I wake up - a gentle awakening to a warm, soft bed and the suffused brightness of late morning sunshine filtering past the edges of my curtain. I've slept in, but that's fine. There's no school today, and it's my eighteenth birthday.
Today's the day. I'm officially an adult in the eyes of the law. Not, of course, that I don't still have to finish the school year and get through my exams. I'm still living at home too, just me and Mum. The best mum ever - and not just because she washes my clothes and makes my favourite meals. There's no man in her life, so often it's just the two of us together, watching films, playing games.
All that and she's in great physical shape for someone who's forty. My friends Stu and Dave are always lusting over her because her tits are huge. We're talking porn-star tits. She didn't have them when she got married, I've seen the wedding photos. Pretty, so young, but no porn star.
"Wake up, sleepyhead."
Startled, I sit up and peer around. That voice was unfamiliar, and I was sure I was alone. I don't see anyone. A woman's voice. Not my mother's. But no one. Not in my room, and not downstairs when I dress quickly and go to investigate. No one.
Just a letter on the kitchen island addressed to me. My mother's handwriting. There's a plain gold ring inside the envelope along with the letter itself. "Dear Jake," it reads. "This ring was your father's. It has the power to make a man's sexual fantasies come true. If you doubt this, read the report of his death. He would have wanted you to use the ring, but take great care if you do. Love, Mum."
A copy of the report is included with the letter. My father and his married sister died together in a car crash. According to the report, Elaine was topless and giving him oral sex at the time, and evidence pointed to other recent sexual activities.
"Fuck," I say. I barely remember him at all, but it is surreal to think of dying in the middle of some incestuous fantasy. Is it really possible?
I pick up the ring and study it. It doesn't look like a magic ring - not, of course, that magic is real. I slip it onto my finger.
"Happy Birthday, Jake." It's that voice again. Clearer now. Louder. But there's still no one there. "We're going to have so much fun. Let's get that body in shape, eh?"
