The Devil's Disciple
Chapter 1: Tuesday January 18: His First Brief Appearance

Copyright© 2005 by Berwick Bob

Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1: Tuesday January 18: His First Brief Appearance - One brother seeks the assistance of the other brother on a mission of revenge. Nothing unusual about that, except for one thing. One of them is dead! Takes place in a Melbourne that is overrun by gangs of youths and possesses an undermanned and ineffectual police force.

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Mult   Consensual   NonConsensual   Rape   Mind Control   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Incest   Father   Daughter   BDSM   Spanking   Sadistic   Torture   Orgy   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Fisting   Exhibitionism   Violence  

'Hey there Winston, are you listening?'

There it was again, the same deep-throated gravely voice I'd heard before asking that same damn question. I sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. I checked the room, nothing. Then I got out of bed and stupidly checked under the bed and in the walk-in-robes, why I don't know. Still I saw nothing. I walked to the door, opened it and checked through the study, nothing. I shrugged my shoulders, went back to bed and slid between the black satin sheets satisfied I must have been dreaming. Then just as I turned out the light and rolled over back came the same urgent voice.

'Winston you do remember don't you?'

"Remember what?" This time I answered, but not loud enough to risk waking either my father or Connie who were in the bedroom next to mine. "Who the fuck are... ?" I lay back down, suddenly I felt seriously stupid. "Jesus what's wrong with me, one dream and I'm talking to an empty room."

I turned in the opposite direction, shut my eyes and pulled the covers over my head. Suddenly I got a stinging slap in the face for my trouble.

'Do you still think you're dreaming? I strongly advise you to think again if you do.'

I certainly didn't, the burning sensation that was spreading through my left cheek suggested something very real. "What the fucking hell!" I said sitting up and reaching for the bedside lamp again.

'Take a little peep at the mirror and tell me what you see.'

I looked in that direction and shrugged my shoulders. "I don't see anything, suppose you tell me what the hell it is I'm supposed to see."

But there was no answer, so while I took a closer look I felt my face to remind myself that at least the pain was real. Then I saw it, just the faintest outline but it was there surrounding a barely discernible luminous reflection.

"All right maybe I do see it, but who the... ? What the... ?"

'Just tell me if you recall the voice Winston.'

Whatever it was, whoever it was had the advantage on me by knowing my name, which I suppose was simply a way of indicating that the voice should be familiar to me. It had also been raised to a level where it would be heard in my father's room.

"Can't you keep the fucking noise down. I mean I know my father's a heavy sleeper but Connie isn't." Then I thought about the voice, there was something about it, there was somebody that came to mind but I wasn't about to say anything because the whole idea sounded so far-fetched it was ridiculous, so I said, "And no I don't recognise the voice, why, should I?"

'I shouldn't worry about the noise Winston, nobody can hear me but you. Now I really do think it's a good idea if you concentrate on my voice. I'm afraid my throat got a little burnt because I was breathing in when I should have been breathing out while I was tossing coals on those infernal fires down below, that's why it's a little husky. Anyway while you're trying get those little brain cells working I'll just remind you that today is the anniversary of a rather unhappy event that occurred three years ago.'

I did think for several moments and only one incident, one person, came to mind, my brother Colin! But that was impossible wasn't it? How could somebody as down-to-earth, as rational as I had always professed to be, accept anything like that? So I simply refused to believe it. My senses and memory were telling me one thing but my mind kept saying it was impossible because to believe that would be like admitting to the existence of ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night.

"Your not going to tell me that your... ?" I couldn't even say his name. "That's fucking bullshit and I absolutely refuse to believe it."

And even if it was true what did the voice — if it existed — mean about those fires and that sore throat? I waited for an answer but the voice had gone and so, as I took a closer look at the mirror, had the vision, reflection, image, call it what you will.

"Come on you bastard," I said in a whisper, "you can't leave me like this."

But there was no answer, nothing. It was almost as if bar for the slap in the face — which I could still feel — none of this had happened.

 
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