Haunting Sex Story

Ramona, had she stopped to think about it, would have recognized that her daughter’s response to the current “crisis” was out of proportion to what it should have been. As far as Ramona knew, her children lived next door to, but had no interaction with, the sad property next door. To them, it should have just been a moldering old house with a mysterious past, quietly rotting away in the midst of an untended forest of unruly vegetation.

But her own emotional state prevented her from recognizing that her children were much too interested in her old home. She had never told them about her past. When they asked about grandparents she simply reported them dead and buried long ago. She had never mentioned the uncle they didn’t know they had, or the fact that Nettleton blood flowed in their veins. She assumed they were curious about who had re-opened the Nettleton place in the same manner as the rest of the town would be when they learned of it. The gossip would fly … no doubt about that.

And so, lacking a plan to inform her children of everything she had omitted from their family history, she had decided just to let Robert explain it. Thankfully, he had called her at the bank when he got to town and began hiring contractors.

Just hearing his voice had made her so weak she almost couldn’t have a conversation with him. He’d wanted to see her, but at that time she couldn’t trust herself to be able to stand, let alone conduct civilized verbal discourse. Instead of trying to bring him up to date, she had just invited him to dinner. She anchored her hopes for rational behavior in the familiarity of preparing a meal in her own house, with her children nearby. There would be hours in which they could figure out what to do and how to explain all this to the twins.

She hoped it would work. She had no earthly idea whether it would or not, but she hoped events would take care of themselves and that she wouldn’t burst into tears or have a complete breakdown.

Now, though, she faced her daughter, who was by then backed up by her son. “I have to fix dinner. Our guest will be here at seven. In the mean time you two need to pick up the house. It’s a pigsty and I won’t have guests in our home with it looking like this.”

There were moans of discontent, but she insisted on keeping to her “plan” as it were.

Part of the moans were because the house was already spotless. Oh, there was the odd magazine lying here, and an empty glass sitting there, but Ramona kept a trim ship all the time, and had required her children to do the same. In truth that was one reason they were attracted to the manor. There was no hope of cleaning that place up and, while there, they could relax and be as comfortable as they wanted to, leaving things lay wherever they wanted to. Their mother’s training had sunk in, though, and they had, unthinkingly, slowly straightened and dusted things, at least in a few rooms, and they usually removed any trash they generated from food waste they brought into the place.

So, while they went through the fruitless motions of “cleaning”, which mostly meant picking things up from where they belonged and then putting them right back where they belonged, the teens tried to communicate without words about what they thought might be going on. Anyone else would have thought it was comical to see them miming and mouthing things at each other as they did things that didn’t need to be done.

They noticed that dinner was going to be special. Their mother was making Lasagna in that special way of hers that meant it was for somebody important. Then there were hot rolls, also a special occasion food. Finally there was asparagus, which was expensive, and there was a relish tray with black olives too, along with tiny sweet pickles, and carrot sticks and even deviled eggs. She was going all out and that raised the bar as far as how important this dinner guest was.

Debbie tried again, while offering to help in the kitchen. “Who is this mysterious man?” she asked casually.

“I told you to wait until our guest gets here. He’ll explain everything.”

“No, not the man next door. Who is coming to dinner?” Debbie prodded, not having any idea that their guest was the man next door.

Ramona smiled to herself. “I don’t recall saying our dinner guest was a man,” she said.

“Oh come on Mommy,” wheedled Debbie. “Okay, who is the mysterious woman who’s coming to dinner?”

“I don’t believe I said our guest was going to be a woman either,” said Ramona, enjoying her teasing.

Debbie’s ire was as instantaneous as it was explosive. “Mother! You tell me right now who’s coming to dinner or I’m going to scream!” she screamed.

Ramona turned to her daughter with shock on her face. Debbie didn’t act like this. These were unusual circumstances, but why could she care that much who was coming to dinner?

She started to question her daughter, but Robby danced in and pulled at his sister’s arm.

“Come on Deb, I need your help in here for a minute.”

Debbie shook off her brother’s grip and took a breath to make her demand again. She was frowning horribly, obviously upset.

Ramona was astonished to see Robby grab his sister firmly by the waist and pull her bodily out of the kitchen as she slapped at him and tried to turn around.

“Drop it, Debbie!” he commanded, his voice suddenly deep.

Ramona was astonished as much by his assertiveness as she was by the fact that Debbie deflated and let him pull her out. She started to go after them, but the sauce began to boil and she had to stop and take care of that.

Outside the kitchen Robby shoved Debbie up against a wall and, instead of reasoning with her, he kissed her, pinning her to the wall between his arms, pressing his chest against hers. She tried to turn her head and he bit her lip gently. Then as she said “Ow!” into his mouth he let her go and stepped back. She looked at him with amazement and a little fear.

“What are you doing?” she hissed in a whisper, looking at the doorway to the kitchen only ten feet away.

“Stopping you from doing something stupid,” he whispered back, leaning toward her. “Leave it alone or she’s going to know something’s up.”

“Of course something’s up you idiot!” whispered his sister, but the shock of what he’d done had robbed her of her anger and she slumped.

“Come on,” he mouthed, reaching for her hand. She followed him, almost stomping, lifting her whole hip to let her leg swing forward, rather than just walking. She was pouting.

He took her to the living room and pushed her down on the couch.

“It’s only forty-five minutes. What’s done is done and you can’t force anything to happen,” he lectured her.

“You’re not my boss,” she said in a sulk.

“No, but I’m big enough to spank you,” he threatened.

“You wouldn’t!” she yipped.

“Yes I would,” he warned.

“You can’t,” she reasoned.

“I will if you don’t settle down.” He leaned toward her and she shrank back from him. His hands kept coming though and he started tickling her.

She shrieked and twisted, her hands flailing at him, trying to tickle him back and they ended up laughing as their mother, done with things in the kitchen long enough to investigate her children’s strange behavior walked into the room. Ramona stopped and stared at her completely normal acting children as they tusseled with each other. She shook her head, checked her watch, and, with a harried expression, turned back to the kitchen.

The twins had seen her out of the corner of their eyes, and when she went back in the kitchen they both felt a rush of relief. Robby snatched at his sister’s breasts and squeezed them once before jumping back as she charged up off the couch, her hand low and open in a claw, obviously going for his jewels.

Now he ran to the kitchen, where she couldn’t grab him in the place she intended to, laughing as she chased him.

“Mom! Debbie’s being mean to me,” he whined as he ran to his mother and tried to get between her and the counter.

Ramona’s hands were covered with flour and her son’s actions startled her. She spun in a circle as Robby got behind her and gripped her waist. He used her as a shield. Debbie tried to reach around her mother to pinch her brother and was laughing as Ramona stood, not knowing what to do, her hands out.

“Children!” she yelled.

TBC

They stopped, and she looked at Debbie, who was grinning. It was a moment where prior bonding asserted itself. As Ramona said, “Behave!” her daughter flowed against her for a hug. Then her son added his hug to it and they were suddenly a Mommy sandwich … a group of hugging people.

Ramona was overcome with a sudden rush of love for her children. As their fears had evaporated during a sexual act, hers evaporated during a loving act and she hugged Debbie fiercely. Then she turned to gather Robby into one arm, while she gripped Debbie with the other.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said, her eyes almost overflowing with tears of mixed joy and apprehension. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Debbie, her eyes also wet, said, “I love you Mommy.”

Ramona returned it. “I love you too baby. I love you both more than anything in the whole world.”

“I’ll be patient,” said Debbie.

“Thank you,” said Ramona, unnerved by how much she meant that.

“Especially if you’ll tell me who’s coming to dinner,” said Debbie, grinning and kissing her mother on the cheek.

Ramona barked a laugh and slapped her daughter on her behind, leaving a ghostly white handprint. “Now get out of here and get ready. It’s somebody special. That’s all I’m telling you. Go on now.” She gave Debbie another whack as they disentangled themselves.

“And don’t wear anything dirty or wrinkled!” called their mother as they left to go to their rooms.

Debbie stood in her room dressed only in panties. She was trying to figure out what to wear. Her mother’s actions made it plain that whoever it was that was coming, he … or she … was somebody important. So that meant Debbie should wear something nice. She chose her favorite blouse, and a pair of hip-hugging slacks. She didn’t want to wear a bra, but put one on anyway, since nice girls wore them. Looking in the mirror she frowned. Her hair was a mess. She grabbed a brush and a rubber band. A pony tail would have to do.

Ramona put the final touches on the dishes she had prepared. Her stomach was full of butterflies and her knees felt weak. She had a clear vision in her mind of her brother, but it was his image at eighteen. She knew he had to have changed, as she had. The last time he’d seen her she had mere swells for breasts, and was thin and bony. Good food and children had changed her body, making it full and rounded. Her breasts, swollen with milk for her babies, had stayed full, even when she stopped breast feeding. She knew there were a few wrinkles on her face too. She wasn’t fat, by any means, but she didn’t look anything like she had the last time her brother had seen her.

She hung up her apron and started for her own bedroom, where she intended to dress in a dark blue sundress that would be both comfortable and, she hoped, pretty. It only had spaghetti straps, so she wouldn’t be able to wear a bra, but her breasts didn’t sag too much. She thought it would be okay.

Ramona had taken only three steps when the front doorbell rang. He was here! He was early! She was a wreck!

Before she could make any decision about what to do Debbie flashed past her at a dead run.

“I’ll get it!” she yelled excitedly.

Robby was close behind, shuffling down the stairs in that light bouncing way that only young people can descend a staircase.

“He’s early!” squeaked Ramona.

The world went into slow motion for Ramona. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. She wanted to be the one to open the door, to usher in the man her children knew nothing about, to introduce him, dressed nicely.

“Wait!” she screamed.

Debbie skidded to a stop by the front door. Her face turned, questioning to her mother.

“I’m not ready!” said Ramona, her voice shaky.

“We can’t just leave him out there!” said Debbie reaching for the knob.

“But …” started Ramona, as Debbie turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Ramona’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she gasped.

Standing in the door was a disheveled looking man. He was stooped, as if old. He had a wild nest for hair, and a long black beard. He was wearing a trench coat. He looked like a bum, searching for a handout.

“Hello,” said the man in a modulated voice, somewhere between bass and tenor. “I’m Mister Smith.”

The reactions from the members of the Franklin family were remarkably similar though slightly different.

Debbie gasped and stepped back from the door, away from the man.

Ramona gasped and stood stock still.

Robby gasped and took a step forward, his protective instincts on sudden alert.

Mister Smith appeared to smile beneath his beard. “Your mother has graciously invited me to dinner this evening. I’m afraid I’m a little early. I hope this does not inconvenience you too much.” He spoke with a strange accent, like he wasn’t from America, but spoke English fluently.

Ramona recovered first. The man’s voice was the same one she’d heard on the phone, and recognized as her brother’s. His appearance was completely unexpected and … wrong somehow.

“Mister … Smith,” she said, her voice trembling a little. “Please come in. I apologize for my appearance, but … as you said … you are a bit early. Children!” she barked. “Get Mister Smith something to drink and take his … coat.” That seemed odd to say in the middle of summer.

Debbie, staring at the man in horror, chose to go to the kitchen, leaving Robby to step toward the man, his hand outstretched for the coat, which was still firmly settled on his shoulders.

Instead Mister Smith gripped Robby’s hand and pumped it with vigor.

“I’m very happy to meet you,” he said. “And your name is …?”

“Robby” said the boy with a dry throat. The man’s grip was firm and warm, what Robby had been told was a “good” handshake.

“Robby as in Robert?” mused the man, still not taking off his coat.

“No, just Robby,” said Robby. “Your coat?”

“If it’s all the same to you I’d just as soon wear it,” said the strange man. “I have a condition … it’s not catching, mind you … but I’m more comfortable with it on.”

Debbie appeared in the entrance to the living room, a glass of iced tea in her hand. She held it out from across the room, as if she hoped he could extend his arm like rubber to grasp it and she wouldn’t have to come any closer.

“What a beautiful young woman,” said Mister Smith admiringly. You are the very picture of your mother…" the sentence was strangely cut off, as if he had been about to say something more, and then decided not to.

“Thank you?” Debbie’s voice came as a question.

Ramona came down the stairs. She was wearing her blue sundress and she looked fabulous in it. She had left her hair in a pony tail too, out of necessity and to save time. She’d put on a touch of lipstick and wiped at a dab of flour on her face as she turned away from the mirror. All she’d done was smear the flour into a long oblong.

“A vision of loveliness,” sighed the scruffy stranger.

That caused both teens to turn and look at where he was looking, to see their mother.

“Mom!” said Debbie. “You’re barefoot!”

Ramona looked down at her bare feet as if they belonged to someone else. She looked up blankly. “I guess I forgot my shoes.”

Mister Smith laughed. “Ah, but it is summer anyway, is it not? And bare feet are perfect for summer.”

Ramona’s plan to announce their uncle had been put on hold. Ramona, while she changed, realized that her brother was wearing a disguise for some reason. She couldn’t imagine why, but he had, so now she didn’t know if he wanted to be identified or not. She needed a few minutes alone with him. Her heart was fluttering as she slipped on the dress. By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs her heart was pounding.

“Children,” she said weakly. “Would you please put the food on the table while I have a word with Mister … Smith.”

Neither child wanted to leave the room, especially Robby, but their mother stared at them until they left. Standing there to make sure they didn’t come right back in, she watched the entryway for a moment and then turned to find “Mister Smith” standing only a foot away.

“Bobby?” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Rami, you’re so gorgeous,” he breathed. “I thought I remembered your beauty, but I can’t believe how you’ve changed. You take my breath away.” Then he jerked. “I don’t want anyone to know who I am right now. I’m posing as the caretaker for the house … to get things started before the ruckus there will be when people find out I’m back. There have been legal claims filed against the estate … vultures who think they can take what is not theirs. I don’t want to talk to reporters, even if the only ones that show up are from the local newspaper.”

“The kids ….” she said. “I was going to tell the kids about you … going to let you tell them about you,” she said helplessly.

“I didn’t think you wanted your husband to know about me,” he said thickly.

“He died Bobby,” she whispered urgently. “I didn’t have the strength to find you … to tell you. I’m sorry,” she said, her mouth turning down.

He reached out to touch her arm. “It is I who am sorry. I have neglected you and our family name in the pursuit of a mad dream. I’m so sorry to hear of your sorrow … your loss. But I need to remain anonymous a little longer. Can I do that please? Would your children tell people who I am if they knew?”

“I don’t know. It’s going to be a shock to them. I never told them about you Bobby. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Hearing your voice now … I feel …” She broke off, wiping an eye.

“What am I going to tell them now?” she asked frantically. “They want to know who you are and what you’re doing!”

“Why would they care so much?” he asked, puzzled. Then a gleam came into his eye. “Unless it is they who have been using the house!”

“Using the house?” asked Ramona. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“Someone has been using the house … being there I mean. They haven’t bothered anything really, but I found a small collection of valuables, or things that children might think were valuable in one of the rooms. And some clothing has been unpacked … our parents’ clothing.”

“What?!” came Ramona’s astonished reply. “No! It couldn’t be them. I’d know. They never go there. No one ever goes there Bobby!” she gasped.

“Well then, it is someone else. No matter, as I said they haven’t bothered anything. If anything they have kept things in order, somewhat, and cared for things to some degree. There has been no vandalism, as I feared there would be.”

“But what do we tell them?” she asked.

“Let me handle that,” he said. “I won’t stay long.”

“But I wanted to see you!” she moaned. “To talk to you.”

“I’ll be right next door from now on,” he said. “You can come and see me any time you like.”

“I can’t do that!” she said. “What if somebody saw me?”

“You work at the bank. I’ll just request that they assign you as my personal teller … to handle all my accounts … to assist me in my mission.”

“They won’t do that!” said Ramona with a gasp.

“Dear Rami, my sweet” he said in natural closeness that was somehow easy to revive, “In the years that have gone by, the inheritance our father left us has grown much. They’ll do anything I ask to keep my account in their little bank. Did you waste all your money?” he asked gently.

“No, I’ve never touched that money,” she said breathlessly. “That money is tainted.”

“Then my dear beautiful sister, you are rich beyond your wildest dreams. And the original money is long gone, returned to the treasury or dispensed to persons. That money is yours. You may do with it what you wish, but it is yours. Our father provided for us. What harm can there be in that? Think of it as his last gasp of love for us. He loved us, you know, he and mother both.”

Ramona’s eyes misted and glazed as she recalled one of her dimmest memories … the tall brown haired woman who had sung to her and dressed her in frilly dresses, taking her for walks in the sun … in the beautiful gardens. “I remember,” she whispered.

“Then let us to dinner, to answer your handsome children’s questions. They are beautiful, Rami … your children.”

“Yes” she said firmly. “They are the loves of my life.”

“I used to be the love of your life … long ago,” he said softly.

“I remember that too, Bobby,” she whispered again. She wanted to hug him, to cling to him, but his appearance was so strange and wrong that she couldn’t.

“Come,” he said. He held out his hand. She took it, feeling the calluses of the work he’d done for many years with his hands, and the strength in them too.

Debbie and Robby had tried to eavesdrop on the adults in the other room, but could hear only murmurs of conversation. They heard their mother exclaim something, but couldn’t hear what it was. They labored mechanically, transferring dishes to the table, getting the silverware their mother had absent-mindedly forgotten to put out. She had used the good dishes and crystal glasses that they had eaten on perhaps only a dozen times in their life.

And for this stranger?!

TBC on the next Chapter……..

Chapter Four

Having been unable to hear what their mother and the strange hermit-looking man talked about, curiosity consumed the twins and they waited impatiently when the mumbling stopped and yet, the adults still didn’t appear. Debbie craned her neck, trying to peek around the corner without being seen. As the adults suddenly walked into view, Debbie saw that the man was holding her mother’s hand. He dropped it and then looked directly into Debbie’s eyes.

This stranger looked … stranger and stranger.

They sat, Ramona at the head of the table, with her children on each side of her and Mister Smith at the other end.

As dishes of food began to be passed around, the man spoke.

“Your mother tells me that you two are curious about what is happening next door, at the old Nettleton place. This is true, yes?”

His accent caused Debbie to stutter.

“Y..Y..Yes.” The bowl of asparagus slipped from her fingers and thumped on the table, but didn’t spill. She blushed. “Sorry,” she said.

“Well, that is a simple thing to answer,” said the man, scooping out a huge helping of Lasagna. He held the last spoonful to his nose and drew in a great breath. “This is smelling divine to me,” he said.

Ramona scrunched up her face, somewhere between happy and trying to tell him that the accent was too heavy.

He passed the bowl to Robby who stared at it. It was a third empty and Smith was the only one who’d been served. He blinked and took some, unconsciously taking less than he usually would have.

Debbie had been waiting for Smith to go on, but he didn’t, choosing first salt, then getting three hot rolls, and then asking for butter.

“Well?” she asked impatiently, leaning toward the man.

He looked at her through his wild hair and bushy eyebrows and grinned with startlingly white teeth. Debbie noticed there was a stick of some sort stuck in the hair at the top of the man’s left ear, like some carpenters wore a pencil. The end of the stick looked like it had been smashed, leaving tiny slivers of wood bunched together. She stared at it and he saw where her eyes were. His hand reached up and felt the stick.

“This is a makeshift toothbrush,” he said amiably, “Such as they use in the country I have come from. I have not yet had time to purchase a new one here in your delightful town.”

Debbie’s mouth hung open. Who used a stick as a toothbrush? Who went anywhere without a toothbrush? She shook her head and frowned.

“You are having some impatience, yes?” prodded the man, grinning.

Debbie blushed more, her face going sunburn red.

“Sorry,” she mumbled again.

Smith laughed, and his voice sounded warm and nice, not at all like he looked.

“I should not tease you,” he said. “That is bad manners.” But then he took a bite of the lasagna, getting sauce on his moustache and beard, which he seemed completely unaware of. It was disgusting.

He smacked his lips and leaned back. “I work for the Nettletons,” he said. “It is wished for that the old family house be restored. I am to oversee that process.”

Had he said a comet was going to smash into the earth and kill everybody, the impact wouldn’t have been any more profound.

Debbie gulped for air and ended up hyperventilating, getting dizzy and wobbling in her chair. Smith was out of his chair in a flash, catching her before she fell, while her brother and mother stared, uncomprehending.

“I need a bag,” he barked, the accent suddenly much diminished. “Something she can breathe into.”

Ramona jumped from her chair like a rabbit jumps when it’s been shot, and scurried to the kitchen. She came back with a lunch sack and handed it to him.

Debbie was flailing weakly and Robby was ineffectually trying to get the disgusting man to stop touching his sister, but she was almost unconscious as her lungs spasmed.

“Hold her” he said to Ramona and he prepared the bag, slapping the open end over her mouth and nose. “Hold this to your face little one,” he ordered.

Debbie’s hands came up and pressed the bag to her face, half crushing it, but her head cleared almost immediately as she rebreathed air poor in oxygen.

Smith stepped back to his chair, sat down, and began stuffing lasagna into his mouth, alternating with bread and asparagus. He made noises of appreciation while Debbie got control of herself and her mother hovered over her.

“I’m fine Mom,” she said, disgusted that this foul stranger had helped her. “Go sit down and eat.” Her appetite was gone, and she sat, staring at her plate.

Smith paused, speaking with his mouth full, his words mushy. He picked up the conversation right where it had left off, as if nothing had happened.

“This renovation displeases you?” he asked, reaching for tea to wash down the food.

“You can’t,” said Debbie in a small voice.

“Debbie!” came her mother’s astonished voice.

“Well … he can’t!” shouted Debbie. “It’s not right!”

“Deborah Jean Franklin!” said her mother in a too-loud voice. “Where are your manners?!”

Smith held up his hand. “There is much passion in this beautiful almost-woman,” he said, looking at her with piercing eyes. “This is America, yes? In this land you speak freely, is that not so?”

“Yes!” blurted Debbie. “And I say you should go back to wherever you came from and leave us alone!” she ended in a shout, her face red again, this time from anger.

“Debbie, you are excused to your room,” said Ramona, her voice cold and sharp. “Freedom of speech does not mean you may be disrespectful to our guest.”

Debbie’s eyes were stricken and she ducked her head. Then it snapped back up, her eyes blazing. “I prefer to go to my room right now mother!”

She stood and stiffly turned to stalk out of the dining room toward the stairs.

Ramona watched her go and then her eyes went to her son, who had sat mute and stiff throughout the whole exchange.

“Would you like to tell me what’s going on here?” she asked in a voice that made it clear she expected to be told what was going on.

Robby didn’t know what to do or say. He couldn’t just admit that they’d played in the mansion for years, that they felt ownership of the dilapidated place. That would lead to consequences that couldn’t possibly be happy.

“It’s haunted,” he blurted. “The ghosts will be unhappy. They might do things,” he suggested vaguely.

Ramona, whose own spirit had been dampened many times by thoughts of that old house and the pain it had seen, but who had never thought even once that she might be “haunted” by an unhappy ghost, laughed, her voice at the edge of panic. Then her giggle box fell over with a silent thump and uncontrollable giggles gushed out of Ramona’s mouth until she was gasping for breath, almost like her daughter had been. She tried to take a drink of tea and choked on it. Now she was trying to laugh and cough at the same time. Twin dribbles of tea dripped from her nostrils.

Again Smith was on his feet and pounding her back lightly, helpless to do anything else.

Robby just stared.

TBC

All the tension Ramona had felt building, and only partially released by her earlier crying session in the car, flooded out with her laughs. It was a catharsis she needed badly and, even though she was afraid she’d fall out of her chair she was ecstatic at the feel of all that unwanted tightness flowing out of her body. Then she thought of what she’d look like falling over, lying on the floor, tea running out of her nose, and she laughed even harder. Her brother … her dear sweet brother was there. He was going to be here next door for a long time … maybe forever … and that thought made her feel even better. She drew in a racking deep breath and finally got control of her diaphragm. Now all she had to do was pull in more air and she’d be fine.

Smith stood up, staring down at the woman. “All the women in this family have these breathing problems, yes?”

That made Ramona laugh too, but this time it was a short, normal laugh. She wiped her eyes and cheeks with her palms and, then grabbed the napkin to rub under her nose. With her cleared vision saw that Debbie had returned to the bottom of the stairs and was staring curiously at the scene in the dining room.

Ramona pointed at her. “You!” she said. “If you’ve found your manners you may return to the table.” Then, a few more giggles chuckled out of her mouth.

Debbie turned and went back up the stairs.

Ramona felt sad at that, but waved Mister Smith back to his chair.

“Ghosts,” she said, and giggled again.

“I’m thinking there are no ghosts,” said Smith, beginning to eat again.

Robby, flushed with shame and anger at his mother’s laughter, just sat. His appetite was gone too.

“Lots of people think there are ghosts,” said Robby sullenly.

His mother heard the anger in his voice, and she calmed. “Robby, I wasn’t laughing at you. Not really. I think I was just laughing because I needed to laugh. I don’t think you’re silly or anything like that,” she said. “But I also don’t believe in ghosts.”

Robby, his heart sinking, knew beyond his years that nothing he could say would undo what was going on.

“I’m not really hungry,” he said. “Can I go?”

Ramona’s first instinct was to say “No,” but she heard the sadness in his voice and nodded instead. He got up and walked heavily to the stairs.

When his footfalls were gone, Robert Nettleton, looking ridiculous in his sauce-smeared false moustache and beard, looked helplessly at his sister.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “They shouldn’t care so much about what happens over there. Nobody else does. I don’t understand it.” she said.

“Are you sure they don’t know?” he asked. “About who you really are I mean?”

“Bobby, I’ve never told them anything. Just that our parents were gone. I avoided talking about it, not wanting them to be affected by … our past.”

There was more meaning in her voice than that associated with the house and grounds of the Nettleton Mansion. Robert wanted to tell her about their mother’s jewelry box, that he’d found in the wrong room of the mansion, with things in it that had been put there by someone other than their mother, including a watch that had to have been their father’s. He was distracted by the pain in her voice. It reminded him of his own pain.

“I missed you so much,” said Robert.

“I wanted to die at first,” said Ramona. “But then I met Richard and it wasn’t so bad. And then when the twins were born I was happy Bobby … really happy.”

She looked at the strange apparition at her table and then looked away. As long as all she did was hear his voice she had a picture of 18 year old Bobby Nettleton in her mind.

“Didn’t you ever find a girl? To love?” she asked.

“Oh, there were girls, I suppose, but none to claim my heart,” he said. “My work was such that there was no time or place for romance anyway.”

“That’s so sad,” said Ramona, her heart going out to him.

“I’m young,” he said. “And I’m rich. I won’t be alone for long. Not in the good old U.S. of A.”

“I’ll have a talk with the kids,” said Ramona. “I’ll try to find out what’s really going on.” She stole a peek at him. “I’m glad you’re back Bobby. I missed you too.”

He grinned. “Come over and see me sometime. Bring some more of this delicious food. I won’t have electricity for two more weeks, and then I can get some appliances in there and begin cooking for myself. Man, I’ve missed food like this.”

“When do you think you’ll go … public?” she asked.

“There are six liens filed against the place, from contractors who say they have been doing upkeep. That’s preposterous and I don’t want them to know they’re dealing with me. All they are doing is grubbing for money. More will probably come out as soon as the word gets out that I’m back. I have several court appearances to make as Mister Smith and then I should be able to throw away this horrible hair.

Ramona giggled. “It is horrible. Couldn’t you have gotten something nicer?”

“I thought it gave me a colorful appearance,” he said, wounded.

“Yes, but the color is so … " she was searching for the right word.

He finished the sentence for her. “Crazy?”

She blushed. “I didn’t say that. you said that.”

“Well, I won’t wear it when you come to call.” He dug in the pocket of the coat he was still wearing and handed her a shiny brass key. “This goes to the padlock on the gate. I oiled the hinges and it now works flawlessly. I don’t lock the house. Haven’t gotten around to finding the right locksmith. The ghosts will keep everybody else away,” he said grinning.

“What will I tell the kids?” she asked, a flutter in her stomach at the idea of going back to the house she’d stayed away from for so long.

“Bring them along,” he said. “I have a feeling the disguise idea was a bad one … at least with them. Who knows? I probably didn’t need a disguise at all. Who around here would recognize me anyway? I think I only used it because it was such an exotic idea.”

He stood up. “Now, I’d better go. You have two unruly children to deal with. If they give you too much trouble come get me and I’ll come back and scare them half to death.” He grinned again.

“I’d kiss you goodbye, but I’m not going near that mess you have on your face. I hope you have water over there,” said Ramona.

“Water I have in plenty. The old well is still good and the pump worked fine once I replaced the leather gasket. It’s cold, but I can always warm up some for a whore’s bath on the wood stove. As for the kiss … I’ll save it for you…”

Ramona blushed. “That was a long time ago Bobby,” she said.

“I know,” he said back. “I really missed you Rami.”

Then he went to the door and let himself out with a wave over his shoulder. Ramona stood and just tried to decide how she felt.

It took quite a while, as she turned the shiny brass key over and over in her fingers. Finally she went upstairs to talk to her children.

She found them together. They were in Robby’s room. Robby was lying on the bed, while Debbie paced back and forth. She stopped when Ramona stepped into the room. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks tear-stained.

“Why is that old place so important to you two?” asked their mother.

Debbie slumped. Like Robby, she just couldn’t confess to what they’d done for so many years. It was their secret. It wasn’t their sexual play that was uppermost in Debbie’s mind. It was the length of time the secret had been kept from her mother. She knew her mother would be hurt by the truth.

As they say, the best defense is a good offense.

TBC

“Mom” said Debbie, her voice under control now. “You treated that … man … like he was somebody special. You fixed your best dinner. We used our best dishes. You were excited, Mom. But when he got here you acted like you’d never seen him in your life. Who is he?”

Now it was Ramona who had a fifteen year old secret she’d kept from the two people she loved most in the world. And she had no idea how to tell them about that secret, and all the other secrets she had kept for their entire lives … even beyond their entire lives.

“He’s somebody I knew a long time ago,” she sighed. “He looked differently than I expected him to and it surprised me. He was very important to me back then. That’s all I can tell you about him. I want to tell you more … but I can’t. Not yet. In a few weeks, maybe.” Her voice was defeated. She knew her children would not stand for that answer. “It’s very complicated.”

“How could you have known him long ago? It’s obvious he’s from some foreign country. I don’t understand.” Debbie’s voice was defeated too.

“Mom?” came Robby’s voice.

“Yes sweetheart,” she said back.

“Do you trust us?”

That surprised Ramona. “Of course I trust you. I love you,” she said.

“Okay, we trust you and love you too,” he said. “How about this? How about you trust us when we tell you we really care about that house. We can’t explain why, but it’s true. And we’ll trust you when you tell us that you know that man, and that he’s not a bad man. He’s not, right?”

Ramona smiled tiredly. “No, he’s not bad. He’s a very good man.”

“He scares me,” said Debbie.

“He would never hurt you for anything in the world,” said her mother.

“Okay, if you say so, but he’s still scary. That hair … the way he eats. He eats like he’s starving, or has never had good food in his life. It’s just weird.” Debbie went and sat on the edge of the bed, by her brother.

“He said he’s going to restore the house. What does that mean exactly?” asked Robby.

“There used to be beautiful gardens all around it,” said Ramona, her voice going soft as she remembered. “And the house was painted and the tower roof was covered in shining copper shingles. And there were beautiful rugs and servants and music. It was a beautiful place then,” she said.

“How do you know that?” asked Debbie, her imagination fired by the description.

Ramona jerked, coming back to the present. Her words had been dangerous. “I … ahh … talked with Mister Smith about it. Back then he lived there.” She folded her arms. “I think Robby’s idea is good. I’ll trust you two, and you trust me. In a few weeks there may be enough changes that your questions will be able to be answered. Maybe mine too. Okay?”

There was a duet of sighed “okay"s from the bed.

“Now, let’s all go down and clean up together. I’m too tired to do it all by myself. For calling it such a special meal you two sure didn’t eat much of it. I could warm some up if you want …”

As if on cue, Debbie’s stomach growled and she giggled. The rest of the evening was spent much more happily than before as they all put the old house out of their minds and were just a family.

The next day, though, after their mother had gone to work, Debbie charged into her brother’s room, where he was still sleeping. She jumped on top of him, tickling him mercilessly.

“Wake up lazy bones!” she squealed. “Let’s go see what that horrible old man is doing to our house!”

Robby tried to defend himself by grabbing his sister’s breasts and squeezing them. It didn’t work. All she did was lean into his hands.

“Mmmm that feels nice. I should have let you touch me a long time ago.”

“I don’t recall asking to touch you,” he said, moving his hands in opposite directions and then back again, making her braless breasts bounce sideways. They were too firm to hit each other though.

She sat up and pushed his hands away. “So, come on, let’s go!” she said excitedly.

“You’re crazy,” he said, his hands moving to her thighs. She was astride him like she was riding a horse. “We can’t go over there any more. That man would probably chop us up and cook us on a campfire.”

“No he wouldn’t. You heard Mommy. She said he’d never ever hurt us, not for anything.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d be happy to see us. Besides, what are we going to do, just walk up to the place and say, ‘Hi, we just thought we’d drop by. Seeing as how we yelled and screamed at you last night we thought we’d be all friendly today.’”

Debbie put her hands on top of his hands, which were on top of her thighs. She stroked the back of his hands with her fingertips.

“No, silly. We’re going to spy. From the secret passage. Through the peep holes. I just want to keep an eye on him and see what he’s doing. Besides, if our stash is still there maybe we can get it while he’s in some other part of the house. Don’t you want your watch?”

“Didn’t mom say he used to live there?” asked Robby. “Maybe he knows all about the secret passages.”

“Of course not,” said Debbie firmly. “That’s why they’re called secret passages, because they’re secret. Those were made when the house was new, and there’s no way Mister Smith could have lived there more than what … twenty or thirty years ago maybe? He’s not old enough to have lived there before that. And he’d have had to be a little boy too if he lived there back then.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “You know what? I bet he and mom went to school together or something like that. And they played together, or he was her boyfriend, like when they were in forth or fifth grade or something. And he lived in the house and Mom lived wherever she lived … where did mom grow up?” Debbie was getting animated by her imaginary assumptions.

“I don’t know,” said Robby. “But I’d rather stay here and play naughty with you. Maybe they played naughty when they were little,” said Robby, his hands sliding up Debbie’s thighs and onto her waist, moving ever upward toward her breasts again.

“Robby!” Debbie was scandalized. “That’s our mother you’re talking about.” She screwed up her face. “Ewwwww, can you imagine mom with that … man?!”

She jumped up, eliciting a grunt from Robby as her firm hard butt bounced on his stomach.

“Come on, get up, let’s go!” she demanded.

Robby got up and unabashedly stripped off his PJ bottoms, showing his morning woody to his sister while he pulled on a pair of shorts. She stared intently at it, but didn’t move to touch him.

“Maybe we’ll play naughty later,” she said, and then danced out of his reach toward the door, teasing him. She pulled her T shirt up, showing him her naked breasts and backed out the door.

“Come on baby, you want these?” she teased. “Come on, just follow little Debbie and maybe she’ll let you play with them.” She had to turn and run to avoid being caught and laughed as she ran out through the back door and into the yard.

Though she had run outside, Debbie didn’t head for the fence to the Nettleton Mansion. Instead she ran around the house a couple of times, staying just ahead of her brother, teasing him. She ran like the wind and loved that he couldn’t quite catch her. When he finally slowed down, panting for breath, she slowed down too, still walking, until they got to the back of the house, where no one in the neighborhood could see them.

Then she let him catch her. She tried to kiss him, as consolation for besting him in the race, but both were breathing too hard for it to really work. They waited until they were sure their mother wasn’t coming back home because she forgot something. Then they walked to the fence where their “private entrance” was and slipped through.

As they penetrated the dense forest, they began to hear noises that were foreign to ears tuned to the normal silence of their fantasy play place. Instead of going to the root cellar, which meant they’d be exposed for the few seconds it would take to get to the entrance and down the stairs, they stayed to the woods and did a circuit of the house to see what was going on outside.

They were astonished.

There were trucks and vans everywhere, parked all over what had, at one time, been lawns and gardens. One had a sign on the side that indicated it was from a plumbing company. Another one was an electrical contractor. There were two from the local garden center, and they had a tractor with a bucket on the front that they were using to clear swaths of weeds and bushes away from around the house. There was a truck with no sign, but two men who wore white coveralls spattered with spots of color, suggesting they were painters. Another truck was from a roofing company. There was a tractor looking thing that had a long arm on the back, with a scoop on the end, and it was digging a long trench from the house toward the street. They winced as they realized if it kept going more of their cherished forest would be destroyed.

There were ladders up against the house in several places, and men on them, taking things off the house and others putting things on the house. The whole place looked different already, though most of that was just because of activity, and not substantive changes to the appearance of the house itself.

Still, it was obvious that the appearance would change. Already the house looked like it stood straighter, without the sag it had always seemed to have, like it was coming awake after a long slumber.

As they watched a truck left, and another one came. It was met by Mister Smith, still wearing his long black trench coat, his beard and hair only a little less tangled. Debbie thought she’d see old crusted lasagna sauce in that beard if she were close enough. She shuddered.

Smith was flitting from one place to another, talking to this man, or that, pointing and gesticulating. The tractors made too much noise for them to hear what he was saying, but it was obvious he was issuing directions to the contractors.

The great double front doors stood wide open, letting sunlight into the foyer, which had not seen such light in decades. Two men were climbing twin ladders, set only a few feet apart, and were carrying something square between them, up the ladder. Whatever it was it sparkled and glistened in the sun, in vivid colors of red, green, blue and a golden color that could only be called yellow by a blind person.

“It’s stained glass!” whispered Robby, close to his sister. The men stopped at an open hole in the side of the house, where a window had been removed. Carefully they fitted the new window into the hole and did something to make it stay.

Another truck arrived, a larger one, with a flat bed heaped with all kinds of things. There was copper piping, and boxes marked as containing toilets and sinks. There were coils of black that looked like wire of some kind. Men got out and began carrying things into the house.

Yet another van arrived, this one marked as the delivery service for a dry cleaning establishment. Two people got out of it with folded boxes and went into the house.

Robby noticed that Debbie was panting, as if she’d run. He moved and saw tears running down her cheeks, dripping to the forest floor.

He reached out to touch her arm and she turned her tear streaked face to him.

“They’re changing everything,” she sobbed, melting into his arms. “I hate him!” she screamed.

Robby hushed her, but there was really no chance her cry had been overheard. He hugged her to him as she sobbed. Finally he let her go and took her hand.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

He was just about to lead her back home, when a car drove into the chaos of vehicles littering the yard. They stared at the car.

It was their car.

Their mother was driving.

TBC

Crouching down in the bushes they watched as Ramona got out and stood in the open door, staring at all the other vehicles, and at the house. She didn’t move for a long time. Then, reaching into the car and removing a leather briefcase, she took a few tentative steps toward the house.

“Maybe she’s got something in there to make them stop,” whispered Robby.

That hope was dented a little when Smith saw their mother and hurried over to her. He started to embrace her, plain as day, but then dropped his arms and stood back, looking over his shoulder at the contractors scattered around the grounds. He took her elbow and led her into the house.

“What’s she doing here?” asked Debbie, puzzled.

“I don’t know,” said Robby, puzzled himself.

“We’ve got to get in there!” said Debbie, standing up.

“We can’t get past all those people!” said Robby.

“The secret way, you Dodo,” she said, looking at him like he was daft.

“I don’t know Deb,” he said uncertainly. “What if we make a noise or something? They could hear us and then what would we do?”

“There’s no way they could hear us with all that noise going on,” said Debbie. “You’re chicken! Aren’t you!”

As anyone knows, that’s probably the best way to get a fifteen year old boy to do just about anything he probably shouldn’t do, and it worked just like it would have on any other fifteen year old boy.

Debbie had to run to catch up to her brother, who was stomping through the woods in an arc that would bring them to the back of the root cellar.

“Be careful,” warned Debbie, afraid she’d made him so mad that he might do something stupid.

“What’s the matter? he growled. “You turning chicken?”

“I’m sorry Robby … come on … you want to know what she’s doing in there don’t you?”

He stopped and turned as she almost ran into him. “If we get caught, I am going to spank you. I promise!” Then he turned and went on.

They waited briefly in the bushes, watching the back of the house, but there was only one man on a ladder there, and all his attention seemed to be on where some boards had been removed from the side of the house.

They made the dash to the steps and skipped steps getting down into the cellar. Without waiting to see if anyone raised the alarm, Robby jerked open the secret door and they ducked into the tunnel. Again, they had forgotten to bring a candle, but again, they both knew the tunnel so well they could negotiate it in the pitch black with no problem. Still, Robby went first, while Debbie held on to his waist.

Robby pulled gently at the door. They had used it so much that it opened easily now, though the hinges squeaked. They had never thought to oil them, since whenever they were there they were alone.

There was a little light in the secret passage, coming in from the peep holes. While it would have seemed dark to most people, after the pitch black of the tunnel it was a little like being outside in moonlight to the teens.

There were thumps that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once as they stepped gently up the staircase. They saw nothing at the first peepholes, and then a painter at the third. Going on up a level, where the bedrooms were, they went to the peephole that led into “their” bedroom. The room was empty. Their box of treasure was still sitting where they had left it before.

They struck pay dirt at the big bedroom, with the four poster bed.

The teens peered silently into the big bedroom where they had played dress up so many times.

Smith and their mother were in that room, along with one of the people who had gotten out of the Dry Cleaner’s van. Ramona was standing along one wall while Smith instructed the man on what to pack into the box. The hangings from the four poster went into one, and the curtains from the windows went into another.

“And everything in those chests.” He pointed to the cedar chests where the clothing Robby and Debbie had worn for years was packed. “But you can get those another day. Do you think these can be repaired and cleaned?” he said lifting up a drooping corner of cloth from inside one of the boxes.

“They’re pretty old, but I’d say they’re in fair shape. I have to tell you though, Mister Smith, this is going to be expensive. We’ll have to re-weave a lot of the holes, and finding fabric - genuine period fabric - will be expensive too. It would be cheaper to just have new ones made.”

“No!” barked Smith. “Only if something is too deteriorated to save. I want to save as much as possible. Expense is not an issue.”

“Well, it’s your money…” said the man, packing up the boxes. The other man came in and helped him carry the boxes out.

Debbie and Robby had to trade off using the peep hole. They whispered to each other as to what they were seeing. The voices were faint, through the wall, but there was only lath and plaster between them and the people in the room, and they could hear through that fairly well.

Debbie watched as Smith looked out of the bedroom door and then closed it. She heard the thunk of a latch being thrown.

“I told you they’d assign you to me if I wanted them to,” he said to their mother.

“It was amazing!” said Ramona. “I got called into the president of the bank’s office and he instructed me that I was to do anything you wanted me to.”

Smith stood, looking at their mother. “Anything?” he leered.

“Bobby,” said Ramona, “I’m here on business.”

Bobby? thought Debbie. His name was Bobby?

“All work and no play makes … Bobby a dull boy,” he grinned.

“Do you have to keep that horrible thing on your face all the time?” asked Debbie’s mother.

“Not when we’re alone,” said the man, and, to Debbie’s astonishment he reached up and pulled off his hair.

Debbie gasped, stepped back and ran into the wall on the opposite side of the secret passageway with a thump.

Robby was at the peephole instantly, just in time to see the man throw a black, hairy mass on the bare mattress of the big bed. There was smooth brown hair on his head. Then he pulled at his beard and Robby saw sticky strings of something that had glued it to his face pull away. He tossed that on the bed too and stood, looking at Ramona.

“Is that better?” he asked.

Ramona was staring at the man, the briefcase hanging from her hand.

“You look so different,” she said softly.

“It’s been a long time Rami,” he said.

“You’re so handsome,” she said.

“Not as handsome as you are beautiful,” said the man who called himself Smith. He stepped toward Bobby’s mother. “I missed you so much Rami.”

Then, to Robby’s astonishment, his mother rushed into the man’s arms, into a kiss that was obviously voluntary and as heartfelt as when Robby kissed his sister.

Now it was Robby who staggered away from the peephole, running into his sister’s soft body. She held his waist with her hands to stabilize them both.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“He kissed her,” gasped Robby.

“What?!” said Debbie, her voice like a shout in the confines of the narrow hallway.

“Shhhh,” said Robby instinctively. “She kissed him,” he corrected himself.

Debbie shoved him to one side and pressed her face to the holes.

“They kissed each other,” whispered Robby.

That kiss was still going on as Debbie’s eyes focused on the adults. That, and a whole lot more. The now brown-haired and clean shaven man - the same man she had seen before when she peeked the last time - had his hand cupping her mother’s breast, and Ramona’s arms were wrapped around his neck.

Ramona pushed him away. “We can’t Bobby,” she said. She didn’t make him remove his hand, which stayed right where it had been, lifting the breast, and squeezing it.

Debbie’s mouth was hanging open. Robby tried to move her but she pushed at him with one hand.

“Is there a man in your life sweet Rami?” asked the man.

“Of course not,” said Ramona. “But there are all kinds of people around.”

“I locked the door,” he said.

“The drapes are gone from the windows,” said Ramona.

Debbie couldn’t quite get her mind wrapped around the conversation. It almost sounded like they were talking about … sex. But that couldn’t be!

“No one is working on that side of the house. I’m on fire for you Rami.”

Debbie bit her lip. This man called her mother by a pet name. Rami was obviously short for Ramona. Who was he? Why had he come to their house wearing a fake beard and moustache.

“You left me,” said her mother, her voice accusing. She looked at the briefcase in her hand as if she’d forgotten it and set it down. Debbie’s unbelieving eyes saw her mother’s fingers go to the buttons of her white blouse and begin unbuttoning them.

“I had to, my sweet,” said the man. “I thought I could save the world. Only that could have taken me away from you.”

Ramona unbuttoned her blouse, as if she were alone in her own bedroom.

“I cried for you Bobby,” said Ramona, pulling the blouse apart and out of the waistband of her skirt. She bared her lacy white bra to this stranger.

Debbie stepped back again, her hand covering her mouth. What her mother was doing made no sense of any kind … in any way. It was like watching a dream, that couldn’t be true, but that you were having anyway, and you couldn’t make it stop.

Debbie’s place was immediately taken by Robby. He gasped and his two hands went to the wall, making a small sound. He saw his mother turn and look directly at him.

“What was that?” she asked.

Robby stared at her flat naked stomach, and the bulging bra cups, with their deep cleavage showing milky white skin. The man was staring at his mother’s breasts too.

“This house makes many noises,” said the man. “Seeing you again makes me want to make a little noise too.”

Robby watched, his brow furrowing, as his mother laughed.

“I haven’t had a man in a long long time Bobby,” she said, removing her blouse and folding it neatly. She bent over and placed it on top of the briefcase. Then, as if it were the most normal thing for his mother to do in the whole world, she unclipped and unzipped her skirt and bent over, stepping out of it. It joined her blouse as she stood before the man in only panties and bra.

“Oh sweet baby, I’ve waited so long too,” the man said, tearing at his clothes.

Robby watched in stark disbelief as his mother reached behind her and the bra fell down her arms to reveal her soft breasts. She had brown nipples Robby had never seen, or could never remember seeing. They were much bigger than Debbie’s pink ones, thick, and they looked firm, sticking out from her slightly sagging breasts. For some crazy reason Robby found himself noticing that those nipples didn’t’ point straight ahead, like Debbie’s did. Instead like eyes with something wrong with them, they looked in slightly different directions.

Robby’s eyes went to the man, who had somehow become naked, his penis standing straight out from a fluff of brown hair that was as wild as the man’s wig had been. That penis looked long, but bent. The man was uncut, like Robby himself, but he was so hard that the glans of his penis seemed to press forward, like it was trying to escape being confined by his foreskin.

“Shit” said Robby under his breath.

“What’s happening now?” came Debbie’s plaintive soft cry.

“They’re naked,” he whispered.

Debbie shoved him sideways, and he pushed off the wall to keep from snagging on one of the upright boards that the lath was nailed to.

“Hey!” he whispered loudly.

“I want to see!” she whispered back, pressing her face to the wall.

Technically, “they” weren’t naked yet, since Ramona still had on her panties. But Debbie’s eyes were drawn to that long fleshy lance that was pointing at her mother. The only other one she’d ever seen was Robby’s, and they looked the same and vastly different at the same time. Her eyes flicked to her mother, whose clothes seemed to have magically vanished since Debbie last saw her. Debbie sucked in a breath as her mother bent over and slipped her panties off. She stood up, holding them hanging off of her index finger, and let them fall lightly on top of her folded clothes like she had practiced doing that for years.

“You’re so beautiful,” said the man, stepping toward her mother.

“It’s been so long,” replied her mother.

Then they embraced, and that long thick penis slid naturally between her mother’s legs as the couple kissed what was obviously a kiss in the French way. Her mother leaned forward into the man’s body, her hands pulling him against her. Debbie was numb from the shock of what she was seeing. Children never see their parents as sexual beings, particularly not with complete strangers who are somehow vastly too familiar to be strangers. It almost made her head hurt.

Still, the curious girl inside her body wanted to see what would happen next. That part of her mind held her steady, her eyes staring through the peep holes, while another part of her brain railed that this was wrong, that she must do something to stop what was happening, that the man was not only destroying her house, but he was destroying her mother at the same time.

If Ramona was being destroyed, she didn’t appear to mind much. She broke the kiss and stepped past Smith, pulling his hand, leading him to the bed. The mattress that had been sagging against the wall when Debbie was last here, was now back on the bed.

“I’m sopping wet for you,” said Ramona.

Debbie gasped.

She saw her mother lie down on the bare mattress, uncaring that there were no sheets on it … that it was dusty … and assume what could only be called a pose of invitation, her legs spread wide, and her arms outstretched.

Smith sank down on her mother and Debbie saw her own mother’s hand grasp his manly gristle and bring it to her pussy lips. She watched in horror as that tip of that hard thing penetrated her mother’s sex and began to slide into her body.

Debbie stepped back a third time, her hands coming up to cover her eyes, as Robby crowded in front of her to look. He gasped too, because what he saw was the opposite. He saw the man on top of his mother, at full penetration, drawing slowly out until his penis left her, a string of white connecting them, before lowering his penis almost tenderly to kiss and then penetrate his mother’s nether lips again.

There was a duet of moans, clearly heard in the secret passageway, of two people enjoying themselves to the utmost.

Then, before Robby’s unbelieving eyes, Smith fucked his mother. There was no other word for what they did. Smith lunged and thrust hard, his buttocks clenching hard with each thrust, and Ramona’s body shook, as if with punishment. Robby believed it was rape at first, and was ashamed that he was rigid in his own pants, and unable to break down the wall to save his mother.

But her hands came to Smith’s back and caressed it, sliding to his buttocks and, as they clenched for another assault on his mother’s pussy, her hands pulled, digging her fingernails into his ass, clearly encouraging the man to plunder her sex.

Now there were grunts from the man and little yips and squeals and soft wails from their mother, sounds that made heat bloom in Debbie’s loins, despite her attempts to crush those feelings. And they made Robby’s prick jerk in his pants and begin to leak. They were the sounds of real, live, honest-to-goodness sexual intercourse taking place between two people who were having a wonderful time engaging in that intercourse.

Decades later, there would be a popular slogan aimed at convincing kids not to take drugs, and not to have sex. It would be called “Just say no!”

Now, in this time, the sounds the teens could hear their mother and this stranger making very clearly said “Just say yes!”

Debbie leaned weakly against the wall behind her brother. She couldn’t watch any more. The sounds were more than enough to make her feel helpless. She tugged at Robby, but now he brushed her away, staring at the tableau before him. Smith was wild now, his buttocks rising and falling at an astonishing rate as Ramona wrapped her legs around him.

“For you my sweet!” the man roared and he drove in one last time and stopped suddenly. His balls went from flopping all over the place to hanging straight down in that way that only happens when it’s very hot. Then those balls jumped three times in a row … not much, but enough to be noticeable … and the man gave a long groan of almost despair. Then he pulled out and began to slide in and out of his lover again, slowly, as she took up the groan that got louder and higher in pitch until it was a whine that sounded like she was in awful pain.

Robby stared as he saw a ring of thick white build up around the man’s penis where it went into his mother.

The man had ejaculated in her.

Robby’s knees almost failed. At the same time he had to clench to keep his own penis from spurting. It was insane!

Ramona’s whine of release ended in a gasped, “I love you so much Bobby,” as the man collapsed on top of her and they were still, except for Ramona’s hands, which slowly and gently slid all over Smith’s back.

“I missed you so much, Rami,” came Smith’s muffled voice.

“Please don’t leave me again,” came the voice that Robby’s ears told him was his mother’s voice, but which he couldn’t put with her face. It was just too unreal.

As Robby pulled his eyes away from the holes, Smith said “I’ll never leave you again, my darling.”

TBC

How the two teenagers got back to the root cellar they could not have told you. One moment it seemed as if they were in the dusty secret corridor between rooms, and the next they were standing at the bottom of the stairs that led up and out of the root cellar into the sunshine.

Brother and sister blinked, looking up into the bright light. Their emotions were in a turmoil, something they should have been used to, in the sense that their emitions were often at peak levels in this place, but they were unable to fully process what they’d witnessed.

As they squinted at the bright light outside, both had an unconscious desire to stay in the root cellar, where it was safe … where they had hidden from imagined perils in the past, and now wanted to hide from something that seemed so strange that it felt … dangerous. They had lived with their mother for their entire lives, but the woman they had seen through the peep hole acted nothing like the mother they knew. Her actions had been so casual, so blatantly sexual, in a way that looked as comfortable as what Debbie and Robby themselves had shared so many times. But that was insane! In all the years they’d lived with her they had never seen her exhibit one iota of sexual behavior.

Their mother obviously knew the man from the past some time … some place. That much they knew. But the fact that he wore a disguise derailed their thinking. Why would he do that? Their mother had been expecting the brown-haired man for dinner. He was the special guest. And the disguise had thrown her too.

“What should we do?” whined Debbie, her voice small. She felt small in a huge strange world right now, like a small mouse who didn’t want to expose herself to the hawk she knew was drifting on the wind somewhere up in that bright sky outside.

“My penis is hard,” said Robby. He felt the need to say something, but couldn’t think of anything else.

“What!?” asked his sister, turning to look at him.

“I got hard watching them,” he said, his eyes wide. “Having sex,” he added unnecessarily. Part of his mind was trying to cope with the knowledge he now had of what his hard penis could be used for. It was no longer theoretical. He’d seen what it could do … what it would do someday. And the only woman he could imagine his penis doing that with was standing right next to him.

Debbie put her hand on the front of her brother’s shorts. There was a big hard lump there.

He jumped as he felt her hand on his erection. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

They were both so confused that even something relatively normal for them seemed odd somehow. she took her hand away.

“What should we do?” she asked again.

“Go home?” suggested Robby. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Why would mom do that with … him?” asked Debbie.

“I don’t know,” grumped Robby. “She acted like she loved him.”

“How could she love him? Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know that either,” sighed Robby, remembering the way his mother had touched the man … gently … lovingly … welcoming him into that intimate embrace.

“But she does love him,” he convinced himself. He just couldn’t understand her actions unless they were based on love.

“Maybe we could talk to her,” said Debbie uncertainly.

“How are we supposed to do that?” scoffed Robby. “What do we do? Do we just say - Hey Mom, we happened to see you boffing the fuck out of that strange guy who showed up at dinner, and we were just sort of wondering why in the fuck you would do that?”

“Don’t curse Robby” scolded Debbie automatically. “It’s vulgar.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Robby, turning to her full on. “You’re upset because I said the word, and meanwhile our mother is in there doing the word!”

“Well don’t yell at me,” she said, getting even more upset. “I’m not the one in there on my back with my legs spread!”

That image shocked Robby so much that his mouth opened and closed several times, like a goldfish in a bowl.

“Let’s not fight … please,” she pleaded. There were tears in her eyes, glistening in a shaft of light coming from above.

Robby hugged his sister and she melted against him. Once again, their passion for each other insulated them from the strange and troubling thing they’d just seen. They felt safe holding each other … a sense of normalcy. That passion flared in each of them and the hug turned into a kiss as they fed on each other’s emotion.

Debbie pushed him away. “Let’s go home. Mom went there on bank business. She’ll have to go back to the bank. She won’t be home until tonight.”

TBC ……in next Chapter…

Chapter Five

Debbie’s unspoken insinuation about what they’d do when they got home spurred Robby and he climbed the steps, carefully peeking outside. When he didn’t see anything he reached for her hand and they bolted up and out of their haven. Seconds later they were in the woods and running, still hand in hand, for the fence. They slipped through the gap as if their bodies were greased and dashed for the back door. Not stopping they pounded up the stairs to Debbie’s room, which was the first bedroom they came to. They had unconsciously transferred their feeling of safe haven from the room they could no longer play in, to the next best thing … her bedroom, the only other place she felt like she owned.

Then it was more long tongue swapping kisses as they fumbled to undress each other. Their routine led them to being naked together on her bed, her hand firmly grasping his prick as she stroked him. His fingers strummed her clitty and she writhed beside him. She bucked her hips, and one of his fingers slipped between her plump pussy lips to dip into her. On instinct he let his finger go further until she moaned.

“That hurts,” she moaned, but kissed him even more vigorously.

Robby remembered how that the man had sucked at his mother’s fat, brown nipples, and he ducked his head to fasten his lips around his sister’s pink one. She squealed and bucked her hips again. His finger felt resistance, but he pushed anyway.

“AHHHHOOOOWWWW,” she cried and went rigid, rolling away a little, pulling her nipple out of his mouth with a “plop”.

Robby knew he had hurt her, and he immediately pulled the finger out of her. He looked at it and it was stained a dark pink. She was bleeding!

“Oh baby I’m so sorry,” he cried.

She hushed him, kissing him more now that the pain was gone. “It’s okay” she said. “I think you ruptured my hymen. But I don’t care. Kiss me Robby … rub me. I’m so close.”

She had never let go of his stiff cock, and she still stroked it. He went back to rubbing her bump in little circles, but took care not to hurt her again. She made happy noises and went stiff again as she came. Robby felt his semen begin its short journey. Because he had rolled apart from her when he hurt her, her hand was pulling on him as she stroked, and his penis was aimed at where his hand still stimulated her.

His sperm rocketed out and splashed on his fingers. That made her even more slippery and he rubbed his spunk into her clitty, speeding his fingers back and forth as her cum was extended by a follow-on orgasm. The rest of his spend painted his hand and her mons, making her pubic hair a mess of slippery white. Debbie let go of his rod and rolled away from him, splaying her legs wide, and his fingers slipped down to rub her pussy lips, one finger sliding between her swollen petals. He rubbed more slowly now … just stroking her, knowing her clit would be too sensitive to stimulate directly. He stared at her, drinking the beauty of her nakedness as her breasts rose and fell rapidly.

Her head rolled toward him as he lay on his side, and she looked at him through her lashes. Then she convulsively rolled back toward him and she clutched him to her.

They traded soft words of love, intermingled with more sweet soft-lipped kisses.

Finally Debbie rolled to her back, relaxed. “Is this what they felt like?” she asked.

“Maybe,” said her brother.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she sighed. “But if they were doing this … feeling like this … it just can’t be bad.”

“Yeah,” said Robby, surprised that he agreed with her a hundred percent.

“We have to find a way to figure out what’s going on,” said Debbie more firmly.

“Yeah,” said Robby again, still in agreement with his sister.

They got up and cleaned up, and washed the bedspread, which had a large wet spot on it. Then they made some sandwiches and had a bottle of RC Cola each. It was while they were finishing that, sitting at the table, that Debbie looked at her brother with calculating eyes.

“I want to do it again,” she said.

Robby didn’t have to be told what she wanted to do. Just her statement, and the look on her face, had him ready in seconds. He stood up, letting his bulge talk for him.

This time Debbie got a towel from the bathroom and spread it out where their hips would be. She didn’t have to explain that either. Silently they stripped, watching each other. Debbie lay down first, adjusting her position so the towel was where she wanted it. Then she looked up at her brother.

Perhaps his unconscious mind noticed the similarity of her place on the bed, and her welcome for him to join her, to what they had peeked at in the old house next door. Seeing the sex act he had always heard of, but had not been able to envision in his mind clearly, affected him. Biology was also at work in his adolescent body. For these reasons he dripped with anticipation for feeling her soft skin against his, and hearing her special sighs as she experienced orgasm under his fingers. He didn’t acutally think consciously of doing to her what Smith had done to his mother. That just didn’t break to the surface of his awareness. But he lay with her, his heart full and groaned as she gripped him and began to stroke him again.

“I love this,” she sighed as his fingers found her slit, already slippery with her expectation. He rubbed at the lips again, liking the feel of their willingness to move around under his direction. She gripped him tighter as he added the stimulation of suckling at her turgid nips, which now protruded from her firm breasts. They weren’t as big around as her mother’s. They didn’t stick out as much as her mother’s, but they pleasured her just like her mother had been pleasured. She liked this new thing they did … very much.

She first felt his penis touch her labia by accident, as they moved against each other, kissing and moaning. He had moved his fingers to her clit now and was playing with it gently, rubbing in the little circles he knew she loved. Their lovemaking wasn’t as urgent this time, though the feelings streaking through her loins did cause her to jerk on him more forcefully. And it was that which bought the tip of his penis in contact with her pussy lips, just below where his fingers stroked.

When it happened she noticed it mostly because it felt so different from fingers - both hers and his. That head was smooth and wide, its plumb shape mooshing between her lips and spreading them more than a finger would have. She pulled at him, getting that contact again, swabbing his glans through her dripping pussy lips. She wasn’t trying to get it in her. She too had not yet arrived at the thought of that possibility. It just felt good to do … so she did it.

It felt good to Robby too. Heat surrounded and kissed the tip of his drippy cock, and he felt that wonderful soothing stuff ooze out of him. She moaned into his lips and suddenly that ooze turned into a rush of hot fluid as his semen bathed her pussy mouth. He grunted with the surprise of it. He hadn’t felt it coming this time for some reason.

Debbie felt that hot rush directly in her pussy mouth. It was completely different than feeling it on the hair that grew down there. It was warmer somehow. It felt fabulous. She kept sliding the spurting thing through her vulva as it gave her more and more of that fabulous feeling. She could feel his cock begin to soften almost immediately in her hand, and she squeezed it, not in any attempt to milk it of its nectar, but just because it felt good to squeeze as it softened. Something in her brain told her it would be okay now, now that he was finished, to roll back and spread her legs so he could do what he’d done before. She did, opening herself to his fingers and he began to rub all through the slippery mess with the flat of his hand.

Her hips arched up, wanting more than just that flat hand, and her hand went to his … on top of his. When she did this to herself she slipped her finger into her sex. When she did that it didn’t hurt, exactly, though there had been warning tinges of pain in the past. His finger had hurt her, but it was much larger than her own. She wanted to feel her finger in her pussy, and she pressed with her middle finger, trying to slip it between his.

Instead she pushed his finger into her split.

Robby felt her push at his finger and let it slide deeper into her. She tensed, but didn’t cry out this time. He went deeper, gently and slowly, sliding the finger around in liquid, slippery heat.

“Does it hurt?” he asked in her ear.

“Noooooooodon’tstop.” She ran her words together as her hips arched again. “Feels gooood,” she moaned.

He went deeper and then she sucked air and winced as the thickest part of his finger scraped her now torn cherry.

“Ahhhhhhh,” she moaned, but her hand held his there. “Don’t stop,” she said clearly.

“I’m hurting you,” he said.

“Noooooo,” she lied. There was pain, but it was pain worth bearing. Her orgasm was so close she felt like she could reach out and touch it. Slowly the pain dimmed, and the deeper he went the better it felt.

“Move it,” she demanded. Her hand left his and went to his head, pulling him to her breast. “Suck!”

Robby took her nipple and sucked at the same time he withdrew his sperm-slick finger from her pussy and pushed it back in. It squelched noisily, making wet slurping sounds as it slicked through his sperm. It squeezed that residual sperm into her and out of her at the same time. He pulled on it again, and the base of his hand scraped across her clit. Now his conscious mind drew a connection between what his finger was doing and what Smith’s prick had been doing in his mother. He sped up, as Smith had sped up, moving his finger in and out of her rapidly.

She exploded in a wail of ecstasy, her hips coming up off the towel in a convulsive leap as the orgasm blinded her temporarily. She didn’t care and closed her eyes tightly, seeing bright spots in the darkness, her mind paying attention only to the thick thing that was plundering her pussy and the streaks of mad joy that bounced back and forth from her loins to the nipple he was suckling.

Her wild movements required Robby to dig in with his finger, to keep from losing contact with her and that only intensified her feeling. She shrieked, an anguished cry of joy that sounded to Robby like she was dying. In panic he jerked his finger out of her and her shriek changed to a wail as the wonderful feeling in her pussy went away. Her own hand flashed to her loins and she shoved her middle finger into herself, jerking it madly, punishing her clit through the rest of her cum.

She felt every muscle in her body tense up and then it was over. She flopped back to the bed, limp, her hand falling at her side and gasped for air.

“Deb? Are you okay?” asked a very concerned Robby.

“I’ve … never … been … better,” she panted. “That … was … fantastic.”

“It sounded like I was killing you,” he said, unsure of what to believe.

“You can … kill me like that … every day,” she rasped, her throat dry from all her deep and rapid breathing.

“So it didn’t hurt … like before?” he asked.

She nodded. “A little … but not so bad. Felt good,” she said. “Except you took your finger out way too soon.”

Eventually, the two teens used up all the nervous energy the things they’d seen had fired in them. They got up, cleaned up again, and again got something to eat. As they sat at the table, munching on grilled cheese sandwiches, the subject that was on both of their minds finally found words.

“So what are we going to do?” asked Debbie.

“I don’t know. It’s all so strange and weird,” commented Robby.

“I want to yell at her … scream at her,” said Debbie, but without the anger that would have made it sound like such actions were imminent.

“We can’t do that,” said Robby, pragmatically.

“She’s hiding something,” said Debbie.

“Well gee,” chuckled her brother. “When did you figure that out?”

She shot him a dark look.

“Why would she do that with a complete stranger?” wondered the girl.

“Come on Deb,” said Robby. “Obviously she knows him from somewhere. He’s not a stranger.”

“But why would she hide it? And why would she let him do that to our place?” complained Debbie.

“Deb, she doesn’t know it’s our place,” said Robby with infuriating sense.

“Okay, then, we’ll tell her it’s our place!” said Debbie, getting mad again.

“And she’s just going to say ‘“Gee, kids, I didn’t know that. I’ll get right over there and tell the bad man to get out.’ You really think she’ll just say that keeping that little secret from her for years and years is just fine?” Robby sometimes had a way of making Debbie feel stupid, even though she was quite sure she was the smarter twin.

“But …” Debbie started to yell.

“Look!” he yelled first. “She’s never done anything that wasn’t for our own good,” he said insistently. “You know she loves us. There has to be some explanation for all this. We just have to figure out how to get her to tell us.”

Debbie sulked. “I don’t think I like you very much,” she said sourly.

“I know,” he said, making his voice sound obviously too sad for the situation. “I could tell a little while ago when you were letting me squirt all over your … pussy.”

His use of that word, a word that, if not taboo, was completely naughty, and not a word either of them felt comfortable using in normal conversation, was like a slap in the face to Debbie. Anger flared in her, but it was because he was poking holes in all her statements. She stood up.

“I’m going over to Angie’s house. I’ll be home for supper.” She tried to frown, to let Robby know she was mad.

He just looked at her. He was afraid if he said anything else it would only drive her further away from him.

TBC

Both kids were home when Ramona walked in that night. She had a lot on her mind, which was probably why she didn’t sense the slight air of tension in the house. When she had returned to work, and had sat down at her new desk, a perk of having been assigned to work with the representative of the eccentric and mysterious Nettleton who owned the mansion, the first thing she had thought of was the heavy weight of her brother’s sperm in her womb as she sat. Her feelings for her brother had been forced into a dark corner in her mind for a long time, but she wasn’t surprised when they flooded out of that corner to drown her in their passion and intensity. She had always loved Robert in a special way that no other man could match.

She had known, when they were young, that what they did was not acceptable to normal people. She had known that there was significant danger if their love produced any attention … especially if that attention came as the result of her belly swelling with his child.

After he had gone, though, she wished more than anything in the world that he had left her pregnant. She missed him so much that she had dreamed every night that his seed had taken hold in her, and that she would have something of him to hold and cherish and love. When her next period had come, announcing that her dream was not to come true, she had cried even more bitterly.

She had adjusted. Her desire to become a mother had transferred to Richard and she’s finally been happy for more than a few days at a time. And when Richard had died it had been the memory of getting through the loss of her brother’s presence and all that she missed so much, that had helped her decide to keep living then. That was when she had been able to finally put her brother’s memories to rest, hidden in that corner of her mind. She had centered on her children, and had used their raising as a crutch to help her walk through life until she had healed enough to stand on her own again.

Now, suddenly, Robert was back. The affect on her was almost as traumatic as his leave-taking had been. As she sat, feeling his essence lying in her womb, shivers of ecstasy flowed through her veins. She was so happy she felt brittle, as if she could break into a thousand pieces if she weren’t careful.

There were too many things to think about, and her mind flitted from one to the other too quickly to stop and actually think about each one. That he still loved her was obvious, but what did that love mean? How would it affect her life? What would he expect from her? How would she tell her children about him? What did the renovation of her family home mean in her life? She realized with true irony that she could almost feel the ghosts of her parents hovering over her, whispering to her, but she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Did they approve? Were their spirits enraged that she would lie with her own brother. What if she got pregnant now? Did she want to prevent such a pregnancy? She knew she would go to Robert again … and again … for as long as he would take her naked body into his arms. She knew in the center of her being that she could never deny him. What did that mean to her life?

She did her work mechanically, her practiced financial eye reviewing documents, flagging ones that looked questionable for reasons she couldn’t identify at that moment, but which she knew would yield their secrets later, when she was more settled. Her competence was automatic, unthinking, as she shuffled papers, her mind a whirl of unresolved issues.

It had taken a co-worker touching her shoulder, nodding at the lights going out all over the bank, to bring her back to the real world completely. She blushed at the woman’s questioning look.

“I guess I was preoccupied with all this,” she said, indicating the pile of invoices and bills on her desk.

“You’ll get used to it,” said the woman.

That social contact had let Ramona think of things other than the rambling questions in her head, and she had determined to concentrate on traffic to keep her mind off of things until she had passed the now open iron gates of her ancestral home. When she parked and went into the house, the uppermost thing in her mind was what, if anything, to tell her children. She had to begin, somehow, to prepare them for learning that they had an uncle they knew nothing about.

Ramona turned off the engine and blinked. As if some demented magic had swooped in to take charge of her life, she was in her driveway.

She didn’t remember a single thing about the drive home.

TBC in next Chapter………

Chapter Six

“I’m home,” Ramona sang automatically when she dropped her purse and keys on the sideboard in the hall.

“Hey!” came Robby’s deep voice from the living room. She heard nothing from Debbie and assumed she must be in her room, or someplace it was hard to hear.

Ramona sought refuge in the rituals of preparing dinner for her family. The questions came back to her as she handled pots and pans and dishes.

“So,” came the sudden voice of Debbie behind her. “How was work today?”

Ramona looked at her daughter but didn’t notice the tense set of Debbie’s shoulders.

“Fine,” she said automatically.

“Nothing … interesting happened then?” pressed Debbie.

Ramona, thinking that finally she had something to talk about, said, “Well, they gave me a new job. They put me in charge of taking care of all the financial documents associated with the renovation next door.”

The silence this was met with penetrated Ramona’s awareness. She’d forgotten how upset Debbie was about that renovation. She turned to see Debbie on the balls of her feet, leaning forward slightly.

“I know you don’t like what’s going on over there,” said Ramona. “But what’s happening is happening. Rob … Mr. Nettleton has a lot of money in the bank. He’s their largest depositor, and they want to keep him happy.”

Debbie had pushed intentionally, trying to get her mother to be forthcoming with information. It hadn’t worked, but that misspoken name was something she could press.

“What does Robby have to do with that?” she asked.

“What?” asked Ramona, confused.

“You said Rob … before you said Mister Nettleton. The only Rob I know is Robby. What does he have to do with that?”

Ramona was flustered. Debbie was acting almost hostile toward her. Surely she didn’t blame her mother for being assigned to the Nettleton accounts.

“Robby doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she said guardedly. I don’t think you heard me correctly."

“I think you need to tell me what’s going on,” said Debbie, her voice full of accusation and an authoritative tone.

Ramona, unused to her daughter taking that tone with her, and at the end of her emotional rope to begin with, snapped.

“No, Debbie, I think you need to tell me what’s going on! Why are you so intent that nothing should happen to that house? Why is it any of your business what happens in that house? I want some answers young lady and I want them now!”

Ramona’s face was red and puffy as she shouted. Debbie’s face got that way almost instantly too. Both women started screaming at each other, their hands waving wildly. Debbie screamed demands to know why Ramona had “done that” with that horrible man and why their mother was lying to them. Ramona screamed that she had happiness within her grasp and that it was obvious that Debbie didn’t want her to have that. It was fortunate for both that they were yelling so loudly that neither could understand the other.

Robby appeared as if by magic between them, a hand held out palm first to each snarling woman.

“Hey … HEY!!” he shouted, his voice drowning out both of them.

The women subsided, both panting, their faces remarkably similar in appearance, and not pleasant to look at, for all that each woman was normally beautiful.

“It doesn’t matter what’s happening next door!” he shouted, to keep them from starting up again, but then dropped his voice. “Whatever it is, shouting at each other won’t help anything.”

He looked first at his sister and then turned his head to look at his mother, his hands still up.

“And whatever it is shouldn’t come between us as a family,” he said firmly. “Mom … what’s for dinner?” he asked inanely. It was a bald faced attempt to change the subject.

Ramona realized with a flush of embarrassment that she had no idea what she’d been preparing. She looked at the counter in confusion. “I don’t know,” she said weakly. When she saw the chicken on the counter she said, “Fried chicken.” Her eyes went to the stove, at the pan of water boiling there, and the potatoes in it. “And mashed potatoes,” she added.

“Okay then,” said Robby, as if something momentous had been resolved. “I’m starving.”

Debbie took a shuddering breath. She, like her mother, had a lot on her mind too. She knew what she had screamed, but her mother didn’t appear to have actually heard her. She felt her mind twist slightly in her head as she recognized that the fact that her mother was acting so oddly had to mean that something powerful was going on. She felt a rush of shame for screaming. Robby was right about that. As much as she loved that old house, it wasn’t worth driving her mother away from her. Whatever was going on must be awfully important to her mother for her to act this way. The strange Mr. Smith was only part of it. As a young woman, Debbie had never given her body to a man, but she already knew the incredible importance of deciding to do that some day. And the fact that her mother had given herself so eagerly to a man - any man - was something Debbie instinctively understood was incredibly important. Though she didn’t understand it, she suddenly knew that somehow, it would all make sense eventually. She still itched to get answers to her questions, but she also knew that she’d have to be patient to get them.

She hoped she could make herself find that patience.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. She looked at her mother with an unspoken pleading in her eyes.

“Me too,” said Ramona. “I have a lot on my mind. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. None of this is your fault.”

Robby gave a silent sigh of relief as the two women rushed together and hugged. He watched in confusion as both of them started crying and apologizing even more. He decided that women were even stranger than he had suspected.

“I’m starving over here,” he complained, rubbing his stomach.

“Then get a can of green beans and put them on the stove,” said his mother tearfully. “Do you expect me to do everything for you?”

Robby signed again, this time audibly, and went to the pantry.

There was still some residual tension during supper, but it was manageable. All three family members tried to make idle conversation, but it all fell flat. Finally Ramona put down her fork, wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and settled her gaze on her daughter.

“I’m just going to say something. I don’t want to talk about it right now. You seem to have some emotional involvement with that house that I don’t understand. So let me just say this and I want you to think about it before you say anything back … both of you,” she said, turning her eyes to her son. “Okay?”

Both teens nodded. There was a sinking sensation in Debbie’s stomach.

“Okay,” said their mother. “That property is owned by Robert Nettleton. It has been for years. He was overseas for a long time, but now he wants to come back and live there. It’s his house. He’s very rich and he has his money in the bank … where I work. They want me to take care of his financial needs … pay his bills and things like that. I can’t turn that down. It’s not exactly a promotion, but it pays better than just being a teller. If I do a good job it may lead to more assignments like this. So, even though I know you two don’t want anything to happen next door, I have to do this. That’s what I want you to understand. I’m not doing this to hurt you or anything like that. Do you understand?”

“Can I ask one question?” probed Debbie, unable to find the patience she had reminded herself to look for.

“Yes, as long as you understand I may not be able to answer it,” said her mother.

“Why couldn’t you answer it?” asked Debbie.

Ramona struggled in her mind, choosing her words carefully. “There are some … complications … things I can’t talk about right now.”

‘I just bet there are!’ thought Debbie to herself. She decided to push just a little.

“When you fixed dinner last night it was obvious that mister Smith is … important. Why is he so important?”

Ramona had been semi-prepared for several questions. Questions about “Mister Smith” weren’t in that number. She was too long in answering, and didn’t have time to think about her answer carefully.

“He’s Robert Nettleton’s representative,” she said. “He’s important to the bank.”

Debbie’s stomach flip-flopped. Her mother had told her an outright lie. Or at least part of it was an outright lie. He might be the owner’s representative, but that wasn’t why he was so important. That much had been made perfectly clear through the peep hole that very day.

“Right,” said Debbie tightly. It was obvious she didn’t like that answer.

“Debbie…” warned her brother.

“I’m not going to shout,” she said to him.

Ramona knew something was wrong … that her answer had been in error some way. But the kids couldn’t possibly know who “Mister Smith” really was. It was impossible. Her confusion prevented her from pursuing the subject with her daughter, who suddenly looked hostile again.

“I have to deal with him at the bank,” said Ramona, trying to salvage something without knowing how. “I just wanted him to feel welcome.”

“Oh I’m sure he feels very welcome,” said Debbie tightly. Her brother’s hand suddenly gripped her knee under the table … painfully. She tried to push it away, but he was too strong. He did let off the pressure, but kept his hand there in unspoken warning.

Debbie, unable to control herself, pushed more. “Maybe you should take him a plate tonight. I’m sure he’d feel more welcome.”

Unknown to Debbie, that suggestion drove straight into Ramona’s brain. She could take him a plate of food. It would be a perfect way to see him again, privately. Her daughter’s tone of voice was nudged out of her consciousness.

“That’s a good idea,” she said. Both children saw a sparkle come into her eye and were mildly astonished. “That’s a very good idea,” said their mother, smiling for the first time that night. “It would be very neighborly!”

To her children’s further astonishment she stood up, forgetting her own food and bustling about making up a plate.

“I’ll just take this over now, and see how he’s doing.” Ramona’s eyes had a far away look in them now, as if she weren’t paying attention to what she was doing.

Their mother’s behavior was so bizarre that it struck her children in a way that impressed on them just how important this man was. It was one thing to contemplate her being a sexual being. Everybody knew adults had sex. But that she would abandon her dinner and her children … just like that … was something that spoke volumes to them. It penetrated their own brains in a way that nothing else had, even watching their mother have sex. As the door closed behind her, they looked at each other.

“Can you believe that?” asked Robby.

“Who is this guy?” asked Debbie, wonder in her voice.

There was unspoken agreement between the teens to spy again. They didn’t finish their dinner either, standing up and heading for the back door as if they had planned this all along. They stayed silent as they ghosted from tree to tree toward the house. Robby exclaimed at how different the outside looked. Repairs and paint just on parts of the back side of the house made it look completely different. His sister pulled at his sleeve to get him to move on. They made just a cursory examination of the back of the house. Their mother would have drawn attention to the front part. They strode almost calmly to the entrance of the root cellar and slipped down into the dark.

Again they had left without thinking about light, but they fumbled in the dark only a little, finding the hidden catch for the shelf-door and stepping into the tunnel. They counted steps, stopping a foot from the door to the stairwell and pulled on the ring to open it slowly. The hinges still squealed a little and they left the door open to avoid making the hinges squeal again as it was closed.

Tiptoeing straight to the peep hole for the master bedroom, Debbie got there first and pressed her face to the holes.

The room was empty.

TBC