Chapter 2

Nathan was helping his father. Now that he had finished the education process, as far as numbers and letters were concerned, he was on the learning curve to become a carpenter, like his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't traditional or anything, just expected that the eldest would follow in the footsteps of his peers.

Trouble was, Nathan had two left thumbs, both of which had a habit of getting under the hammer, every time he picked it up. In fact, tools seemed to develop a hunger for his flesh whenever he tried to get to grips with them, and the materials he mutilated on a daily basis, had formed something of an alliance with the implements, leaving splinters, bruises, and various cuts and abrasions at every chance. Nathan's hands and arms where beginning to resemble the street maps of a very complicated city.

"Now don't 'e worry." His father would admonish. "You'll get the hang of it, in time." This was usually accompanied with a slight shake of the head, and eyes, searching the heavens for help, or divine inspiration.

But, time was something Nathan didn't have. His real wish was to go to sea, become a sailor, see the world, and meet the girls? (Not many on board a ship but that was a minor point.) He wanted to do all this, and then, perhaps, become a carpenter like his Dad, but only after he had sown his wild oats on the female population of some foreign ports, and as many as he could make.

The girls locally, were something of a mystery, and a subject of fantasy to Nathan, usually in the dark hours before sleep and dreams took him to far away shores. His sheets could tell tales of unbridled passionate nights, but that's another story. The girls giggled about him within earshot, and whispered behind poorly concealing hands. Nathan thought, quite justly, that they were laughing at his ineptitude, clumsiness, and anything that was afflicting him at the time. Teenage spots became huge, two headed monsters, that spat odoriferous substances at all and sundry in Nathan's mind, while a facial hair, took on catastrophic proportions. Nathan was a total wreck, concerning personal esteem. He had not the slightest inkling, that he was considered to be the sexiest thing on two legs, ever since the discovery of the wheel. The giggles were titters of appreciation, and the whispers were the vocalised fantasies of the admiring female aspirants. Fruitless aspirants, at that.

Nathan wasn't ugly, (as you may have gathered.) nor, was he particularly good looking. He had a pretty good sense of humour, coupled with an affable personality. Fairly well built, muscular, and with an assured future in the trade of his father. These qualities should have made him attractive to at least one of the locally, marriageable girls, but, so far, this hadn't been the case, not their fault, I hasten to add. Another trait of Nathan's, was a painful to watch, awkwardness, where members of the opposite sex were concerned. Faced with a one to one situation with a female of any age, reduced him to a blathering alien, tongue tied, and red of face and neck, with no more idea of formulated thought than a piece of wood.

Today, he had managed to slice a finger with a chisel, and had been sent home to get it tended by his mother. She was not in, so, he walked on towards the Doctor's surgery, which was closed. Blood had run down his arm and collected in his rolled up shirtsleeve. It wasn't a serious injury, but it wouldn't stop bleeding. The fact that he kept squeezing the surrounding area, helped to keep up the flow. There was a certain sympathetic value of such a wound, if only he could meet the right sympathetic girl to nurse him.

As luck, (Not necessarily good.) would have it, a feigned sympathetic female was just about to bump into him, having spied his progress along the road.

Nathan saw the cat as it approached him. He had no real fondness for animals, especially cats, who he thought of a vicious killers, and malicious nuisances, when they decided to claw their affections out on his legs. He didn't mind dogs, but they also had a habit of showing a healthy love of his legs as well. This cat obviously had designs on him. It had stopped and waited for him to draw level. The studious look it gave him, un-nerved Nathan a little, making him feel a bit like a meal on legs, going to it's doom.

He tried to ignore the feline as he passed it, and then watched, as it quickly caught up with him, passed, and climbed a fence post bringing it level with his shoulders. Nathan resumed his walk, and once again, tried to ignore the thing.

The cat on the other hand, seeing that it was being thwarted in it's attempt to gain Nathan's full attention, decided to go for broke, and leapt on to the back of his neck, and proceeded to purr loudly in his ear, as it gained purchase in his shirt, with claws that resembled scimitars.

Nathan screamed, and began to flail his arms about, when, a silky voice stopped him in his desperation.

"Nice cat."

Nathan located the owner of the silky voice, and was surprised to see a vision of loveliness, who hadn't been there a second before. This fact, had an immediate effect on him

"It's n... n... not m m mine." He stammered. "I... I... Just, I... It just j... j... jumped on me."

"Oo, what have you done to your hand?" It was Agetha who was purring now. "Let me fix that for you."

"Er... I... It's OK, really." Nathan was losing it completely, never had any woman imparted this much interest in him, apart from his Mother.

Agetha grabbed his arm and pulled it towards her bosom, so that his hand cupped a breast, while she inspected the injured finger, which had stopped bleeding. Nathan nearly fainted. All his lurid sexual dreams were coming true, in broad daylight, and in the middle of the main street. Agetha put his finger in her mouth, and sucked ever so slightly, sending the hapless Nathan into a complete delirium.

"I think thith needth a plathter." Agetha advised around the edge of his finger. "Come with me and I thall thixth it pwopewee."

Nathan followed sheepishly, still with the cat, now completely ignored, on his shoulder. He noted the curve of her back, and buttocks that were obviously in a state of undress beneath her dress. Her hips, seemed to sway, ten inches from centre, to either side, which, had the mesmeric result of lifting a buttock on one side, while the other, seemed to dip at an alarming angle. He was already, very aware of the fact, that she hadn't got any underwear holding the perfect breasts in place, and also, that gravity, had little effect on them. He lost control of his glands, which promptly unloaded in his trousers. His embarrassment complete, Nathan finally lost the fight with his senses, and collapsed in a dead faint, sending the cat into a spiralling parabolic flight that ended with the cat, in an untidy heap, on it's back. (They don't always land on their feet you know, at least not at its age.)

He came round some time later, to find himself in a hayloft, lying propped up against one of the timber supports. The delectable creature was not in sight, nor seemed to be anywhere close. The cat, however, was stationed at his feet, still regarding him with the same intensity as before.

"You standing guard are you?" Nathan enquired of the cat. "Afraid I might run away or something eh?" It wasn't usual for him to talk to cats, being that he didn't really like them. It's just that he was feeling somewhat disorientated and finding himself in a hay loft, several feet up in the air, left him wondering, (a) How the hell he got there and (b) where was everyone. This was not a hayloft he recognised. Many hours had been spent, daydreaming or skipping school, in just about all of the lofts within a two-mile radius. It was also a good place to observe some of the girls, who were engaged in pursuits that were better not explained to the owner of the building. Some of the best sex education Nathan received, had come from just such a perch.

The cat rose up, and stretched sinuously, looked at Nathan with what could be described as studious interest, and replied.

"You got that right mate."

"Bloody hell! A talking cat!" The credibility of this was not lost on Nathan. It's not that he was particularly fast in the brain department understand, just that he had recently returned from a pretty amazing fantasy, about some beautiful woman, placing his hand on her left breast, in broad day light, in the middle of the main street, while she looked at a cut on his finger. Things like this, just don't happen, unless you're being written about in a book, and even then, the likelihood is rather remote. The author has got to be a little perverse. (Welcome to my self-depreciation.)

"I aint a talking cat, I'm a telepathic familiar".

"What ever". Nathan got up, using a timber upright for support, and found his feet. He was still a bit groggy, but otherwise, Okay.

"So, what's a telepathic cat then? I can't believe I'm talking to a cat."

"You're looking at one, dummy. She's wont be a few minutes, just popped out for something."

He, unsteadily, began to make his way towards the ladder that led to the ground floor, with the intention of getting some fresh air to clear his head, and find out where he was, but the cat blocked his way, placing itself in front of Nathan. He attempted to step over the ginger blockade, only to see it, attach both sets of front claws, firmly in to his leg, which he lifted to shake off the animal, causing more pain, and tears to his trouser leg, and also causing him to fall over on his back, which was fortunate, because, if he'd fallen forwards, he would have reached the ground floor, some twelve feet below, head first.

"Ow! Get off you brute". Nathan, remembered again why he didn't like cats. He shook his leg some more, quickly realising the folly of such action. He desisted, and rubbed the injured area, after the cat retreated to sentry position.

"What was that for?"

"I'm on guard, remember." The cat, effected a smug look, and sat just in front of Nathan, out of range of a possible attack from one of his captives booted feet.

The two antagonists appraised each other warily, until a sound from down below announced that Agetha, had returned.

Nathan was in for a shock, in fact, he was in for more than a shock, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Agetha had dropped the illusion that had been the administrating angel of earlier. She had now reverted to her usual, obese and dishevelled self, complete with chewed cardigan and wild hair, that could, if applied, clean chimney flues, taking the mortar as well as soot.

She gave Nathan a cursory glance, before turning her attention to the ginger antagonist who was cleaning its paws of its captive's blood and shredded trousers.

"Is he behaving himself cat?"

"He's had a little go, but now knows the error of trying to escape from me. By the way, his blood tastes quite nice."

"Good. Good." Turning to Nathan. "Now, what are we going to do with you, eh?"

"L... l... letting m... mme go wwwould bbe gggood". The stammer, came from his nervousness rather than being in the single presence of a member of the opposite sex. Understandable, when you think about the strangeness of the situation.

"Oh you silly boy".

The voice was right, but, what the hell happened to the owner. This looked for all the world like it could breathe fire, or lance boils with just her eyesight. She could, but he didn't know that.

"Who are you?" Nathan's stammer was now less of a problem, since fear and trepidation had taken over the matrix of his thinking processes. "What do you want with me? I don't have any money or anything. Really I don't".

Agetha affected not to hear his questions, and turned to kick the ladder away from the loft. Nathan made ready to run and jump, straight of the edge, with little thought to the consequence of landing on hard packed earth, several feet below, at a slightly higher velocity than running full tilt into a brick wall.

Cats can growl. Not everyone knows that. It's quite funny listening to a small bundle of fur and deadly sharp razors growl. You are taken aback somewhat. The effect on Nathan was spectacular because he was getting it telepathically, which tends to amplify the sound, making it something like GGRRRRR!!! Which has a sobering effect, on anything that hears or receives the message. Nathan got the message, loud and clear so did Agetha.

"Not thinking of running out so soon were we?" She had taken care of the ladder and was now returning her attention to the unfortunate lad.

"Unngh!!" Neither mouth nor brain would get into gear now.

"Now, how about we play a game of strip poker, without the cards? You'll go first, and I'll go second."

"Unngh!!" Nathan knew the game, but had as much interest in becoming naked with this nightmare of human flesh as he had, in seeing the mountain of blubber, without clothes on, even the rags she had on now.

"Oh! don't be a silly. It's very easy really. All I do is wave my hand like this..." Agetha waved her hand, which was for showpersonship, more than necessity, being that the ability came directly from mind control. (Did you notice the political correctness there?).

"... And all you clothes disintegrate".

"Unngh". Nathan tried to cover his nakedness with trembling and hard to control hands, his brain still refused to co-operate fully with anything like it's normal inefficiency.

"And then I wave my hands like this".

Nathan travelled backwards, a foot of the floor under her will and was spread-eagled against the back wall of the loft. Coils of hemp rope wrapped them selves around his wrists and ankles, while a pitch fork flew, in an unerring trajectory, the tines embedding themselves into the wood of the loft at either side, pinning him via the neck, rendering him immobile, and vaguely cross shaped, but slightly lopsided.

"Then I wave my hands like this..." Again, Agetha waved her hands, which banished her clothing to the floor. Rolls of fat bounced free of the restriction imposed by the garments. Her breasts sagged, with what could have been a sigh, to swing freely around her midriff region. Calves wobbled, thighs quivered, and a double chin... several chins, fluctuated like the wattles of a rooster in full preparation for a good old crowing.

"... And then I come over to you." Agetha travelled about an inch off the floor, and came to rest beside the trussed and hapless boy. "Now, isn't this a good game?" She whispered into his right ear.

"Unngh".

"Your not very responsive are you?" She had noticed his flaccidity. She couldn't help notice, having given the young mans pride a playful flick with her forefinger "Would it help if I look like this?"

She waved her hands yet again, and before they had completed the motion, the delectable creature once again stood in front of Nathan. Gravity certainly had no effect whatsoever on the bits that tend to make for a woman's allure, and this was not lost on Nathan, whose blood began to stir, causing him also to defy the same gravitational force.

"Unngh". He was still unable to speak, owing to the rope that had now coiled its self around his mouth and chin in an effective gag. But, even if the gag were not there, it's very probable that the answer would have been the same.

"Now we'll play a new game. It's called... it's called... it...". It was Agetha's turn to be mesmerised. Nathan's member had now found capacity, blood wise, and it was this that held her attention, so to speak. She lost the thread of what the new game would have been called and quickly made up a new game on the spot called 'Rape the innocent'.

The coils of rope returned to being just coils, and, having no controlling will, fell to the floor around Nathan's feet. The pitchfork removed it's self from around his neck and landed upright in a far corner. Agetha applied her mind and lifted him gently in thrall and placed him on his back, still spread-eagled on the floor. As soon as he landed, Agetha levitated herself and spread her knees into a crouching position but, approximately two foot from the ground and then lowered her flight until she impaled herself on him.

It took Nathan about two seconds, which was probably just as well, because he lost consciousness and never felt Agetha rip his heart out and devour it.

She was whole again, her illusionary self had become an illusion no more. She felt wonderful, vibrant and healthy. Her tresses fell in beautiful fullness. Her breasts had a new bounce to them, her knees and feet could now be seen without the use of a mirror. She felt strong, fit and well. It was a good job too, because it would only last for a few days, until the morning sickness began. In her eagerness, she had forgotten, in her haste, to apply her usual method of birth control, where she usually prevents her poor partner to complete the act, by restrictive muscle spasms. Agetha was with child. Agetha had never been with child before. She was now in trouble, with a capitol OH SHIT!

Had Agetha been quick enough, she may still have avoided the problem using her considerable control over her body, but, because no orders came down from the engine room, those bits that go to work in the procreation department, assumed that this was the realisation of a long awaited event, and that a baby had been desired. If Agetha could have sacked the offending parts, then they would have received no notice to quit, not even a verbal warning followed by a written final reprimand. They had a party and set to with a vengeance.

Tom had given up baking, much to the delight of his former rival who now had a thriving business and had taken on two apprentices in order to cope with the demand. The ovens, utensils and any salvageable materials had been sold to the now, prosperous baker, for a modest sum that would ensure Tom's hunger, and immediate needs, would be taken care of for the foreseeable future.

He studied and read every book and scroll that dealt with the arcane. Spells, witchcraft, apothecary, sorcery, occultism, runes and any other subject matter that might help in his sworn oath of vengeance. The source of these books and lore, had been rather more difficult to find than Tom had first imagined. Contrary to popular belief, rural folk do not have this kind of information hanging about for anyone to pick up and read. Good grief, could you imagine the mayhem that might have caused, and what chance the Witch Finder General being able to carryout his lawful pursuits, without growing appendages, or a second head, or even returning to his wife in the form of some farmyard animal. Interesting thought.

Mostly, herbal lore and common everyday magic is passed down through the matriarchal line. How do you think men were persuaded to stay at home and make wicker baskets, or earthenware pots, when a good cockfight was taking place just down the road? Come to think of it, how do you think an otherwise plain woman, became the centre of her chosen mates attention, filling his whole being with her charm and wonder? Pheromones and scent have born the blame for far too long. Witchcraft is usually at the foot of it, and the poor fool who has become the centre of her desire, has little chance of ever escaping, until it's too late, usually after the thrall of being wed, or the first night is over. Once the band is nestling on the finger, the need for ensconcellment is less critical. He has been trapped and hasn't the required gumption to realise he has become a prisoner.

I digress.

So, finding the necessary reading material was something of a problem for Tom. One outlet of literature was Agetha's own library of spells and incantations. This had proved to pose it's own special problems. Every time Tom returned to the cottage, he became a mouse again, with a very small capacity for learning anything, unless it related to siring more mice, or looking out for his own immediate welfare. Overcoming this handicap had caused him to spent a few sleepless nights, not that sleep was a friend to him, pondering the problem. The answer came during one such night and required the use of a fishing hook and line. By tying one end of the line to a tree stump, and carrying the other end, with the hook attached, in his mouth, he could snag the chosen tome and then, retreat and pull it out of the cottage. This took patience, time, and lots of journeys into the caldron of Agetha's home, but Tom was in no particular hurry.

Having filled his living room with every piece of literature he could lay his hands and paws on. Tom began to really get down to it, spending endless days and, even nights on end, reading, making notes, re-reading, cross referencing and cross eyed at times. Food became an afterthought, as did bodily functions, washing or occasional trips to the shops for fresh air. He became almost hermit like. Not speaking to neighbours or friends. He lost even more weight. His hair left for pastures new, except the really dedicated bits that hang around, just above the ears. These turned white and shaped themselves into a semi halo, meeting at the back of his head. Tom's clothes took on a personality of their own, with a complete ecological system, and animal life, mostly too small for the naked, or even clothed eye to see. The invisible creatures lived out their lives in the folds and tucks of his garments, producing families, having wars and battles and dying, all without his knowledge.

After a month or so, Tom began to realise that the more he read, the less he knew, and that he needed help. All the information was there, but he couldn't actually make enough sense of it for the new found knowledge to be of any use to him. His attempt at turning a stray spider into a frog, had resulted in the wall forming a puddle on the floor, looking for all the world, like lime jelly, and tasting just like it too. The table that had been the spiders hunting ground, kicked Tom on the shin, and ate the carpet, using its drawer for a mouth.

Telekinetic experiments turned inanimate objects into inanimate objects. A picture on the wall was still a picture on the wall, only, buckled a bit and without the glass that covered it. The object had been to move the thing from one place to another, but all he had managed to do was bend it a bit. One talent become obvious though. Tom could make any charm or spell go completely wrong with an alarming regularity that soon resulted in the hapless house, contents, and residents becoming totally rearranged. Walls took on new dimensions. Any semblance of symmetry soon left the realms of actuality. A rat now sported a chair leg for a rear end instead of a tail and a pair of hind feet. The spider, armed with an arachnid IQ of one hundred and eighty, and a pair of wings, left home to form a monastery sworn to celibacy, silence and the manufacture of a potent liqueur. Just before the structure and fabric of the once pristine bakery gave up and collapsed around the bewildered Tom, he decided to find a tutor.