maintain some shred of control, Skip drew a deep breath and pulled his eyes away from her breasts. His gaze came to rest on the half dozen rodlike figurines on the mantel that had caught his attention earlier.

"Those are strange-looking trinkets," he said.

Aunt Edith watched him. "Do you like them?"

"Not very much, to tell the truth. Something about them makes me feel creepy. Audrey tells me you make them."

"Yes. I have one in my workshop that's not quite finished. Would you like to see it?"

"Thanks all the same, but I don't think—"

"I should tell you that I use my bedroom for a workshop."

"But on second thought I might learn something."

"You might, indeed."

Beckoning to him, Aunt Edith led the way back through the dining alcove to a room in the rear corner of the cottage. Skip followed hungrily, watching the fluid motion of her buttocks under the clinging white silk.

The bedroom was a carnival of reds, yellows, oranges in swirling designs that seemed to draw Skip into them. The bed wore a soft crimson quilt. Beyond it was a low, round table. On this stood a figurine like those on the mantel, but somehow without the vibrancy of the others.

"Do you like it?" the woman asked. The tips of her breasts moved against his chest.

What little remained of Skip's self-control deserted him. He wrapped his arms about the woman, caressing her flawless back with trembling hands. He pulled her close and crushed his mouth on hers, feeling the full lips open under his and the warm tongue slide into his mouth like a small living thing.

His fingers found the single clasp at the back of her gown. He undid it clumsily, then gasped as the entire garment whispered to the floor. The tall woman stepped back for a moment, letting him enjoy her naked flesh. With numb fingers Skip fumbled at his belt.

"Let me do that," she said. "You lie back on the bed and relax."

She turned him effortlessly and steered him to the bed where he reclined with his eyes fixed on the woman's golden body. With deft movements she undid his clothing and whisked it away.

She paused with her hand resting flat on his bare stomach. "I have to ask this, Skip. What about Audrey?"

Several seconds ticked by before Skip could organize his thoughts enough to answer. "Audrey's a child," he rasped finally. "You and I… we're different. We're worldly. We need each other."

"Aren't you afraid this will hurt her?"

Skip thought fast. Never in his life had he wanted anything as much as he wanted this woman. He said, "She doesn't have to find out. We can still be married. You can live with us. You and I can still have each other, and Audrey will never have to know. With her money we can do anything we want to."

Aunt Edith sighed. "That's what I wanted to hear you say."

Her head dipped and the coppery wings of her hair whispered down across his naked chest and stomach like the touch of a shadow. His hands clawed at the scarlet quilt as he was sucked into a new world of unbearable pleasure.

Abruptly the woman's mouth released him and she let her body flow to the thick orange carpet beside the bed. She rolled onto her back and held her arms out to Skip.

"Come to me, my lover."

With his every nerve screaming, Skip rolled off the bed and onto the firm, yielding flesh of the woman's body. She guided him expertly with one hand and stroked his back with the other. Skip gave himself up to the whirling vortex. He slid in and down, deeper and ever deeper.

At the instant of crashing climax he felt a violent wrench unlike anything in his experience. It was like being yanked inside out. He had a momentary sensation of disembodied movement, then all feeling dissolved into a murky blur.

When Audrey returned, her aunt stood waiting for her in the living room.

"I got the cognac," the girl said, holding up a brown paper bag. "Where's Skip?"

Aunt Edith shook her head and smiled sadly at her niece. "I'm sorry, dear."

"Not another one?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You gave him the test?"

"Like the others, he failed."

"Oh, Aunt Edith, won't I ever find a man who will want me for myself and will be true to me?" She put her arms around the older woman and lay a cheek against the cushion of her breast.

"Of course you will, dear." Aunt Edith stroked the girl's hair. "It's just a matter of meeting the right one." She smiled. "But in the meantime, remember that it's not a total loss."

"That's true." The girl sighed and stepped back from her aunt. She turned her eyes to the mantel where seven erect figures stood in a row at attention.

"Will you be wanting him tonight, Aunt Edith?"

"No, dear, you first. It's only fair."

Audrey crossed to the mantel and grasped the newest of the rigid figures. It was warm and pliable to her touch.

"Good night, Aunt Edith," she said.

"Good night, Audrey. Enjoy."

As his sensations gradually returned Skip realized he had no power of movement. After the first flash of panic he relaxed, stopped resisting, and let himself be thrust head first into the warm, wet orifice. The slippery walls closed around him, caressing him all over.

A hard way to go, maybe, he decided, but all things considered, not so bad.

Content

AUNT EDITH
By Gary Brandner