BySandra Harris, writer at


The last of the evening sun slipped slowly beneath the horizon, darkening the little graveyard as it disappeared from sight. Jessie shivered as she hurriedly arranged the bunch of wildflowers on her sister’s grave. She didn’t like being here in the lonely graveyard, of all places, this late in the evening, but she’d had so many chores to do and supper to prepare for her husband and baby before she could slip away.

Her husband was away now to Jack Walton’s tavern for the night and Jessie had arranged for a neighbour to watch Baby Tabitha for an hour so she could go to the graveyard and give Rowena the flowers she’d gathered for her.

Rowena wasn’t buried here, of course. The coffin that lay beneath the mound of freshly-turned earth was filled with bricks. Rowena’s body had never been found, even though it was weeks now since she’d disappeared while walking home through the forest late at night. Her father and brother, both of whom had been distraught at Rowena’s disappearance, had arranged for her to have a headstone and a burial plot in the little Birney graveyard nonetheless. It was time, they’d said, to show the proper respect.

Jessie shivered again as she looked towards the forest. It was so thick, so dense, so gnarled, somehow. She and Rowena had played there as children but now Jessie wouldn’t set foot in it for all the tea in China. Rowena had most likely died in there. There was something evil in there, something rotten.

She’d heard whisperings and rumours that young women had gone missing from some of the other villages round these parts as well, that Rowena wasn’t the only one. Things like this never used to happen when Birney Castle sat empty, some people said. Who’s this foreign, so-called nobleman living there now, and what part’s he got to play in these here disappearances, that’s what we’d like to know? Jessie didn’t know who- or what- had taken her younger sister, but she did know that she missed her each and every day. Poor, poor Rowena. Jessie hoped she hadn’t suffered.

Now, she got up from tending the grave and wiped the earth and grass from her skirts. When she straightened up, there was a man standing behind Rowena’s headstone. Jessie jumped and her hand flew to her mouth in fear. The man was tall, taller than any man she had ever seen in her life before. Why, he must be at least six foot five!, Jessie thought wonderingly. Her father, her brother Joshua and even her husband Richard were not nearly so tall as this man.

And he was handsome too, so very handsome, this dark-haired, black-clad stranger who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Jessie knew she should run, she should run to the village as fast as her legs could carry her and scream for help, but her feet were strangely rooted to the spot and no sound issued from her mouth.

“Pretty Jessie,” the tall man said softly, in lightly accented English. As he spoke, he stepped out from behind Rowena’s headstone and came to tower over Jessie, who had to tilt her head right back in order to be able to look up into his face. “Would you like to see your sister, pretty Jessie?”

“You know where she is?” gasped Jessie, finding her voice. “Will you take me to her?” The man nodded. His eyes looked deep into Jessie’s. She had the queerest feeling that he was looking right inside her, that he could see right into her mind and read her thoughts. Meekly, she took the hand he extended to her and followed him as if hypnotised into the forest, from which all traces of sunlight had vanished for the night.

Some parts of the forest were so thick and impenetrable, though, that the sunlight was unable to break through the ceiling of trees even on the brightest days. Now that it was dark, the place was eerie indeed, but Jessie felt no fear as she accompanied the cloaked man deeper and deeper into the woods, only the strangest feeling of mounting excitement. She forgot her husband Richard, her chubby little Baby Tabitha and even her poor missing sister Rowena as she hurried to keep step beside the tall, dark-cloaked man whose legs were so much longer than hers.

After walking what surely must have been a long way, the man eventually stopped in a small clearing. Jessie had no idea where they were. Even in her childhood perambulations with Rowena, she’d never been to this part of the forest before. She wondered if anyone ever had, it was such a lonely, isolated corner of the woods. It was damp and dark and smelled mossy. It was a sinister, frightening place but Jessie felt no fear. How could she, with her tall dark stranger to guard her?

An owl hooted on a nearby tree, making Jessie jump. The moon came out suddenly from behind a cloud and illuminated the man’s face. His eyes were not dark, as she had formerly thought, but red, a deep, glowing red.

“Your eyes!” she exclaimed wonderingly, but he said nothing, only continued to look at her with those penetrating red eyes. To Jessie’s surprise, her fingers began of their own volition to unbutton her blouse and set about unfastening her long skirt. While the stranger silently watched her, an unfathomable expression playing about his lips and eyes, Jessie divested herself of both her outer- and under-garments until she stood before him stark naked in the clearing.

Her nipples stiffened in the cool night air and she felt a powerful throbbing between her legs, in the parts of her that her husband Richard called her sex-parts. Her breasts were full and swollen from nursing Baby Tabby and her belly, no longer firm and flat the way it had been before the baby, sagged gently down towards her pubic mound. For once, Jessie was not self-conscious about the ways in which her body had changed since becoming pregnant. She raised her arms and pulled the pins from her rich, chestnut-brown hair. It cascaded down over her bare shoulders and breasts in lustrous waves.

“Very nice,” said the stranger softly. “Now lie down, pretty Jessie, and open yourself up to me.” Through the hazy fog that had invaded Jessie’s brain, a memory suddenly penetrated and Jessie exclaimed:

“Rowena! Please, sir, you promised me that you’d take me to Rowena!”

“And I have, have I not?” the man replied. A hint of amusement played about the corners of his fine-cut lips. “You’re standing on her. Now, lie down, Jessie. Lie down for me.” Jessie looked incomprehendingly from the damp mossy earth to the stranger and back again. How could she be standing on Rowena? She was standing on the forest floor, wasn’t she? It was impossible, unless…

Her eyes filled with mounting horror. She stared at the stranger. His eyes were so magnetic though, that they made her forget what she’d been so frightened about a moment before. What had she been frightened by? Was it something about Rowena…? Her brain was so foggy she couldn’t remember. As if in a daze, she lay down on the mossy ground and spread her legs wide. The man in the long black cloak nodded in approval as he towered over her.

“Good girl,” he said softly as he undid his cloak and draped it fastidiously over the branch of a tree. “Pretty Jessie. You shall join your sister before this night has ended. You will both lie together for all eternity, until you have each returned to the earth from which you came.”

Fully naked now, he stretched himself out full-length on top of her. Reverently, she clasped the back of his head and held him as he bent to kiss her rosy red lips. She spread her plump white thighs as wide as she could to accommodate his entering her and filling her, stretching her, stuffing her with his huge swollen manhood.

Jessie cried out with each one of his immensely powerful thrusts. She’d engaged in sexual relations before with her husband Richard, she’d even recently given birth to her husband’s child but the act of married love between herself and Richard had never been like this, it was never like this! This was something wonderful, something out of this world, something she had never even dreamed of experiencing in her life before.

The speed with which he thrusted began to increase and Jessie prepared herself to receive the fluid which she knew would shortly issue from his member. A movement over his left shoulder attracted her attention suddenly. A woman was standing behind him. A woman with a rotted face and decaying body that Jessie knew was Rowena because she had Rowena’s long brown hair and Rowena’s… Rowena’s corpse-like face and skeletal, claw-like hands and Rowena’s hideously grinning skull to which only a few strands of her waist-length brown hair still adhered…? Jessie opened her mouth to scream but the scream died in her throat.

The man whose strong body pinned her to the mossy carpet had opened his mouth and there were two long white fangs on either side of it that glinted in the moonlight. As he bent his mouth to her exposed neck, Jessie saw the faces of her baby, her husband and the sister whom she now knew for certain was dead flash in front of her eyes. Then the fangs were tearing into the soft white flesh of her neck and twenty-five-year-old Jessie Rourke, Jessie Sampson as was, neither knew nor saw anything else ever again.


This story is a work of fiction and comes (almost!) entirely from the imagination of Sandra Harris. Any resemblance to any persons living or un-dead is purely coincidental.

This story is copyrighted material and any reproduction without prior permission is illegal. Sandra Harris reserves the right to be identified as the author of this story.

Sandra Harris. ©


Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn, Le Dernier Paradis at the Trinity Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival.

Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issues magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal. In August 2014, she won the ONE LOVELY BLOG award for her (lovely!) horror film review blog. She is addicted to buying books and has been known to bring home rain-washed tomes she finds on the street and give them a home.

She is the proud possessor of a pair of unfeasibly large bosoms. They have given her- and the people around her- infinite pleasure over the years. She adores the horror genre in all its forms and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia. She would also be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at:

[email protected]



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