Sarah of Salem – the Dar Valentine

The black bird was silhouetted against the full moon. Shivers ran up Sarah's spine as she looked sharply at the bird. She felt it was definitely an omen, and she instinctively knew it wasn't a good omen.

Before it could pass the moon in the background, Sarah appraised the silhouetted bird. The wings, the wings were pointed, not rounded. Raven, then, not crow. That might be good -- a crow would have portended a death; the raven heralded change. Sarah shivered again.

Sarah basked for a moment in the connections she felt. Her husband, her Will; she looked at him sleeping peacefully in their bed, as she stood by the window in the moonlight. She'd always had a connection to him, even in childhood. At times, it had brought her pain, but now, it filled her heart and her days with unbelievable joy.

Power as well. Although her Will was a mundane, a non-witch, somehow their connection, which extended to their children, had enhanced their Wiccan powers enough to allow them to overthrow an evil tribunal, one they now, she and her children, had replaced. She allowed herself to feel the connection to them, her children. Blaise, their son, no longer lived in the family home, now that he was married, but she could still feel their connection across the town of Salem, as strong as if he was in the next room.

She closed her eyes, and bathed in the warmth of her daughters, sleeping in this house. Gwendolyn, the oldest, soon to be married; Tabitha, slender and graceful; Circe, on the cusp of womanhood and her growing powers; and lastly, Anastasia, her jewel, her resurrection. Anastasia, her only child conceived in love, the love that had saved her family and defeated the evil Tribunal.

She smiled happily, thinking that life was perfect. She never wanted it to change. As she returned to bed, she drifted off to sleep as she snuggled up against her Will, the raven forgotten.

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Griselda stood naked under the full moon, in the back reaches of the Goode house gardens, shielded from sight of the house by the high hedges. She carefully examined the hairs she pulled off of Will's brush, the one she had purloined when visiting her "friend", Sarah. That 'goody' white witch. She'd destroyed Griselda's lovers on the Tribunal. Making love with them during the witching hour had always filled her with a sense of strength, a feeling of power. But the Lawson-Goodes have destroyed them; now they weren't even a good fuck.

Worse, the Lawson-Goode Tribunal had destroyed all the darker celebrations that the previous tribunal had allowed. No, now everything had to be "for the good"; no dark magic allowed. The fact that the family had been able to strip the power from the Tribunal members, who had been the most powerful witches and warlocks of their generation, frightened all the Hexing Families. Suddenly, there was no more fun.

Though Griselda hated the new, wholesome order, she pretended to love it, cozying up to Sarah as her "good friend". She suspected that Sarah didn't totally buy her act, but it had been good enough to allow her enough access to steal her husband's hairbush. That was the purpose of the friendship facade.

She plucked hairs off the brush, carefully examining the ends. Everyone knew that personal spells, like love potions and control spells, required hair, skin or even a body part or a little blood, but when they often failed to work it led to a general disbelief in witchcraft and wiccan powers. But science to the rescue! People thought that science had trumped magic and had done away with it. But the witches had had the last laugh. Science explained why the spells so often failed. It was DNA.

Yes, witches used to snip off a lock of hair, or steal hairs from lockets, etc., and use that hair in their spells and potions. No one knew you needed the roots, with viable DNA to make it all work. That's probably why the more vicious witches seemed the most powerful. They'd enjoyed ripping out the hair by the roots!

After finding some hairs showing potential, she began her chanting, stirring the hairs into the pot being warmed by a fire. She stirred and repeated, calling on the full moon to aid her desires. It was now 3:00 AM, the witching hour, Valentine's Day morning. The full moon, the day, the hour, and the viable DNA. The young and beautiful Griselda gave a cackle, a cackle one would have expected from an old crone.

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Will awoke, in the dark. He looked at the moonlight streaming through the window and felt strange. He decided he needed to piss; that must have been what had awoken him. He trudged to the bathroom, did his business, although his cock refused to go limp, and he had to lean far over the toilet and press down hard to get it pointed in the right direction. As he walked back into the bedroom, he noticed his wife in bed. Facing the wall.

That was strange. Since childhood, their connection had pulled Sarah to face him. She had to actively turn away from him, or her face was always turned towards him. Even in sleep, her beautiful face would be what he beheld when he awoke. But now she was turned away from him. He felt his heart give a lurch.

His penis was rock hard. He absently stroked it as he passed by the window, thinking about waking Sarah up for a little help dealing with it. But as he passed, he glanced out the window, and beheld a naked Griselda, standing in the moonlight, looking up at his window. He could see her mouth move, obviously chanting.

His penis swelled and swelled. He bent over, attempting to ease the pressure in his organ. It was too much. He looked at his wife, feeling an overwhelm ache of loss; then he looked again out the window, at the beautiful, sexy Griselda. He turned and left the bedroom, answering the summoning the witch was casting.

The damn front door wouldn't open. He turned the knob and pulled -- nothing. He put his foot beside the door and pushed with his leg as he pulled at the door. Nothing.

It was the god damned house. It was alive. It had been built by witches long ago and given a sentient life. When they'd moved it, it had hated Will, forcing him to hit his head on every doorway and to trip on every step. Finally, Sarah had commanded the old house to obey Will. But now the house was preventing him from meeting up with his love, his Griselda.

He stood back, standing tall despite the pain of his engorged phallus, and commanded the house to open the door. Slowly, reluctantly, the door swung open, and Will rushed out, to embrace Griselda, pawing and caressing her firm, loving body. Under the full moon, at that witching hour, on that Valentine's Day, they consummated their love on the lawn.

More semen gushed from Will than he'd ever produced before, flooding the floor of Griselda's vagina as Will howled, howled like a wolf under the moon. A fog began settling over his mind as Will lay contently on Griselda's soft, accepting body.

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Sarah woke up that morning to a feeling of overwhelming loss. She reached for Will, but his side of the bed was empty. She reached out to feel the comfort of their connection, but it... it was gone!

Had Will died? Did she lose him in the night? Panic rose in her chest, and she wailed. Soon her daughters came rushing into the room, feeling her fright through their attachment to her. "Mama, what's wrong," Gwendolyn, the oldest, demanded.

"I can't feel your father." Sarah moaned. "I think he's dead!"

The four girls grew quiet. Then Circe said, "No, I feel Daddy." She paused, then pointed East. "He's that way." Her two older sisters nodded. Anastasia sucked her thumb, something they had broken her of several months before, and looked scared.

"He's not Daddy, anymore. He's not Daddy." The little girl whimpered.

Gwendolyn looked stricken. "She's right. It's like... it's not that he's asleep, but he's not awake."

Sarah felt a horror she had never imagined. It was then she remembered the raven and its omen.

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Blaise had shown up, pulled by the terror emanating from his mother and sisters. It didn't take long for the children to triangulate on their father's position. Griselda's house.

"I was right not to trust that bitch. I should never have allowed her into my house," thought Sarah.

She stood with her children lined up behind her, in front of Griselda's house. She could fell the wards and protection spells woven around the house, and was slowly countering each one, peeling them away to gain access to her husband, and to the bitch who held him.

Griselda stepped onto her porch, and Sarah's heart leapt as her Will followed her enemy out of the house. Her heart crashed as she realized that, even while seeing him, she could no longer feel him. She noticed that, in a parody of their own famous attachment, Will's face was turned towards the evil witch, following her as she triumphally strutted back and forth on the porch.

"So, did you come to see my new man?" The witch laughed as Will's children called out to him. "Pitiful," she spat. Will showed no reaction, his eyes slavishly glued on the bitch's face.

Anger flared ever stronger in Sarah's mind, and she summoned up her powers, the powers of her children and reached out to Mother Gaia for even more. The air cracked around her with magical power, as she raised her arms to deliver a death blow, something her sweet nature had never imagined doing before.

"Wait!" Griselda confidently commanded. "Touch me and his mind will snap. He'll be gone forever. I hold his very being in my power." She laughed. "Maybe you should go ahead. Would you like to kiss him goodbye, first?"

Sarah felt the protections around Griselda and her house dissipate, as did the magic she had summoned. She knew that Griselda was telling the truth, because she was confident enough to expose herself to the power of the Lawson-Goode family.

Blaise stepped forward, determined to wrench his father away from this temptress, but his mother stopped him before he could move further. "No," she said sadly. "She's telling the truth. She'll destroy him." Sarah felt overwhelmed. She staggered, then fainted into her son's arms.

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Thus began the dark days, filled with Dark Magic and darker intentions. The Lawson-Goode family was powerless. On one hand, Will was gone. The shell that was paraded around town by Griselda was not her Will. It was an empty shell. Griselda had him kneel next to her whenever she stopped or even paused on their walks, with his eyes glued to her face like a dog begging for attention. It broke her heart anew whenever she saw them, her eyes eager for even a glimpse of her love; her heart crushed again with the realization that he was indeed gone.

The blow that crippled her and put her into her bed came in the mail in June. It was an invitation to a baby shower, Griselda's baby shower. Griselda's and Will's baby shower.

Sarah and her children had been researching all the love and control potions and spells they could find, looking for a way to counteract Griselda's evil. Nothing, nothing could be found. It was obvious that this was a very deep and dark evil magic, deeper than any in Sarah's experience or knowledge. She reached out to friends she could trust, but they knew nothing. Their friends and allies also began avoiding the Lawson-Goodes. Griselda and her cabal of evil witches had already struck at those close to the Goode family. Blaise's in-laws had their house burned and a plague of unknown origin struck several siblings of his wife. Gwendolyn's fiancé hadn't been seen since the end of February. The family was isolated. Showing any strength or retaliation they knew would result in suffering for Will.

Sarah had attempted to weave a protection ward around Will, hoping to isolate him from the witch's influences. But as the ward wrapped around her Will, he dropped to the ground, screaming. The screaming continued, his face and body twisted in agony, as Griselda laughed at Sarah's attempts to quickly break the spell she had just cast. In the eternity it seemed to take, Sarah could see the bitch caressing her husband's hair and telling him that this agony was being caused by his jealous wife, jealous of their great love.

Holding the baby announcement in her hand, Sarah retreated to her bed. She shut down, becoming a shell that matched her husband. Her daughters had to prod her to eat, to shower, to just get out of bed. At best, they could get her into a chair on the porch, while the house seemed to whimper in sympathy. Her children, even without any real hope, continued to search for a way to save, now not just their father, but both their parents.

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With the Lawson-Goode tribunal neutralized, Griselda's cabal reinstated the policies of the previous tribunal. First and foremost was the announcement of the reinstated breeding program. All witches over twenty-one were expected to be present at the Samhain bacchanal celebrations, ready to breed with other witches, in order to enhance the Hexing Families powerlines. Horrible punishments were threatened to any who refused. Sarah's children refused to attend, but Blaise's wife and Gwendolyn's fiancé were forced by their families' fear of reprisals, to participate in the orgy.

Worse, there were reports that Will had been in attendance, stripped naked except for a dog collar and leash, mounted on the Satanic altar while being whipped and pegged by cavorting witches wearing strap-ons. Blaise and his sisters, for the first time, prayed that their father was truly gone.

Evil witches were prominent, ascendant that winter. There seemed to be no end to their evil. Mundanes were enslaved; it seemed that every evil witch wanted at least one Will Lawson of their own. Women who crossed the evil ones ended up miscarrying, having their milk dry up when breastfeeding, or having their ovaries suddenly atrophying, resulting in sterility. Uncooperative farmers had their fields devastated by fungus or insects and cattle dropped dead in fields. Businesses burned or had inventory rot or crumble. The town of Salem mourned.

When he believed that he had seen the acme of evil, word came to Blaise that Griselda was planning to sacrifice his half sibling when it was born. Sacrifice it to the Horned God, for power, more power than any witch has held in centuries.

Blaise couldn't believe it. Her own child. When he asked himself what kind of person could or would do something like that, he slapped his head in frustration. Griselda, that's who.

Gathering his sisters, he discussed how they could protect their new sibling, even if they couldn't save their parents. It might be half evil witch, but it was all that was left of their father. They worked to come up with wards or protections they could use but couldn't find any that didn't demand they were holding the child when cast. It seemed impossible.

But they had to try. As the birth approached in February, they studied the shorts spells, planning to assault the birthing room long enough to cast protections, even if it cost them their very lives.

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In the end, Griselda made it simple for them to plan their attack. She announced that she would deliver by Caesarean the day before Valentine's day. Her child would be the Lupercalia offering the next day. That day had powers in the Wiccan mythos and as the anniversary of the day she had captured the brat's father, it would add a special boost to the planned sacrifice.

Plus, Griselda said, "Like hell I'm going through any labor pains I can avoid. It's not like I'm keeping the brat." She figured with the right spells she would have recovered enough to wield the knife the next day. She couldn't wait for the power she would gain.

The first business she would attend to with those new strengths was the final humiliation and destruction of the Lawson-Goode family, including that damned house. But she wouldn't kill Sarah. No, she would recreate her as a matching slave to pair with her husband. Griselda smiled, thinking of the abuse she would heap on Sarah when she had her on the Samhain altar the next Halloween. Her cackle rang through the house, while her pet Will knelt at her feet, watching her face expectantly.

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While the doctor was stitching up Griselda's bikini line incisions, chanting his spells while pulling through the stitches, the nurse cleaned the boy child and, solely through habit, recited the wards and chants to ensure the health and fitness of the Hexing Families child. She'd been a midwife/nurse for 40 years, and although she knew the child was to be slaughtered the next day, she still felt compelled to follow the time-honored rituals.

Griselda, awake and painless thanks to the doctor's witchcraft, watched with distaste the nurse and the thing she had finally gotten out of her body. "Why are you bothering? It's just a waste of time." The nurse looked back at the mother with equal distaste. She understood the needs of the Horned God and dark magic, but after forty years she disliked the harm that would be down to the child she held.

"You wouldn't want anything to happen to the child before the sacrifice tomorrow, would you?" she asked the one she thought of as the evil one (lower case called for in this instance).

Griselda started, as if the thought hadn't occurred to her, which it hadn't. That would have been a tragedy. "That's good. Make sure it's a strong casting. Nothing can go wrong before the ceremony tomorrow."

The nurse brought the cleaned, wrapped, and protected baby over to the bedside. "Would you like to hold your child, Griselda?" she asked.

"Good Satan, no! What are you thinking?" She gestured towards Will, standing silently in the corner. "Give it to him. He can take care of it until tomorrow." The doctor nodded his agreement to the nurse as he finished the final stitch and spell.

"How do you feel?" he asked the patient.

"Pretty damn good, doc. Great spells." Griselda knew that even the scar from this doctor would soon fade and disappear altogether. "Good," she thought, not wanting any reminders of the child, other than her new powers.

Will automatically lifted his arms and accepted the child he was offered. The fog that encapsulated his mind allowed for normal function. They were performed without thought, beyond those necessary to understand and do what Griselda desired done. Beyond that, he had no comprehension, no memories. Normally, just the fog, although he could feel pain or pleasure when commanded to by his mistress. He didn't remember it now, but he'd felt pleasure when Griselda took him to bed and pain when she chose. The night of Samhain had been hours of continuous torture for him. He was lucky that he had no memory of it. Just the scars across his body from the whips.

As he held his son, a glow formed around the child, lighting up his fog. He was aware that this was his child, aware of a connection the like he hadn't felt in a year, not even with his other children. He was unaware that they still felt that connection.

As he gazed in awe at his son, he was unaware of the noise around him. The door had burst open with an explosion and Blaise, Gwendolyn and Tabitha rushed in, determined to save the child. Circe had wanted to come, but they felt she was too young, her powers just starting to manifest, so she was unlikely to be of help. Besides, someone had to stay home to take care of mama and Anastasia.