Sarah Of Salem The Dark Son

This is chapter 5 of the Sarah of Salem Series. If you haven't yet read the others, do it before reading this chapter. It'll make more sense. (Hopefully). The story has also bounced around a bit, with accusations of being in the wrong category.

The first three, Sarah of Salem, SoS - Sarah's story, and SoS - The Tribunal, are in Loving Wives. Chapter 4, SoS - The Dark Valentine, is in Sci-Fi & Fantasy, which I realized by the low readership, was the wrong category. I'm going to put this one in Erotic Horror, although I don't think that's the right category either. Hopefully, someone will enjoy it.

SARAH OF SALEM -- THE DARK SON

"Dad." I looked up to see Blaise standing in the doorway to my home office. I stifled a gasp; my son, my tall, confident son, looked defeated. He looked destroyed. I leapt to my feet and guided him to my chair. He collapsed into it.

"Blaise! What's wrong? What's happened?" Fear almost overwhelmed me. A million terrible scenarios rushed through my head, each more horrifying in a downward spiral of terror. In a family of witches, any horror seems possible. As the previous year had proved. "Is it your mother?"

Blaise managed to give me a weak smile. "No, Dad. Everyone's fine." He shook his head. "It's Deidre. She's pregnant."

I began to laugh. This was great news. His wife was pregnant. I was going to be a grandfather! "Congratulations!" I thumped him on the back. "Buck up," I said as I grabbed two glasses and the brandy bottle off the shelf. "You'll make a great dad!"

He stared at the floor, seemingly fascinated by the wood. "She due in July." I saw a tear form at the corner of his eye.

I put the brandy back on the shelf. "Oh." That was all I could say. I think I knew how he felt. I was never in his exact position, but my first four children were all born in July. Each had been conceived on Halloween, at a Samhain festival. Fuck, a Samhain orgy.

But still, I had had the joy of expectant fatherhood, enjoying my wife's pregnancies in the anticipation of my child, MY child, being born. But I had been enchanted and unaware that the child in my wife's belly wasn't mine. I was lucky -- I had that joy four times before I found out the truth, when Blaise was 8. Then it almost destroyed me, my marriage, and my family.

Blaise doesn't even get to dwell in that fool's paradise. He already knew that his wife had been ravaged at an orgy of unbelievable savagery. He'd taken part in Samhain celebrations before, but nothing like those orgies the previous tribunal had commanded, those which Griselda's had not only emulated, but exceeded in Satanic savagery. The Samhain celebrations my wife's tribunal had allowed had also been orgies, but voluntary ones, without the Satanic trappings and ritualistic sacrifices. No one was forced, drugged or enchanted into participating. My wife, when she conceived my first four children, had been drugged and enchanted, ending up with no memory of the events, although she had known they had happened. She was forced to attend to protect me from the previous tribunal's vengeance. I had seen the last one she had been forced into. Never will I forget the bacchanalia where a sheep was sacrificed, and the blood smeared participants frolicked in the light of a bonfire. I shut off the memory of my wife bouncing on top of a warlock, in a frenzied set of orgasms. A scene worthy of a Hieronymus Bosch painting.

My mind drifted towards thoughts of Griselda's orgy, last Halloween, when Deidre had been impregnated. My family hadn't partaken in that celebration; only I had. There was no memory of it -- which made it easier for me to finally believe that my wife had no memory of her participations. But I've been told that my humiliation and abuse was the highlight of the entertainment Griselda had provided that night. No, my mind ran from any thoughts of that 'celebration'.

I understood my son's misery. I had 8 wonderful years as Blaise's father before I found out the truth, and during that time I bonded with him and his sisters. I loved them, would always love them, and regardless of their conception, I was their father. Still, the agony of the truth almost destroyed me.

But Blaise had it worse than I had; he would not have any of the joys I had gotten to experience. He would have to accept a child conceived in a dark magic, conceived in an atmosphere of hate which had been missing from Sarah's forced Samhain "celebrations". But under Griselda, the Lawson-Goode family had been a target of resentment. Since Sarah and my children hadn't attended, my son's wife and my daughter's fiancé, both forced by their families to attend, and I myself, had been the proxies for the punishment Griselda's coven handed out.

Gwen's lover, unlike Deidre and me, hadn't been enchanted. His family had let him attend unprotected, unsuspecting of the viciousness the evil coven was capable of. Like me, he was abused by both male and female witches, but unlike me, he was cruelly aware of every blow and every humiliation. Sadly, within a week of Samhain, he had taken his own life. Gwendolyn was still inconsolable.

Deidre's family had only been able to look on in horror as their daughter was taken again and again that night. Taken and cast aside, to beg to be abused by the next witch or warlock. Her body had been abused in every way imaginable, including having a red-hot brand of the Griselda's coven's hex sign branded on her shoulder. Griselda had bound her in a spell that had her reacting like a pain loving nymphomaniac.

Deidre's family had also bewitched her, as Sarah had been years before by her mother Penelope, to have no memory of that evening. And Deirde couldn't recall any of the events of that evening, other than that brand and the sore and damaged body she awoke to on All Saint's Day. And there was the feeling of guilt she had expressed to both Blaise and Sarah. She didn't remember what had happened, but she knew, and every day she saw the awareness in her husband's face. Through no fault of her own, she still felt guilt over her husband's misery.

Now there was to be a constant reminder of that night. "How's Deidre doing?" I saw the answer in Blaise's expression before he spoke.

"Not well. She hasn't stopped crying since the doctor confirmed her condition. Mom and Gwendolyn are on their way over now." My son slumped in the chair.

"How are you, son?" I watched his face, concerned. My son had always been confident. Right now, he looked broken. "How are you handling it?"

"Not well. I keep thinking, 'This isn't my child. This isn't my child.' Dad, I love Deidre, but how can I..." He dropped his head into his hand.

I leaned forward and took Blaise's chin in my hand, forcing him to look into my eyes. "Blaise, are you, my son?" I asked, putting an anger into my voice that I didn't feel. He looked back at me, confused by my tone if not the question. "Well, ARE YOU?" I demanded.

"YES!" He yelled back. "Yes, I am."

"WHY?" I forced the anger into the question.

"Because," my son's voice broke on the words, "Because you loved me. Because you always loved me."

"There ya go." I said casually. "You love Deidre, and you'll love YOUR son, or daughter. Just like I love my family. I wouldn't, couldn't, do without any of you. And do you think you could pry Evie away from your mother?"

Blaise wiped his eyes and chuckled. "No, I think she loves that little devil more than all of us put together. And we all know that Annie is the apple of your eye."

Sarah told me later that when Blaise got home, he had gathered Deidre into his arms and told her how much he would love HIS child. She said that that had started Deidre's tears flowing again, but they had been of happiness.

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But it wasn't all good. "That poor girl," Sarah had broken out in a sob, catching me unaware. Until we were alone, she hadn't given any indication that there were problems. "That poor girl's mother has always been incompetent."

"What are you talking about?" I had her to my chest, feeling her distress. "What happened now?"

"Deidre's being haunted." My wife pulled away from me, to look me in the eyes. "In her dreams. She's having almost daily nightmares, flashbacks to Samhain. No wonder she's plagued with guilt. She remembers her orgasms, remembers begging for the abuse that was heaped on her. And remembers the abuse, in detail. But she doesn't realize that she was bewitched, and those orgasms weren't voluntary."

My wife told how in her dreams, Deidre recalls begging to be raped, begging to be abused, whipped, bred. Worse, she remembers screaming orgasms, almost unending, with bodies covered in the sacrificial sheep's blood. She remembers offering all her openings, pleading with every witch or warlock to use her. In her dream, it felt natural, not like an enchantment. And sometimes, sometimes, she remembers those dreams and feels excitement in her loins, even now. She'd wept to Sarah, "How can I not feel guilty?"

"Worse, she remembers Reggie Archer impregnating her." Sarah shivered. Reggie Archer was one of the worst of the remaining witches and undeniably one of the most powerful. His family had been part of the "Vegetable Coven", Griselda's coven whose minds had been destroyed in our confrontation. Reggie himself had apparently not been part of the coven, just related to many of the members. Sarah suspected him of engaging in Dark Magic but hadn't found any evidence yet.

"I thought she had been taken by every one of the evil warlocks and most of the witches. How can she know..." I was puzzled.

"She said he was first. Apparently, Griselda cast a spell, had Archer rape the girl, then branded her with the hex mark. That's a dark magic trick that would lock in the insemination. After that, Griselda had cast that nympho spell on her. Everything that followed was just more abuse, which Deidre feels guilty over, because she begged for it, and thinks she enjoyed it.

"The problem is," Sarah shook her head, "where both my mother and Deidre's cast a spell on their daughters to drive the memory of the Samhain celebration from their minds, but only Penelope thought to include the subconscious. That incompetent woman left all those memories dormant in her daughter's unconscious mind. Now, they haunt her."

"Can't we do anything? Or is it like the hex mark?" Several doctors had attempted to do skin graphs and spells to remove the scar from Deidre's shoulder, but the mark kept reappearing.

"I don't know. Gwen's there with her, trying to expunge the memories. We'll have to wait and see."

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"Hey, Blaise. How's the pregnant wife doing?" Reggie Archer smirked at my son.

Before Blaise could respond, I stepped close to Archer and focused a fierce glare at him. "There's an extra bed left at the Vegetation Coven, Reggie." I intoned. "Would you like to fill it?" I didn't know how I had wiped the minds of the coven and wasn't sure I could repeat it at will, but Archer didn't know that.

Blaise laughed at the fleeing warlock. "Dad, I never thought I'd see a warlock turn pale at a threat from a mundane, but you turned him into a ghost." His face turned serious. "Thanks. Maybe it'll stop him."

"Stop him from what?" I wasn't aware there were any problems.

"He's taken to asking me about Deidre whenever he can. He's even approached her several times." Deidre had asked Sarah not to tell Blaise about her suppressed memories, and so he was unaware of the suspected parentage of his wife's child. "He seems determined to rub my face in the Samhain abuse. Maybe this will get him to stop."

"Let's hope." I responded, thinking that Archer was well aware of his contribution to the pregnancy. I would have to talk to Sarah about what Griselda and Reggie had been planning.

But Reggie seemed to take my threat seriously. He fled from Salem to points unknown and I never mentioned my thoughts to Sarah.

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Talos Lawson-Goode was born July 12th. He and his father Blaise shared the day. My son joked to Sarah that Deidre had just given him the best birthday present, ever.

Deidre had returned to her sweet, pleasant self. Gwen had been successful. The Samhain dreams never returned.

I wish we could have said the same about Reggie Archer.

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Blaise and Deidre were loving parents. Talos was treasured by the whole family, Sarah babysitting almost daily to help the new parents. Our son, Evie, was only a 1 1/2 years old, so raising the two together seemed a no brainer. My wife loved them both but was disappointed that unlike her children (including the stepchild Erebus Valentine Lawson), the special connection we all shared was missing from Talos.

"I never realized how easy I had it. You know how hard it is to take care of a child you can't feel? I always knew when Blaise or the girls needed something, and Evie is the same, but Talos? I've got to keep checking on him. I feel like I can't even look away for a minute." I laughed at my witch wife feeling irritated by the mundane motherhood she was forced into.

She slugged my chest. "It's not funny. It's really hard."

The irony was that as the years passed, it became obvious that my children, my blood children, Anastasia and Evie, children of a witch and a mundane, might never develop strong powers. Annie struggled with her abilities, either unable to move things or having them fly across the room uncontrollably; having spells dispel midstream, leaving things half done or destroyed. Sarah was afraid to have her attempt any spells on anything more advanced than lizards and frogs. And her ability with potions? The cauldron or jars were more likely to dissolve before she was finished. She had powers, Sarah confirmed that, but it was like she was on the spectrum somewhere; my daughter had a magical disability, what used to be called retardation. With my son, it was still too early to tell.

But my children shared the magical connection with the family. And Annie, in the womb, had added a powerful boost to our fight with the tribunal. Had she burnt out or damaged her magic in her unformed state? I felt both grateful and guilty towards my daughter. I felt like I had somehow crippled her, although it never seemed to bother her. She just cheerfully tried again, in the face of every defeat.

With Evie, it was still too early to be sure, but so far, he hadn't exhibited any exceptional magic, other than our connection. Again, had I somehow stunted my child when I unwittingly used him to regain the consciousness Griselda had robbed me of? Sarah patted my face and reminded me that I hadn't done anything; I had been basically unconscious. If anyone had done anything, it was my son who saved me.

But my grandson, while not connected to the family by blood or bond, had more magic than even his father, Blaise, the more powerful of my children so far, had had at that young age. Sarah and Deidre were taxed even more than most mundane or even magical mothers. This child hadn't taken his first steps when he started exhibiting telekinesis. Sweets, candies or cookies, would float off tables. He often couldn't control them all the way to his position but getting them to drop on the floor where he could crawl to the spoils was enough for this little pirate.

Unfortunately, he wasn't limited to sweets. Even after we started clearing all surfaces and locking all temptations and dangers away, the little brat still could open drawers with his mind and there were occasions where sharp objects would be sailing across the room. I had occasion to step barefoot where he'd dropped a box of tacks.

Sarah got some help from the house, who would try to slam shut drawers before Talos could levitate the contents out. After my experience with the thumb tacks, our house would send rugs across the floors to sweep debris up against the wall. But even a sentient house can't be aware all the time.

Eventually, Talos's talents settled down enough to be corralled by spells his mother or grandmother cast. Apparently, a young witch's talent can be too unpredictable to easily harness, but once it has stabilized, the witches could wrap a protective spell around the child. I wondered at the time if it was protecting the child or everyone else.

As time passed, Talos's talents grew. At ten, he'd far outstripped Evie who was behind for his age. Talos had even surpassed Circe, who at 22 was a witch of average talent. Talos hadn't even been subjected to any of the passage rites yet but would already have been considered a competent witch.

Poor Annie, 15 at the time, had no confidence in her magic. She exhibited abilities, but only in uncontrollable glimpses. She still practiced her levitation, psychometry, divinations and Curses, along with the normal spells and potions, but her successes were rare and unexpected, if not sometimes truly amazing. There were incidences when she would pick up an object, a ring maybe, and describe the jeweler who created it, his problems at the time, and where he was currently. The next hundred times she would come up empty. Her Curses and spells would either not materialize or else they would bounce off the walls and affect everyone but the targeted person. Her levitations were erratic and frankly, so dangerous that Sarah forbid her from practicing in the house or near other people. Still, objects would come sailing through the air at unbelievable speeds and zero control.

She was spookiest with divinations. At five, she looked at me one morning when I was leaving for work and told me to tell the man in the red jacket he could go first. When asked for an explanation, she just shrugged and when back to playing with her dolls. At the office, with everyone squeezing into the elevator, it was between me and a young man in a red jacket for the last spot. Chuckling at my daughter's solemn command, I told the young man he could go first. That packed elevator got stuck between floors. They weren't freed for two full hours. I vowed to always listen to Annie in the future. But she rarely made predictions, and they didn't always come true.

The weird thing, though, was that for an untalented witch (which my family blamed on my mundane DNA), Annie was the only one of Sarah's offspring who exhibited any of the Forgotten Arts. Sarah had been able to read my mind since childhood and could control my mind somewhat. She sometimes had glimpses into other peoples as well, although it wasn't a talent she could count upon. But Anastasia would have flashes where it was obvious, she was plucking thoughts out of people's heads, although she never seemed to realize it.

Then there was the morning Gwen claimed to have found Anastasia floating 3 inches above the mattress while sleeping. When we rushed into the room at her bidding, my daughter was sleeping flat on the bed. Gwen had always been a prankster, and so we assumed this was just another joke. Gwen swears she was truly floating, but it was early in the morning with low light, so we patted Gwen on the head, roused Annie and went on with our lives. But it was a creepy and unforgettable night when we heard Annie crying in her sleep. When Sarah and I went to comfort her, we were confronted by a large dragon, breathing fire and hovering over her bed.

Before I could scream like a girl in terror, Sarah gripped my hand and said, "Will, there's no heat!"

My mind was still tumbling in terror as her words finally made sense. She spoke with wonder, "It's not there! Annie's projecting that illusion from her dreams." The dragon fluttered and faded as our daughter sighed and turned in her sleep. We never again saw an illusion like that, but Sarah always predicted a strong latent talent in our daughter.