Dreams At The Weis House Pt 01

This is a very, very loose sequel to my earlier story 'Thieves of Passion" sharing a location and magical artifact. I don't think you'll be bothered if you read the two stories in any order. Expect more graphic sex scenes and significant rape and non-human encounters in this one. This is the first part of a three-part tale, and includes a sharp descent into madness that really kicks in in the third part.

—

Dreams at the Weis House, Part 1

I've copied my notes on finding the damned book twice now. The old pink notebook covered in cartoon bunnies and kitties I'd used for my my first research notes and diary wouldn't fit my current public persona, anyway. I've decided to separate the details of the incantations and spells I research into a separate book to allow me to focus, while keeping my personal journal in this old diary I've discovered in my new home. The log of spell formulae and research is important, but these notes tell me what has happened over the last four months and keep me sane.

—

I haven't kept a diary since I was a tween, but with the last week it seems like a good idea. Things have gotten weird, and promise to get weirder.

My name is Cindy Roberts. I am 19 and live with my parents in a suburb on the west side of Arkham. If I'm being honest with myself, I've always been kind of a loner. I'm not antisocial, but just prefer doing things alone. So that's why I competed in cross-country and have an otherwise 'uninteresting' college life experience resume. I've been called 'plain' but usually I just tend to go unnoticed in crowds. I've been called "the good girl" before, and I wonder if my problem is I'm a bit shy and adverse to taking risks. I'm a good student, but not great. My older brother David was the wild one. He got caught drinking underage by my dad and was doing all the household chores for months after that incident. It think that kept me out of trouble. I've had maybe one cup of warm beer at a party I got dragged to.

I was taking a gap year to decided what to do. I had plans to study chemistry, which I was good at, but wanted to make sure before wasting a ton of money. Arkham is a good university and due to my dad working there I know I can get in, but the time off made sense. It made me a bit more of a loner, though. My younger friends didn't seem to understand I had a real job that I needed to show up for, while the ones that had started at college thought I was a bit of a loser. Maybe they ere right, but I know I needed to sort some things out.

I had managed to score an internship job with the Sanitation and Sewer Commission of Arkham which paid better and was a lot more interesting than retail. Thirty hours a week, mostly spent taking calls from people who got super high water bills and such. I was putting some money in my college fund and it was good work experience. My boss, Mr. Jameson, was a great guy and encouraged my interest in chemistry.

FRIDAY

One Friday the week after Thanksgiving they asked me to join them on a service call. This was unusual: I'd done some site visits to the processing plants, but we rarely sent anyone to a house. Still, we were shorthanded due to the holiday, so I joined my boss, Mt. Jameson, in the department's old van.

Our van arrived at an old Victorian-style house and had to find a parking spot around the two police cars. We stood in the cold as the police explained that this was the residence of the Weis couple, a professor at Arkham and her husband. They'd disappeared a couple months ago, totally skipping out on her classes for the fall semester, but they'd had no legal reason to inspect the house until now when neighbors had called in a water leak coming from the place. Professor Weis had a good reputation and they'd rented the top floor rooms out to grad students. Very stable arrangement, so the disappearance was unexpected. We were there because neighbors reported water damage on a shared wall.

The police opened the front door somehow, and we all walked in. I had no idea what to expect: Dead bodies? A crime scene? The strangeness Arkham was infamous for?

It was less exciting than I expected: It looked like the house had been infested by a hoarder then left to rot. We had to push a pile of ignored mail from the front door to gain entry. The main floor was littered with trash and debris. The power was off, so our flashlights showed the glitter of dust kicked up by our passage.

The first floor had a small living room that looked to have several seats arranged around a relatively new-looking flat panel television. A master bedroom where it looks like the residents had gone crazy with candles and an attached bathroom that was reasonably clean. We shut off the valves to the toilet and sink to be careful. The kitchen looked to be the heart of the house: A large table ringed by chairs dominated the room. This is where the leak had occurred, and a slick film of ice stretched from the sink across the tiled floor. I handed tools to my boss as he cut water to the sink and fridge. We'd shut off the master line when we got to the basement and drain the pipes, but best to make the whole thing safe until the owners returned or someone took the place over. The cops mentioned that could be years, t he house sitting empty and decaying as the neighbors just watched.

That's where I saw the book: An old leather-bound book, it was situated along one counter far from the water damage. It had been wrapped in papers that had been rubber-banded to it's old leather covers. I poked at it, and the papers disintegrated. The cover had as strangely familiar symbol beneath what appeared to be an embossed shape of eye. A twisting thing, the shape was familiar to me but I couldn't place it.

I followed Mr. Jameson, my boss, as we continued upstairs. Someone had put a large dresser in the hall, which was open revealing a wide selection of old bras and panties. We checked the three bedrooms, finding nothing more worrisome than mold-covered plates and broken furniture. The bathroom here looked to be in good shape, but we still shut it off to be safe.

Mr. Jameson asked me to wait here while he checked the attic. I poked through the detritus and noticed the bras covered a wide range of sizes and styles. Maybe someone was a collector or was trying to resell them? I knew I could find a few for my own A cups but I wasn't really so desperate as to be scavenging undergarments from a deserted house. I opened a notebook in one bedroom and found notes talking about a curse. My assumption was one of the grad students had been a horror writer or something.

Mr. Jameson returned and we met with the officers back in the kitchen. He left me with the officers while he checked the basement, but we looked to have solved the leak issue. The 'why' of the house being abandoned wasn't our problem and even the police seemed uninterested beyond gossiping about the Weis. We talked a bit: I don't remember their names but they were surprised to see someone my age working with the SSCA. After a minute they got bored, and went to check something at their cars, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

That was when I was compelled to grab the book. I had carried an old backpack for tools (which contained a total of three wrenches, two screwdrivers, and a notepad) and pushed the sodden book into the bag. My panic rose as I knew my theft would be discovered, but I carried my prize away unscathed as Mr. Jameson joined me in the kitchen and we left, our job complete.

SATURDAY

I spent the morning studying the book. It was written in language I didn't understand. I didn't even know the alphabet used! Still, it seemed familiar. After a couple hours of skipping around and random internet searches I still new nothing about the strange book.

I had removed the wad of wet papers that had wrapped the book. They looked to be printed notes but had been rendered unreadable due to water and mold. I'd filled my bedroom's trash can and would need to take it down and empty it into the garage trash when my parents were out. I had tried to make some sense of the notes, but only found a name for the book I'd taken, "The Exegernomicon."

I tossed the strange book into my closet and went about a normal day. I did my laundry, helped my mom put up Christmas decorations, and forgot about the book.

That night I dreamed of the Weis house. I wandered through the trashed hallways and found myself looking closer at the bookshelves in the bedrooms. In the way of dreams I knew the titles of the books were somehow meaningful and important, but couldn't remember them. I wandered the house, finding myself standing on the water-damaged linoleum in the kitchen, seeing the book sitting at the center of the wood table.

Finally I walked into the living room. The TV was gone, replaced with a massive oil painting of my grandfather! He'd died years ago and I don't know how my brain would connect him to the old house, but here he was, dressed in the old striped pajamas I remember him wearing the last few years before he passed when he'd been bedridden.

Sunday started normally. I helped my dad string Christmas lights outside the house and put up the large wreath over the entryway. After lunch I was in my room and saw the book when a revelation hit me: I dug through an old jewelry box, a simple wood box I'd been given as a little girl. It wasn't full of jewelry so much as the normal garbage little kids collect. It held a few mismatched earrings and plastic toy jewelry, but in the back I found a bracelet my grandfather had given me when he was on his deathbed.

The bracelet appeared to be mostly silver, tarnished from age. It was pretty but old and not really a current style. It was a thin chain with a complex clasp I remember spending hours playing with when I was a little kid. A large oval piece of silver contained an intricate design soldered on in copper wire: A familiar design, one I now recognized from the book I'd stolen.

I grabbed the book from where I'd abandoned it in the closet and flipped to a random page. The words within were written in English now! I could read the thing as long as I held or wore the bracelet. If I dropped it I could no longer read the words as they swam in a headache-inducing way to form strange letters I couldn't recognize.

The language was florid and obscure, and it took my full concentration to decipher many paragraphs. The author has clearly wanted to make deciphering the text difficult. It appeared the book contained magic spells scattered among long writings on mythical creatures and strange places. I didn't believe in magic, but I had the strange nature of bracelet forcing me to reconsider. I studied the book and I found most of the spells to be a curious mix of recipes, chemistry, and computer programming. I was pretty good at the first two, and could fake it with the third if I had to.

I'd need to experiment.

The evening was spent studying the book but I forced myself to put the book down so I could sleep. I had identified a spell that seemed easy enough to cast and would have immediate effects. Most of what I needed could be obtained from the spice cabinet downstairs. If only I didn't need to work tomorrow I could try the spell sooner.

MONDAY

Work went slow, as I wanted to be home to experiment with my new toy. It did help me to gain one component I was searching for: The spell required the tiniest sacrifice, and the ants I found in the bathroom would be an excellent sacrifice.

I arrived before my parents and measured out the spices and herbs I'd need. It was a tiny amount, and I mixed them in a small bowl with the body of a fat worker ant and my own spit, as the spell suggested. My parents were due to arrive soon, so I'd have to complete the incantation in my room.

I hid the small bowl, as it would be hard to explain, and made small talk as my father arrived home, followed by my mother. I made an excuse, and found myself cross-legged on my bed, chanting words while focusing on the foul-smelling small bowl in front of me.

I felt something: I felt a sort of energy and warmth coming from the bowl as I chanted. It grew, then exploded in a puff of purple smoke.

I knew what to expect: The spell had promised an immediate orgasm for anyone in the vicinity. What I I didn't expect was the intensity. The entire process of mixing the components of the spell had caused a slight sense of arousal in me which I'd brushed off as merely the illicit thrill of doing something weird and dirty with my parents just downstairs. As the spell completed I felt my arousal immediately jump to a peak I'd never felt before, then an immediate orgasm that caused me to cry out.

I was worried my parents had heard my scream of sudden pleasure, but had no need to worry as they were in their recliners and had their own sudden unexplained arousal and instant orgasms to deal with. I think they both ended up rushing to their bedroom to clean up, and actually made out a bit. Good for them.

That was it. I was a wizard! Or witch, perhaps. I don't know the difference. Witch sounded better. If only I could share this with someone: I had no close friends and most would think I was crazy.

I dreamed again that night. It resembled the dreams I'd had over the summer, the ones where I had a feeling of dread as I walked through my old high school. In those dreams I somehow knew I was late for some class I needed to graduate and in deep trouble. In this dream, I was in the Weis house and someone was watching me. At times I thought it was some sort of creepy stalker, at others I thought it was a new lover I was excited to meet.

WEDNESDAY

After a normal day of work and more studying in the evening I had the afternoon off, so time to plan some more elaborate spellcasting. I had two goals:

One 'big' spell, it's instructions marked with a post-it note sandwiched between the pages of the ancient book, promised me the experience of a sexier body I'd always craved. My mother had been blessed with C cups I thought were still pretty nice for a woman in her forties, although she'd mentioned that they'd grown in when nursing my brother and me and never left. Still, even the old high school pictures made her look better endowed than me. Even grandma Roberts had carried around a set of boobies that drew attention, although she was a hefty woman overall. I wanted to be like my friend Tricia with her huge tits that drew attention from everyone.

The other was more advanced versions of the instant orgasm spell I'd cast the night before. I'd read more, and discovered that with care I could modify the spell so it didn't bring me to my knees with a screaming climax every time. Even better, I could prepare small infusions with the spell cast upon them so I could have it available for instant use later. I'd found a charm bracelet my mom had given me four years before that would be perfect to hold tiny glass baubles containing the spells. The 'instant orgasm' could have uses once I'd made some tweaks as the book suggested. If I was attacked, for example, I could activate one charm and leave my attacker a sticky mess on the ground, unable to chase me.

One problem was all this needed space, and there was no way to hide it at home. A solution presented itself: The Weis house was empty and I was pretty sure I could sneak in via the back door. I know I could find someplace in the old house to set up the 'lab' I needed.

I found myself slipping the lock on the back door with a screwdriver while carrying a stuffed backpack and a plastic grocery bag. Cautiously I used a flashlight to navigate the old abandoned house. I settled into to one of the upstairs bedrooms, replacing a broken chair with one from another room and tossing old textbooks into a pile in the hallway.

I set up an assembly line for the orgasm charms, allowing the mix to ferment as the spell suggested. I drank a bottle of water to get enough spit for the four I created, and felt a twinge of guilt as I smashed four ants for tiny bowls.

On to the big spell: This was more complex and required many more steps. Something I did not expect is how useful eggs would be in magic. Symbols of life and potential, I guess. I had to carefully empty an egg, leaving the shell intact. The egg then became the focus for the spell. I mixed a foul potion which required more spices and a base of an acidic but drinkable liquid. A handwritten note adjacent to the spell recommended orange juice, so that's what I used. I found myself masturbating in the deserted house, as a later phase of the spell required a "woman's fluids" and the notes certainly suggested they meant lubrication.

I had not expected to spend my gap year sitting in a wrecked house with my jeans around my ankles pulling my panties aside to stick a couple fingers in and get myself all worked up. Big plus for being a woman for this spell, though. A man casting it would need to find a a source of the "women's fluids" and might have trouble.

It was mid afternoon when I found myself carefully rolling the egg shell in the potion. If I messed up and broke the shell at this stage, I'd need to start over again. Finally I felt it was done and pulled the shell free from the orange slime I'd created. The shell seemed to dry quickly, absorbing the goo and taking on a pink tone.

It needed to rest a bit, so I placed the potion in a small plastic bottle I'd bought from the dollar store while the egg sat on an egg-holder I'd found for fifty cents at the thrift shop.

FRIDAY

Bottoms up: I drank the potion, wondering if I'd made a huge mistake as I felt it burn a bit going down.

My parents had left town to visit my aunt, so I had time to complete this experiment. I hadn't even gone home after work, so I sat in the old house in my work slacks and polo shirt.

I felt a heat throughout my body as the potion did it's work. I shivered as if cold and felt my body stretching and growing. I brought my hands up and could feel by boobs pushing out. I struggled to pull my shirt off, followed by the bralette beneath. I felt something I had never felt before: I actually felt my tits sitting on my hands, gravity pulling them down.

I ran to the bathroom to look at my new form: My face looked similar, but no-one would mistake my glorious breasts for my old tiny mosquito bites. I seemed a bit taller, and my waist looked narrower. Perhaps wider hips and a bit more rounding to my butt. I thought I looked like liquid sex.

I'd planned for this as I'd dreamed about it. I struggled back into my work slacks and pulled a t-shirt over my head, enjoying the feel as it stretched over my new boobs. I followed this with a sweatshirt that barely covered my new form, and left the house to go shopping after a brief glance at the egg on it's little stand. The spell would last until the egg cracked either by someone messing with it or eventually rot taking hold. I went to Wal-mart, and quickly bought new clothes to better fit my new form: New panties to fit my wider, more sensual hips. A new bra that I hoped would contain the girls. A short skirt and top that I knew would flatter my new figure. I had considered trying on the old bras at the house, but really didn't want the dirty fabric touching my new wonderful breasts. Shoes were comfortable but pretty ones from my own stash as my feet were the same size at least. I normally work tennis shoes, but short heels seemed to fit the outfit better. I'd also grabbed a tiny purse as well as a cheap pre-paid cell phone. I changed in my car, hiding my old clothes and my phone under the seat. Some quick makeup, maybe a tad on the heavy side, and I was ready for a night out.

Next stop was "The Icehouse" a strip club I had researched that had an amateur night tonight. I walked in proudly: My new body had made me much more bold. I signed up for an amateur night contest using a fake ID that I'd gotten from a friend a year before but been too chicken to use until tonight. It wouldn't hold up to close inspection, but I didn't think the strip club would really care. The photo looked like me, even if it gave my name as Carol Braun and claimed I was 24.