Maya's Aura: The Charred Coven

by Smith, Skye

"Your clothes are damp and salty and cold," he said. He repeated it a few times. She nodded so he said "I don't want your damp clothes in my clean sheets." He said it a few times until she nodded. He pulled the blankets to the side to show her the nice clean sheets.

  Maya sleepily stripped out of her clothes. All of them. He held his breath. This was no skinny teenaged girl. Her bulky winter clothes had hidden her form from neck to bum. Her skin was flawless and a lovely warm color. She was thin for her height but well-formed, with curves in all the right places, and breasts that looked to be just more than a handful. Moreover, she was a real blonde.

  The bed filled the bow of the boat so the only way into it was to crawl in from the end. She was getting onto the bed, her tight little bum in the air in a cat-stretch as she balanced herself against the motion of the boat. It was a classic Playboy centerfold pose, all the more erotic because it was unstudied.

  He ached for her. He unzipped his fly and pulled himself free He moaned with lust and put his hands around her waist to pull her back towards him.

  His voice was so calming. It came from far away. It warmed her, made her feel good. She couldn't wait to crawl into this bed. She felt his hands holding her back, pulling her back. Then the warm feeling fled her. She felt a darkness, a coldness, a shivering ominous chill, and a terrible scent. A charred scent. Like when your bagel gets stuck in the toaster and goes from brown to smoking black.

  The scent made her afraid. The fear was stronger than any drug. She saw her black tights lying on the white sheets and they looked wrong just lying there all crumpled up. They were hers. They shouldn't be on the sheets, they should be on her legs. She reached out for them and grabbed them.

  In possession of her tights again, she needed to escape the charred smell, which meant escaping the dark feeling creeping into her body from the strong hands holding her waist. She hit out at them and tried to twist away. Luckily, she twisted just as the boat wallowed sideways over a swell.

  He lost his balance over the edge of the bed, and as he lay cursing on the floor he watched her crawl up the stairs to the cockpit. After regaining his feet and his balance, he followed her easily. She was staggering and disoriented and slow.

  On the top step she discovered her old-fashioned life jacket and as soon as she got topside she tried to put it on. Something was wrong. It felt so icy cold against her skin, but she had to get away from the man's hands. After trying to stand and then going back on all fours she eventually reached the stern and she could see her little skiff bouncing over the waves in the wake of the larger boat.

  He was trying not to laugh. She was so disoriented. She was stumbling around wearing only a lifejacket, looking for something. He put out his hands wide and herded her towards the side of the boat where he could catch her against the gunnels. She must be absolutely freezing by now. It wouldn't take much to convince her to go back into the warmth of the cabin.

  Maya heard the calm voice again, way and away. "Come back to the warm cabin," he was saying softly, over and over. She felt his arms around her and she could not escape them. He turned them both around so that he could lean himself against the low wall on side of the cockpit for balance, and then he began speaking to her. Soothing her. He sat on the low wall and pulled her towards him and lifted her onto his lap.

  Once her skin rubbed against his swollen cock, he knew he could wait no longer. He had her in his hands now. He would simply carry her back into the cabin and warm her in the bed. She was beyond knowing, anyway. God, she was so comely and he was so horny. "Put your hands around my neck to balance us and I will carry you back into the warmth of the cabin." He said it calmly over and over until she put her hands around the back of his neck and pulled herself further up his lap. He grabbed both cheeks of her tight ass and got ready to stand carrying her weight.

  There was the darkness again. His hands were touching her again. Maya shuddered as the charred odor filled her mind. She could feel herself struggling with the horror of it. Suddenly the darkness and charred stench disappeared under a growing sense of whiteness. Complete whiteness. The brilliance of it filled her mind. Pure white dazzling brilliance and the scent of spring flowers.

  She felt herself falling forward and released his neck and put her hands down to break her fall, but found nothing there but air for a few seconds. Suddenly there was something solid and she broke her fall not with her hands, but with her shoulder, against something hard. The smoothness of the wall meant she slid down and crumpled to the deck of the cockpit. There was the sound of a large splash, and then just the hum of the big twin motors barely turning over.

  Maya looked straight up at the sky and only the cold air kept her from falling asleep right where she was lying in the cockpit. The cabin was warm. He had told her it was warm. She must go there like he told her. She crawled across the deck, obeying his command, down the steps and up onto the bed and curled herself into the down comforter. It felt wonderful. So lightweight, yet so warm. The bed was complete luxury and she put her head onto the pillow and slept.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  MAYA'S AURA - The Charred Coven by Skye Smith

  Chapter 5 - The Missing Man

  Maya woke to a grating sound and a lurch. She was still so sleepy. The boat was rattling in time with the big motors. It had a nice rhythm. She went back to sleep.

  A while later, who knows how long, she was woken by someone calling out. The voice crept through her dreams. It was Nana's voice. She opened her eyes or perhaps she dreamed that she opened her eyes, because she was in a cabin but not Nana's cabin. Obviously a boat cabin. She was naked in a strange bed. Oh no, what had she done? The voice called again. "Ahoy aboard! Is anyone there?"

  She saw her ski jacket and pulled it on and zipped it up and then dashed up the stairs and outside. It was bitterly cold once more. The north wind again, like early this morning. Was that this morning or yesterday morning? She didn't know. Time was so confused in her mind.

  She stood tall and looked around the boat. Her skiff was pushed backwards up a gravel beach. This boat's bow was aground on the same beach. The engines were still throbbing and there was still a churn of water at the stern. Nana was standing at the end of a path, where it met the shingle beach, and leaning on her cane.

  "Nana, stay there!" Maya called out, her mind freshening in the icy cold. "The beach will be slippery. I don't want you to slip."

  "What's going on?"

  "I'm just trying to figure that out. Wait there, or better still, go back to the cottage. I'll be along as soon as I secure these boats." She watched as Nana turned slowly on the muddy path and hobbled away.

  The man. The golf course planner. Where was he? She didn't call out for him because Nana might come back thinking she was calling for her. There were red lights flashing on the dash under the wheel. She went over to have a closer look. Temperature warning lights. The gauges were right over, hot.

  One thing Maya knew from all the times she had nursed her mother's old pickup truck was that when the engine light goes on, you turn the motor off. She clicked every switch on the dash to the off position, and immediately the engines stopped and there was a very hot smell. The lights all went off and the blackness of the early night swirled around her. By flicking the toggles on, one by one she, finally got some lights back on.

  She looked everywhere for the man, but could not find him. She even checked the engine hatch, but closed it immediately when the putrid smells of overheated rubber wafted up at her. With the flashlight from beside the hatch she lit up her skiff, but the only things in the skiff were her plastic containers and the bags of wine. Was that from today or yesterday?

  Back in the cabin she shut off the heater, and got fully dressed. Duh, now she wasn't so cold. With her deck shoes back on, duh, the decks weren't freezing her feet at every step. With them on she had grip enough to reach the anchor locker on the bow deck and pull out one of the anchors. With a heave that almost snapped her back, she tossed it as far ashore
as she could, and then jammed the rope into its cleat and tied it off.

  Looking around, she realized that once she jumped down from this boat she would need a ladder to get back on board. She couldn't find any portable ladders, only the little swimmer's ladder for the transom shelf. Everything she needed to do on board had to be done before she jumped down to the beach.

  The first thing was to release her skiff. It was aground, so it wasn't going anywhere. The next thing was to make sure everything was off, and then to ensure all the vents, windows, and doors were closed. That was it. She lowered herself down from the bow and then dropped. Her knees crumpled and she landed on her bum on the gravel.

  The flashlight she had just stolen lit the beach ahead of her. The two boats were about three hundred yards from the place where she had launched the skiff. Was that this morning? Really? The tide was out. With the anchor under one arm she dragged it as high as it would go up the beach and over some rocks and logs. Once the chain and the rope were taut, she dug the blades of the anchor into the ground.

  From up here on the shore above the beach, she had a better view of the waters all around. The flashlight beam was strong and she swung it slowly, back and forth, looking for a swimmer. It dawned on her that at this temperature a swimmer would be dead from the cold within a half hour, certainly within an hour. There was no sign of a floating body.

  Her feet got wet re-floating the skiff, but the old motor started first pull and saved itself a beating. She putted around to where she had launched it and ran it up the shore. The wheels were there where she had left them so she snapped them in place and walked the skiff like an ungainly wheelbarrow up the beach and beyond the high tide mark.

  Before dragging the stack of plastic bins and the wine up to the cottage, she covered the skiff with the tarp. The bloody gas tank could stay in it until the morning. She remembered to turn off the gas.

  With not even one foot indoors, she was peppered with questions such as, "Where have you been? I've been worried sick," and, "Whose boat is that? Where is the owner?" and, "Should we call the police?"

  The police. Maya sat and thought about it. No, she actually asked Nana for a pot of tea and then she sat and thought while the old woman was busy rattling around in the kitchen.

  Her memory was spotty. Unreliable. She could remember things but did not know whether they were dreams or real. Okay, what was undeniably real? She had trouble with the motor and was stranded in the channel getting cold. The golf guy on the big boat offered help. She had poured some coffee to get warm and he fixed the motor. She accepted his offer of a tow to this island.

  Then strange dreams and empty dreams until she woke up all alone when it was dark outside. It was still the same day. The man was gone.

  Now the police. If they suspected foul play with the man, then her fingerprints were all over that boat. Damn, she had forgotten to remake the bed. What would they think of her? Slut or whore? That wasn't fair. She was sure she hadn't. Or was she sure?

  She closed her eyes. She was still so tired. The smell. The charred smell. Was that a dream? If it wasn't, then she knew pretty much what had happened to the man. No. That must be a dream. Perhaps he fell overboard while messing with her skiff. She didn't remember him wearing a life jacket. His coat was just a winter jacket, not a floater jacket.

  The police. She must call the police. Any delay would be suspicious. She grabbed the phone and Nana's list of important numbers and phoned the harbor police.

  After giving them her name and location, and Nana's name she described the boat and reported its name and condition. "It ran up onto our beach. We are two women alone so we didn't go near it for a while, but then the engines started making a howl, so I went aboard and shut everything down. There was no one aboard. I looked everywhere. No one. I scanned the water with a flashlight. No one."

  After hanging up the phone, Maya glanced over to see Nana giving her a searching look. "Why didn't you tell them the truth?" Nana asked.

  "It was almost the truth. It did the trick. They are sending out a helicopter and some boats to hunt for the guy."

  * * * * *

  They both had a restless night's sleep. They would cuddle together and just nod off, and then a big motorboat would roar by, or the thumping of a helicopter would go overhead. It was like falling asleep on the couch in front of a Rambo movie and forgetting to press the mute button.

  At first light there was a knock on the door. They both yelled out, and the answer came back that it was the harbor police. They stalled them while they got decently covered. While Maya let them in, Nana put on the kettle for some coffee. The police would be chilled to the bone if they had been out all night.

  "So what's the story, officer?" Maya asked once the two large men had taken their boots off and were sitting at the kitchen table. The younger one was quite a dish. Fireman calendar material. The older one was big around the middle and had bad breath.

  "Well, we've found the body, and we've searched the boat. We know exactly what happened."

  Maya cringed inwardly. They had come to arrest her. The more she had thought about it last night, the more she realized that the man must have tried to rape her, and she must have thrown him overboard. These officers would have seen the rumpled bed and put two and two together. She was royally screwed. She was for it. Even a manslaughter verdict would mean jail time.

  "So what happened?" asked Nana as she served them each a coffee. "Are there any more of you boys outside? They should come in and get warm."

  "No ma'am. We've wound it up. They're towing the cruiser over to the village. The only reason we're still here is to make sure you two are okay and not frightened," said the younger cop with a warm smile.

  "So what happened?" Nana repeated. Maya was dying a thousand deaths. She could not look at them.

  "That the empty boat was still under power and on autopilot was a strong clue," said the old one with a smell of rotting teeth. "Once we found his body, well, that told us everything. His fly was open."

  Maya hung her head in her hands and felt sick to her stomach. She remembered something now. He had pulled his cock out of his pants. It had been so swollen, so ready to do her.

  "Yeah, we get three of four of these a year. Usually in fishing season," the old one continued.

  Maya could not believe her ears. Fishermen dragging young girls away in their boats to have their way with them? Did she just hear that? How, like, medieval.

  "They throttle back and stand by the gunnels to take a leak," continued the old one matter-of-factly. "Because they throttle back, suddenly the wake or the other swells rock the boat and they fall overboard. They never wear lifejackets. Not in big cruisers. That said, even a lifejacket wouldn't have saved that guy. The water is too cold this time of year."

  "So your saying he died because he stopped for a pee?" asked Nana.

  "If he would have stopped, he may have been able to get back to the boat. Naw, they just throttle down, especially if they are trolling fishing lines," said the old officer. "In any case, you ladies have nothing to worry about. It wasn't a bunch of rapists or robbers making a landing on this island. The marina told us that he went out alone. He died alone. Tough break." He shook his head.

  The patrolmen didn't want refills. They just wanted to get home to bed. The two women said their relieved thank-yous and walked the men to the float where their patrol boat was tied up, and then waved them out of sight. This didn't take long. The young one was at the controls and he made a great show of getting the overpowered patrol boat to leap up onto its planing hull and roar away. You know, young guy stuff at the wheel with a pretty girl watching

  Once the police were gone, the adrenalin that had been keeping Maya going disappeared and she barely made it back to the cottage before she collapsed. Nana was so worried about her that she even turned on the propane heater to take the chill out of the rooms. She got the Franklin going with the last of the wood that Maya had split the day before and left the girl in peace.


  Maya lay on the bed going over and over the events of yesterday. There were about three hours missing from her memory, or at least, partially missing. Her mind was in turmoil. More wood. They needed more firewood. She rolled off the bed and stood.

  Nana ordered Maya back to bed. Eventually when both of them were tucked up and warm under the quilt, with a tray of tea and toast between them Nana asked, "So, what was that all about? And tell me the whole truth, mind you. Not the version you told to the police."

  "Nana, when you were young and, like, sexually active with your auras, well you told me that the artists were all womanizers. When you slept with them, did any make your aura wilt? Like, as if your aura was overcome with darkness?"

  "Oh yes," Nana replied. "I would tell those ones to lighten up or leave me alone. If they got angry about my rejection, they weren't our guests for long. You won't remember your great-grandfather but Peter was a big man, tall, like a Viking, and very strong. To him our sexual play was an expression of mutual joy. If it wasn't joyous for me, then he ended it very quickly."

  Maya gathered her thoughts for a moment. "I told you that I have a very strong white aura, and you have felt only a bit of that strength. The men I live with in Vancouver, well, the strength of my aura frightens them. It frightens me. Their theory is that auras are another natural sense controlled by your subconscious, so they function automatically whether you like it or not."

  "That is a sound theory," Nana replied. "I can agree with it. Perhaps that's why Peter and I were lost for years in sexual experimentation. It allowed our auras to be all that they could be."

  Maya bit her lip, and continued. "We sought the help of a psychiatrist, and of a Buddhist monk, an abbot actually. The monk knew auras. His order encouraged them. He used an ancient form of hypnosis to give my conscious self some control over the power and the focus of my aura. The techniques worked well. I don't know why, but I know how."

  "Will you show me?" asked Nana.