Day 1: Chapter 1
When Roger Matheson had announced to his friends on social media that he would be spending July 28 to August 1 on a hiking vacation through some of Ontario's farm country, their reaction was of mild encouragement. You can't go wrong with fresh air and exercise was the general consensus, and being alone isn't such a bad thing in this day in age. With the kids having left home to pursue their lives and with Jeannie having died three and a half years ago, Roger spent a lot of time by himself. Given his generally solitary disposition, he was OK with this, though he had never stopped feeling the loss of Jeannie. Except in his dreams, he mused as he walked on the shoulder of a quiet country road that would deliver him to his destination, a small town called Arbroath, named after the town in Scotland from which Jeannie's paternal grandmother had come.
It was another hot, sticky day, courtesy of a stagnant but unstable air mass that had been squatting over the southern part of the province for more than a week. The first day of his vacation had been largely spent riding the commuter trains and then a bus out as far as it would go, but the two hours he'd spent walking to the nearby next town had convinced him to buy a black and white golf umbrella to use as a parasol, which had made a surprising difference, despite how odd it looked. It had also provided shelter when he got caught more than once by a passing shower.
The so-called Magic Plague that had been sweeping the world in the past six months was not caused by any identifiable microorganism, but had still acquired the title. Most of the strange abilities that people had been developing were of little consequence, such as being able to change their hair colour (but to only a few choices), lights that projected from various parts of the body, creating streams of water out of thin air (very handy for gardeners) and to make various incongruous, often rude, noises. Roger had discovered about a month ago that he was able to approach birds and animals, both domestic and wild, without them running away, and they would even accept some attention. Last night, at the home of Jennifer Jones, who had unexpectedly joined him for dinner at a local restaurant in town and then insisted on taking him home for a drink afterwards, he had discovered a new and quite unusual ability.
After scratching and massaging her dog Peaches into a blissful slumber, they had enjoyed a glass of wine outside on her deck, watching the fireflies and an approaching thunderstorm. She had played "The Lady in Red" on her phone and they had danced, despite his protest that he was sweaty from his long walk, and soon were eating each other up.
"I think there's a little electricity between us," she had murmured, giving the bulge in Roger's shorts a squeeze.
"Given the current (he emphasized slightly) circumstances, I'd say that's an en-lightning observation," he had replied with a smug little smirk. It had taken a couple of moments for her to realize what he'd said.
"You awful man!" she had growled. Something drew their attention skyward just as a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, then exactly above them, forked into three that shot deep into the clouds. They simultaneously felt a jolt like seemed like the little shocks you get from contacting a live wire, but over their whole bodies. Figuring that had been their cue to move inside, they discovered that his cock had been glowing with shifting colours of yellow, forest green, and turquoise. Far from being deterred by this, Jennifer had demanded that they make love on the floor by the sliding door while the storm had raged outside. As he'd come, he'd shot a bolt of energy in the same colours into her, illuminating her abdomen and causing a massive orgasm that had required several minutes for recovery.
Later, in the shower, he had been massaging her neck and shoulders and his fingers had taken on the same glow, with little sparks slipping into her skin where they had been needed most. They had been too tired to carry on in her bed that night, but in the morning, she had discovered glowing 'morning wood', on which she had immediately impaled herself. Little sparks from his fingers that had been gently stroking her soft, C-cup breasts, medium-sized areolas and hard nipples, plus another shot of energy from his orgasm, had left them both flopped on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
After breakfast, which had included lots of coffee, he had filled up the four canteens that were hanging from his large pack, she had made him a couple of sandwiches, which were kept cold with a bag of ice cubes, and he had set off into the already muggy morning with a final kiss. He'd added three raisin bran muffins and another large cup of coffee from a coffee shop in town, and had waited until he was out in the countryside again before opening his umbrella to shade himself from the sun which glowing in a sky that had a brassy colour to it thanks to the haze. The roads were straight and the terrain was gently rolling hills, so once he was on the country road that he'd wanted, little navigation was required.
He made good time, walking at a pace that maximized speed while minimizing effort that he had fallen into on the previous four days. His broad-brimmed beige hat was made of loosely-woven fibers that allowed what breezes there were to blow through to cool his noggin. The countryside was scenic and peaceful, with birds to watch and listen to, including a hawk high above, circling around looking for lunch.
"This would make a great hike in the Spring or Fall, when it isn't so bloody hot," he said to himself at one point, taking one of many swigs from a canteen. He kept an eye on his progress with the mapping app on his phone, and also kept an eye on the weather radar and on the sky, where once again the cumulus clouds were building themselves into towers that drifted slowly across the sky from the west. By 2:00, he had reached the top of a long, gentle slope with tall trees on either side of the road. He was tired, and paused in the shade in front of a pair of black, wrought-iron gates that denied access to a driveway to take yet another drink. Despite having drained two canteens, plus the ice water from Jennifer's impromptu sandwich cooler, he'd only had to pee once due to his sweating.
His attention was drawn to a sudden flurry of frantic motion from the bottom centre of the left gate. What his fatigue-dulled brain had interpreted as a scrap of red fabric was, in fact, a young fox that had somehow gotten its head stuck between two vertical posts, a horizontal crossbar about six inches from the ground, and the hot asphalt of the driveway. He quickly walked over to the struggling animal and knelt next to it, careful to not let the heavy backpack unbalance him.
"Calm down, calm down, you silly bugger," he said in a soothing voice, and it stopped struggling. "How on Earth did you manage to do this to yourself? Hold still." He managed to push its ears through the hole and it jumped back and shook its head. "Would you like a drink?" He offered the canteen to the fox, which considered it, then allowed him to carefully pour water into its mouth. After a minute, the fox had had enough, licked its chops, gave his hand a bump with its nose, then vanished into the undergrowth that partially concealed the brick wall to which the left gate was attached.
"Can I help you?" asked a disembodied, female voice. Roger jumped and nearly fell over, grabbing the gate to steady himself. On the top of the right gatepost was an inconspicuous security camera, aimed at him.
"Uhh, how much farther to Arbroath?" he asked in his pleasing baritone voice.
"Only a couple of kilometers," replied the voice. "You should be able to get there before the storm hits." Taken by surprise, he pulled out his phone, refreshed the weather radar, and zoomed in on his approximate location. A line of storms was an angry slash of orange and red and it was definitely going to pass through in about half an hour.
"Bollocks! OK, thank you for the info. Sorry to have disturbed you." He turned away and began walking as quickly as he could manage. The brick wall, occasionally visible through holes in the foliage, ended at a corner about thirty paces from the gate and continued away through the forest. "Must be some big shot's country retreat," he muttered as he continued. The road opened up about ten minutes later, revealing well-kept houses set well back, with occasional residents moving around the yards. It also revealed the darkening western sky and it, and the freshening breeze from the west, lent energy to his steps. Five minutes later, he hustled past a friendly "Welcome to Arbroath" sign. After another five minutes, he heard the first grumble of thunder and felt the first cool breeze that smelled of rain.
Another five minutes brought him to what had obviously been a grand old Victorian house. "Julia's Bed & Breakfast" read the carefully hand-painted black letters on a cheery yellow background. "Vacancy" was on a pale blue sign attached by hooks below the main sign. The house had yellow brick walls with white painted gingerbread under the eaves, sky blue shutters, and a pale green painted verandah with an assortment of chairs and a two-seater swing that were about to get very wet. Thunder boomed and a strong gust of wind roared through the trees, bringing with it the first fat drops of rain. Faster than he'd thought possible, he was up the steps and through the door, closing it just as the rain began in earnest.
Roger had entered a large open room with the welcome desk several paces directly in front of him. To his left was a small lounge area in the corner and to his right was the entrance to what appeared to be a restaurant. Behind the desk was a grand wooden staircase whose bottom was behind the desk and which made a quarter turn to a gallery that ran the width of the building and presumably led to the bedrooms and bathrooms. The air was cool and refreshing after the sauna outside and the overall impression was warm and welcoming. Roger liked it immediately.
Of greater interest was a black cat with yellow eyes and a patch of white on its chest that was sitting on the polished wood floor directly between him and the counter. It meowed a greeting, which was barely audible over a loud boom of thunder and the sound of high-velocity water hitting the front door. This struck him as rather odd, because all of the cats that he'd known had never been fans of thunderstorms. The cat then began rubbing against his legs and meowing, demanding attention, which he was only too glad to provide, though he had to be careful bending over to avoid losing his balance because of the umbrella in his left hand and the heavy pack on his back. After a minute, the cat abruptly disengaged and trotted towards the desk, stopping halfway and turning, as if to invite him in.
When he followed, the cat jumped gracefully onto the desk and sat on its front left corner, watching him as he approached. Standing behind the desk were a tall, middle-aged woman with shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair and a younger, slightly shorter woman with blonde hair styled in an attractive pixie cut. Both were wearing yellow blouses with "Julia's Bed and Breakfast" monogrammed on the breast pockets, and dark blue slacks. They had clearly been in conversation when he'd come in, and he thought that he'd seen concerned expressions on their faces before they changed to friendly smiles of greeting.
