WITCH HUNT, BURNED AT THE STAKE 2

Feature Writer: SusanJillParker

Feature Title: WITCH HUNT, BURNED AT THE STAKE 2

Published: 17.10.2013

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: Friday, 9/13/13 not a typical day for attorney Robert Hall

 

Witch Hunt, Burned at the Stake 2

Friday, September 13, 2013 was not like any other day for Attorney Robert Hall.

Not his typical, long day, Attorney Robert Hall left the Salem, Massachusetts, district courthouse at 11am in the morning for home. Unable to focus, rather than make a mistake, he left the courthouse. Always suspicious but not usually superstitious being that he’s above all of that as an officer of the court, he was usually fearless from harm when protected by the laws of the Commonwealth Salem Massachusetts. Nonetheless uneasy by the curse on the the date of, Friday, September 13, 2013 looming and now here, it was an early day for him.

Although preposterous, whispered down from generation to generation, because of the curse handed down to him and his family from the accused, convicted, and burned at the stake witch, Flora Radisson, he decided not to push his luck by taking unnecessary chances with his life. Unable to concentrate on his work anyway, instead of staying in court the whole day, he left the courthouse as if he was being stalked by an assassin. Not wanting to be out and about while so vulnerably exposed, he gave in to his superstition that there may be something more to the curse than he gave it credit.

Their way of keeping their family safe from the world of the occult, the supernatural, and all things unknown about witches, witchcraft, and wizardry, not since his great ancestor, Judge Robert Hall, for fear that the curse will happen, has anyone dared name their son Robert. Only, Robert’s mother not believing in witches and curses, wanted nothing more than to name her son Robert to celebrate and to honor his family. Moreover, she hoped that by naming her son Robert would be enough to break the spell and finally put the curse to rest after no witchcraft befell her son on that fateful day, today, Friday, September 13, 2013. So far so good, he was still alive and well. If this was a test against the witch Flora Radisson, then her curse with the rumored witch was nothing more than hokum.

Nonetheless, being that today was the day of the curse, taking precautions to not laugh in the face of witches, witchcraft, spells, and curses, Robert worked in Salem Massachusetts after all, the mecca of the occult, the supernatural, and all things witchy. After having seen some strange and unexplainable sights on the streets of Salem, especially during Halloween, and especially during a full moon, and even more so during a blue, full moon, he knew better not to believe in witches and in witchcraft. In the way that those believe in Voodoo in Louisiana, he believed that all things were possible, even witches, especially witches. Giving in to the superstition by locking himself inside his house until this day was behind him, he was going home to watch a movie before watching the Red Sox beat the stuffing out of the Yankees and A-Rod.

“Yankees suck,” he mumbled while driving home laughing.

Chanting what Red Sox fans yelled out during the game whenever they played the Yankees, as if he was meditating, the chanting helped him to relax. Instead of being preoccupied with witches and curses, by refusing to allow his overactive imagination to be consumed by superstitions, he was going home to watch some TV, have a drink, and relax. Only, in the way that he remembered the Yankees suck chant, he couldn’t remove the witches’ words and the witches’ curse from his mind. Always there in his sub-consciousness, the recollection of her curse was even more prevalent being that today was that fateful day of the curse coming to fruition.

“Three, two, one,” he remembered the curse as if it was a sad song that his mother sang to him as a baby. Only, not giving credence to it by verbalizing it, his mother never discussed the curse. “Three, two, one,” having never heard the curse from the lips of his mother, he heard about the curse from his relatives and friends who feared for his safety and for his life because his mother dared name him Robert.

“Three, two, one. Three, two, one. I curse you. I curse you. I curse you. In three hundred and twenty-one years, I’ll whisper my words in his ear. For me, your kin will fall. His name is Robert Hall.” As if he was the one so chosen and so cursed now, and indeed he was with his mother naming him Robert, Robert Hall, he couldn’t remove those words from his mind.

Aside from some of the female judges and prosecutors, he’s never met a real, live witch. There are those in Salem who profess and proclaim that they are witches but when asked to prove their claim of being a witch, their evidence falls short. Nonetheless, without doubt, he didn’t have to believe in witches to know that black magic, spells, potions, and curses when practiced by an astutely skilled professional is as real as a medically licensed doctor practicing his learned profession of medicine. Moreover, with many residents walking around in costume throughout the year, every day is Halloween in Salem. Every day there’s someone dressing up in costume and if there was a witch coming after him and walking up behind him to seek her revenge, he’d never know if she was a real witch or just one of the residents of Salem playing endless, year long, Halloween trick or treat games.

“So be it. So be it all. It is what it is,” he said to out loud for only himself to hear while getting in his car, buckling his seat belt, locking his door, and driving home. There was nothing that he could do other than to go home and hide beneath his covers until this dastardly day was over.

Nonsense. It was all just utter nonsense. There are no such things as witches, witchcraft, and curses. Spoken about and whispered about for three hundred and twenty-one years, who knew if there was even such a curse or such a witch. Even if there was such a witch who made such a curse, the chances of the witches’ words surviving intact for more than three hundred years was preposterous.

He’s disproven that rumor and gossip fallacy when in law school. With one person whispering a message to the next person in class, by the time the message made it around the room, it was totally different and not nearly the same. He could only imagine what the original curse was more than three hundred years ago after traveling from so many mouths to so many ears. Yet, not dismissing the evidence, just in case there was some shred of coincidental truth to the curse, not wanting to give the finger to the witch by sticking out his tongue to fate and to his destiny, he didn’t want to be out in public where he was so visually vulnerable. A good plan, he was going home where he’d be safe from harm.

Furthermore, even though he wasn’t pro guns but, in his line of work, a necessary evil, owning a gun was a much needed necessity, and he’d feel safer at home where he had a loaded handgun within easy reach. With his imagination going wild, he wondered if there was such a thing as witches and if there were witches, he wondered if he required a special bullet, a silver bullet, to kill a witch in the way that he needed a silver bullet to kill a werewolf. Or was a silver bullet needed to kill a vampire. No, a silver bullet was for werewolves and a stake through the heart was for vampires.

Other than fire and being burned at the stake, he wondered what killed a witch. Maybe instead of fire, in the way that the wicked Witch of the East was killed by water in the Wizard of Oz, perhaps he should keep a bucket of water by his front door. Seemingly ridiculous to think that there were witches, werewolves, and vampires, yet now with his brain filled with witches, werewolves, and vampires, he had the jitters. As soon as he went home, he was going to fill up a bucket full of water, just in case. Suspicious of everything and of everyone, all that it would take to make him feel at ease is a beautiful woman.

xxxxx

On his way home to Rockport, an artist community on the Atlantic Ocean, twenty miles north of Salem and sixty miles northeast of Boston, he passed by a car, a shiny, satin black, Lamborghini Diablo with a fire engine red interior parked in a cutout and out of harm’s way by the side of the road.

“Oh wow! Look at thing. I wondered who owns that car and why they’d leave it abandoned and so precariously parked by the side of the road,” he said talking out loud to himself.

Being that it was unusual to see such a fine super car parked anywhere, even in this affluent, small town, he took note of the car. Except for the thousands of tourists who flocked here every summer, everyone knew everyone around here and no one that he knows has a car like that. With him being a car buff and having read every car magazine since the day he could read, how could he not notice and take note of such a fine motor vehicle? A dream car for anyone who appreciated fine automobiles, longer, sleeker, and lower than he thought it’d be, the first Lamborghini Diablo he’s ever seen up close, the car was spectacular.

“Damn, I’d give my right nut just to drive that thing around the block,” he said to himself while slowly driving by it.

Not even having to use his skills as a lawyer to match the driver with her car, a little way up from the car was a tall, shapely redhead in a form fitting, blue dress hobbling up the narrow street with a broken heel. In the way her car was, she was a rare sight to behold. Giving passing drivers the occasional finger, every driver who passed her by stared at her, beeped their horns, and/or made lewd and lascivious sexual comments out their open windows. With a long slit in the back of her dress, she was showing a lot of shapely thigh with every limping step she took. Not that her breasts were small by any stretch of the imagination, but if her breasts were any bigger, with her bright, red hair, from the waist up, she’d look like Joan Harris from Mad Men as played by super busty Christine Hendricks. From the waist down, she looked like Beyoncé.

With her shapely ass keeping beat to the rhythm, up and down and up and down, she hobbled as she walked along the narrow road that barely fit two cars side by side. After seeing the abandoned Diablo, Spanish for Devil, and with her rhythmically walking as if dancing a samba or a rumba, her limping gave her hips a musical beat in his head. With her dressed in that oh so tight, blue dress, he couldn’t help but think of Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels’ song, Devil with the Blue Dress.

“…Wearin’ her wig hat and shades to match, she’s got high-heel shoes and an alligator hat. Wearin’ her pearls and her diamond rings, she’s got bracelets on her fingers, now, and everything. Devil with the blue dress on, Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress…”

As if her blue dress was a wavy flag beckoning him forward instead of warning him to stay away, not perceiving the deadly danger of her, he was more focused on the round, shapely impression her ass made in her tight, blue dress while he sang the song to himself.

“Devil with the blue dress on, Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress…”

When she walked up and down and up and down with her broken heel, he imagined her going up and down and up and down while sitting on his cock. What better way to rid himself of a curse than to spend some quiet, quality, private time with a beautiful, naked, redheaded woman? An abandoned Lamborghini and now a beautiful redhead with a broken heel, maybe this was his fated destiny to meet his Miss Right.

Not even having the time for a girlfriend, now with his career comfortably planned, he had no financial worries. Thinking about having a couple of kids with someone, he was at the age that he’d like to have a woman in his life. Never did he consider that this was the unraveling of the curse that was put upon his family and upon his head three hundred and twenty-one years ago. Even though the curse was so prevalent in his mind, enough for him to leave work early, more focused on this woman and on her supercar, why would he even think of the curse now? Besides, even though she was rumored to be beautiful, no doubt it was an ugly, old, woman who was erroneously perceived as a witch and who cursed his family and not some beautiful redhead with a Lamborghini Diablo.

Not in the habit of giving a ride to a stranger, being that this stranger had such a shapely behind and drove a Lamborghini, he didn’t think he’d be in any danger in giving her a lift to the service station up the road. If anything, she may be the one in danger with him making sexual advances and hopefully taking sexual advantage of her. Maybe she’d be so grateful for a ride that she’d have sex with him right there in his car. It had been a while since he’s had sex and with her syncopated walk and with her ass cheeks playing a slow samba, she was making him horny.

xxxxx

“Hello,” he said out his car window when pulling up beside her. “I can give you a lift to a gas station.” With the roads so narrow, holding up traffic behind him, there was no room for anyone to go around him. “There’s a mechanic just up the road,” he said with a smile. “I know him. He’s a good mechanic. He works on my car. I can get your right in without you having to wait, especially when they see your car. That is your Lamborghini, isn’t it?”

She turned to look where he was looking before refocusing her attention back to him. When she looked at him and shot him back a blank stare, he wondered if she understood English. Mesmerized by her piercing big, blue eyes, and with her definitely looking more Irish than foreign with all of that reddish orange, beautiful hair and sexy freckles, he assumed she understood English. Nonetheless, he was about to try his rusty Spanish or Italian, perhaps even French, on her when she spoke finally.

“Are you done? Are you quite finished?”

“Pardon? Done with what? Finished with what?”

Now, as if he was the one who didn’t understand English, he was the one looking at her with a blank stare.

“Done talking,” she said opening and closing her hand that she held by her mouth while rocking her head back and forth and mocking him as if she was a puppet.

Filled with fire, she had attitude and he liked that about that. Her personality seemed as fiery as her hair. A real handful, she was one tough broad.

“Sorry, I was only trying to help,” he said unfortunately watching his vision of having sex with this beauty disappear as fast as the hardness of his cock softened.

“A mechanic? Seriously?” She looked at him as if he was drunk and, rolling her eyes, she made a face of boredom by his stupidity. “A grease monkey?” Copping an attitude again, she placed a hand to her shapely hip and looked at him as if he was crazy before saying what she thought. “Are you crazy? Is there something mentally wrong with you? Do you need to have your head examined?”

Even though she was insulting him on the outside, he was laughing on the inside. Above them all in intelligence, morals, and righteousness, usually, this is how he talks to the criminals that he defends and here she was talking to him with such animosity and disrespect. Wow! He loved getting a dose of his own medicine.

“Yeah, well, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you by suggesting a mechanic. Those of us who can’t afford a super car routinely use one,” he said with half a laugh. “I was only trying to help. I just figured it may be something simple, maybe something as simple as you running out of gas. Maybe if they put your car up on the lift—”

She looked back at her car in the distance as if looking at an old friend before returning her venom back to him.

“That’s a two hundred fifty thousand dollar Lamborghini Diablo,” she said with a self-important attitude that flashed through her brilliant, blue eyes. “It’s a classic. They don’t make cars like that anymore. You can’t buy one anymore unless you buy one that’s been used and abused. I can’t have just anyone work on my car,” she said staring at him as if her eyes were twin lasers burning a hole in his head. “And do you think that I’d be such a dimwitted woman that I couldn’t read a gas gauge? I’m not a dumb blonde and this isn’t blonde hair, in case you’re color blind too, my hair is red,” she said pulling out a clump of her hair with her fingers.

“Sorry, my apologies, I didn’t mean to—”

“Besides, I’ve already phoned the Lamborghini dealership in Boston. They’ll be here soon to transport it,” she said with a forced, plastic smile while seemingly more calm. “In the meantime, I locked it up, alarmed it, and will just have to wait for them to arrive.” She looked at him looking at her. “I’m sorry,” she said shooting him her phony plastic smile again. “I’m having a bad day,” she said this time giving him a warmer smile.

Beautiful before, she was even more beautiful when she smiled.

“Or for someone to steal it,” he said with a justifiable laugh.

“Pardon?”

“I just said that I hope the car will still be there and that no one will steal it,” he said inserting his foot deeper in his mouth by continuing to talk to her.

Yet, he couldn’t resist not talking to her. Giving him a reason to stare at her longer, she was just so damn beautiful and sexy. Then there was her attitude as fiery as her red hair. John Ford could have used her to inspire Maureen O’Hara in the Quiet Man with John Wayne.

With her fiery spirit and no nonsense attitude, now he knew why some men went to prison for hitting a woman. God, she was such a bitch but it was easy to forgive someone who looked so beautiful and who had such a perfect body for being so God damn bitchy. As if she was the sun peering through a magnifying glass before setting him on fire, which he was already inflamed but in a much different way, she smiled while remaining quiet to give him her heated stare.

“Steal my car?” She looked at him as if he was a car thief. “Trust me,” she said souring her face while giving him the stone, cold look of a professional cage fighter making a veiled threat. “No one will dare steal my car.”

“Why not? You said it yourself that it’s a classic Lamborghini,” he said with an affable shrug hoping to engage her in conversation longer. “You said yourself that it was a $250,000 car and was irreplaceable. How can you be so sure that no one will steal your car?”

Baiting her to delay her departure, he questioned her as if she was a witness on the stand while the cars that lined up behind him beeped their horns. He waved them around as soon as the oncoming lane was clear.

“Asshole,” said someone.

“Road hog,” said another.

“Inconsiderate,” said someone else.

“Believe me,” she said batting her long eyelashes at him while smiling a smile of surrender. “My automobile is safe,” she said showing some pearly, white teeth. “I left my cat, Satan, behind to guard the car,” she said now leaning in his open passenger side car window.

He wished he was standing behind her to ogle her perfect ass. Wondering if it was deliberate, when leaning in his car window, she was showing him a long line of deep cleavage. Her cleavage was so long and so deep that he wondered if he moved closer to her and spoke, if there’d be an echo.

“Satan won’t allow anyone to touch my car.”

Being that it was Friday, September 13, 2013, with her red hair, a black cat named Satan, and driving a car that the Devil himself or herself would drive, even being the clever attorney that he was, Robert Hall failed to make the obvious cursed connection. Too mesmerized with her big, blue eyes twinkling as if brilliant gemstones, he stared at her beautiful face and sexy body as if he was hypnotized. A sight to behold, a real sexy temptress, having never seen another woman who looked like her before, she was really something to see, to covert, and to want. Even with all the beautiful secretaries who worked for his law firm, never has he seen a woman who looked like her. With her full lips painted as red as her car’s interior and her orange hair as red and coiffed as wild as flickering flames, she was drop dead gorgeous.

“Your cat? Satan?” As if just awakening from a dream, Robert turned to see a cat, as shiny black as her car, resting on the car’s hood as if it was a feline hood ornament that was left behind to guard the Devil’s car, a shiny, black, sinister Diablo. “Is that a killer cat?” He laughed but she didn’t.

“He’s been known to kill some things on command,” she said with a forced smile while looking at her manicure.

“Where were you going then?”

“Lunch. I’m hungry,” she said with impatience while looking at her watch, a gold Rolex. She flashed a giant Ruby ring on her ring finger and a huge Amethyst dangling around her neck. “I was hoping there was a restaurant up the road. I figure being that we’re about 60 miles northeast of Boston and with the traffic at this hour, the transport driver won’t arrive for a couple of hours.”

“Transport driver? What are you English?” He let out a little laugh. “Don’t you mean tow truck driver?”

“Tow truck? Don’t be an idiot. They wouldn’t dare,” she laughed. “Have you ever seen a one-of-a-kind Lamborghini on the end of a tow truck hook?”

“No, I don’t think I have but I don’t see very many Lamborghinis either,” he said.

“Suffice to say, too valuable of a car, they don’t tow Lamborghinis for fear that they may damage the car. Instead, they transport them in a closed trailer at the hands of a trained, car care specialist,” she said.

“What about your cat?” He turned to look at her cat again. “Aren’t you worried about losing him?”

“Losing him? Hell no. Satan can take care of himself and he always knows where to find me,” she said.

As if he didn’t hear her tell him her cat’s name already and as if he was awakening from being hypnotized or cast under her spell,” he looked back at her cat again but the cat was gone.

“Satan? You named your black cat Satan?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” She shrugged him a look with a plastic smile.

“No,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Most people name their cars Missy, Prissy, Tiger, or Tawny,” he said laughing.

“In the case of my cat, I prefer calling a spade a spade. He’s more akin to the Devil than she is to a cat named Missy, Prissy, Tiger, or Tawny,” she cackled. “In the way that some bad men arm themselves with guns and Pit bulls, I arm myself with my cat. My loyal protector, given to me by my great, great, great grandmother, he’s my bodyguard,” she said with a laugh.

Not knowing how to retort to her cat serving as her bodyguard, wondering how old her cat was if given to her by her great, great, great grandmother, he ignored her comment.

“There’s a place a mile up the road, I can drive you there,” he said. “We can have a cup of coffee while waiting for the tow truck, sorry, the transport to arrive.”

“Coffee? I don’t drink coffee. Coffee blocks my spells,” she said.

“We can have lunch then, my treat, while waiting for the tow truck, sorry, the transport to arrive,” he said too enamored with her to make note of her saying that she didn’t drink coffee because they blocked her spells.

“Okay,” she said getting in his car, a new Mustang GT in ‘Grab her’ blue metallic.

As soon as she climbed in his car, her skirt moved higher than mid-thigh and stopped just short of her pussy. He wondered if she was wearing panties. Surely someone as sexy as she was didn’t bother with panties. He wished he was sitting on the passenger side floor while staring up in between her legs at her.

The color of the car’s interior perfectly matched her blue dress. Ordinarily she would have disappeared in his car seat but, with her complimenting red hair and big tits, she was too beautiful to be overshadowed by the matching color of a mere car seat. So enchanted with the beautiful woman, Robert no longer thought about the curse, about witches, or about witchcraft. His mind was more focused on inviting her to his house, seducing her, and having sex with her. Already beginning to get an erection, it had been a while since he’s had sex and, for some strange reason, she brought out the animal in him.

“Are you married?”

“No,” he said smiling over at her and so happy that he never married.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” he said again glad that he broke up with his girlfriend two years ago?

Has it been two years? Wow! Time flies when single.

“Are you gay?”

“Gay? No, I’m not gay, not that there’s anything wrong with being gay,” he said looking at her with a nervous laugh.

“Then why is someone who looks like you not attached to a woman,” she said. “Where I come from, you’d never would have made it past your 18th birthday without a woman taking you to her bed and keeping you there.”

“Where do you come from?”

“Right here,” she said. “Salem. My family has lived here for generations and generations. They were one of the first families on the boat from England to Massachusetts, just a colony back then,” she said.

“Really,” he said. “One of the first pilgrims.”

“England banished my family to America because my ancestors practiced witchcraft and sorcery,” she said with a little smile.

“I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around,” he said more consumed by her beauty than listening to what she just said about her family being banished from England for practicing witchcraft and sorcery. “Surely, I would have noticed your car.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

“Sorry. What question was that?”

“Why is someone who looks like you not attached to a woman?” She looked at him as if she was purring.

“I’ve had lots women in my past before but I’ve been more focused on my law career,” he said looking at her while wondering about the same questions that she asked him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you married?”

“No,” she said making a sour face.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” she said making another sour face before giving him her plastic smile again.

“Forgive me for asking such a personal question but are you lesbian?”

She looked at him as if she was wearing her sexiest nightgown and was just coming to bed.

“Lesbian? Interesting,” she said. “I suppose that I could be persuaded to be lesbian for the right man to watch me with the right woman. I do have a particular attraction for tall blondes with big tits,” she said cackling again.

“How is it that someone who looks like you is not attached to man?” He asked looking at her surprised that she was available.

“Much like you focused on your career, I was attached to a promise that I made a long time ago,” she said looking at him in the way he was looking at her with unbridled lust and passion.

“A promise?”

“A curse, actually,” she said staring at her manicure.

“A curse?” With the obvious hitting him in the head like a thunderbolt, it was then and only then that he looked at her with fright.

“Suddenly,” she said staring at him with her big, blue eyes as if he was a seven course meal and she was starving. “I no longer care about the promise and the curse that I made against you. Suddenly, I’m not hungry for food,” she said putting a manicured finger to her lip. “Let’s go to your place for sex,” she said.

THE END OF CHAPTER TWO