"We'll wait ‘til he leaves and then get it," reasoned Debbie.
"He locked that gate from the inside. What if he's not leaving?" reasoned Robby.
"He has to leave sometime," said Debbie firmly.
In the end, they couldn't think of anything to do, and each subsided to think while they waited for their mother to get home. Both instinctively believed that she would somehow know something that would somehow make everything okay again.
Indecision reigned for half an hour as Debbie and Robby tried to divine something to do. Debbie was probably more upset about the changes in their world than Robby, until she pointed out that they no longer had a place to go to ... play. As that sunk in Robby got more and more upset until he was as frantic as Debbie.
"I'll go down to the bank and talk to Mom," he suggested. "You stay here and watch the house." They both knew he meant the mansion, and not their own house.
For lack of a better plan, Debbie agreed and, after Robby pounded out of the front door, she stood in her window and stared at the dunce cap roof of the tower next door.
Perhaps it was because Debbie had always been self confident, afraid of very little, that she decided she needed to watch the new goings-on from closer. It wasn't a conscious decision that led her back to the fence and their "private entrance", and through the woods to the rear of the carriage house. But that's where she found herself, peering through a tangle of brush at the back of the mansion. There wasn't, of course, much to see. The house sat there, like it always had, lonely looking, run down and forlorn.
She had settled into a comfortable squat, holding on to a branch to keep her balance, when sudden movement at the back door of the house caught her eye. She was suddenly struck by the fact that the boards that had kept that entrance from being used were gone, and the door had opened.
But the man who came out of that door and began walking directly toward her was not the hermit she had seen before. This man was younger, slimmer, without the trench coat. And his face was smooth shaven, with a thatch of brown hair above it ... not the dark and ominous beard and black hair of the hermit. He was wearing shorts and a T shirt that was dark with sweat around the neck and armpits. The man looked gray and she realized he was covered with dust.
About the same time it registered in her brain that he was walking toward her hiding place.
Panic seized her and she froze, not breathing as the man stalked closer. Then he veered to his right and approached the little wooden shack that sat alone in what had been the far reaches of the back yard. The kids had examined that little shack, puzzled at first when all they found inside was a low shelf, like a floor mounted cabinet, with a round smooth-edged hole cut in the top, and a dark, empty pit under it. Then Robby remembered seeing something like this at their grandfather's farm when they were little. It was an outhouse. Once that had been determined, they had forgotten all about the little building. If they needed to use the bathroom they simply went home.
But this man went to the shack, now leaning a bit because of the growth of a big sycamore tree that had grown up right next to it. He went inside and the door slammed shut.
Debbie moved then, getting further behind the bush she was hiding behind. She was amazed to hear singing coming from the outhouse, snatches of an old rock and roll tune from the 50's. He stayed in there for what seemed a long time to her, and she jumped as the door banged open and the man came out, zipping up his shorts. He was still mumbling the words to the song, and he even broke into a dance of sorts as he trudged along the path that led to the structure. When he got to the back door of the mansion he turned around and his head swiveled as he surveyed the carriage house and the woods around it. With a shake of his head he turned on his heel and re-entered the house, slamming the door closed behind him.
It was the normality of his actions that troubled Debbie the most. He acted like he had every right in the world to be in the house ... to have removed the barrier to entry ... to use the outhouse. On impulse Debbie backed out of her hiding place and retreated deeper into the woods. She then began circling the mansion, taking special care to see if there were any other changes that had been made. With a sinking heart she noted that the front door was also uncovered, as were the windows at the front of the house. It looked different somehow, more like a house, though still disheveled and morose in appearance. Some of the windows didn't look as grimy and fly-specked as she remembered them.
It looked like the man ... or men ... were planning to stay.
But there were still so many questions. Who was this new man? Where was the hermit, and who was he? Why had they come to ruin things? What were they doing in the house? Were they searching for treasure? Debbie thought of her and Robby's little stash of recovered valuables. It was lying in plain sight in the bedroom they'd decided was "their" bedroom, which had once belonged to a little girl. Had these strangers found that stash?
It was the desire to get answers to these questions that drove Debbie to the root cellar, and through the tunnel, to attempt to open the secret door as quietly as she could. It made a horrible racket, the hinges squeaking as she slowly pulled it open. It had never made that much noise in the past ... had it?
She didn't have a candle ... hadn't thought to bring one ... but by now she knew the secret passage like the back of her hand and didn't really need a light.
Slowly, taking extra care to step quietly, she crept up the stairs, wincing at each creak her footfalls made. The first peep hole gave her a view of the kitchen, but no one was there. Then she tried the dining room, also without success. As she approached the upper part of the house she began to hear faint noises. She struck pay dirt in the little boy's bedroom. The man ... the second man ... was in that room. She peered through the peep hole and watched as he moved a broom along the floor. She wondered inanely why he wasn't using a vacuum cleaner and then remembered there was no electricity. The bed had been stripped and the decayed mattress was standing, half leaning against one wall as it tried to settle into a lump. What little furniture was in the room had all been shoved to line one wall, leaving the floor open for the man to sweep. He was humming.
She was closer to him now and could examine him better. She judged his age to be about that of her mother's. He was deeply tanned and had obviously come from someplace where he was in the sun a lot. His face was strong-jawed and lined, as if he had spent a lot of time in the weather. He wasn't skinny, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him either. His leg and arm muscles were well defined. He looked like he was in good shape and used to working hard. His hair looked wild and unkempt, but only in the sense that it looked like he'd lost his comb or something. He needed a haircut, or her mother would think he needed one anyway.
Debbie realized her muscles were cramped. She had been staring through the holes at the man for a long time and hadn't moved. She backed up and then had a frantic thought that her brother must be back by now and wondering where she was. She turned and made her way back down to the root cellar, trying to be quiet, and astonished at how much noise her passage made. Once she had stuck her head up out of the entrance to the cellar and made sure the coast was clear, she ran like a deer, dodging between trees and bushes, squeezing through the fence and arriving at her house panting and sweating. She slammed through the back door calling her brother's name, but got no answer.
The phone rang suddenly on the wall right by her shoulder and she jumped.
"HELLO!" she shouted into the handset, and then relaxed, thinking how silly she was acting.
"Honey?" came her mother's voice. "Are you okay?"
Debbie sighed. "Yes Mom, I just had to run to get the phone."
"Oh" said a confused Ramona. "It only rang once."
"Um ..." mumbled Debbie, trying to think of something to say. "It rang a whole bunch of times here," she lied.
"Well, never mind. Honey, Robby was here. Don't do anything! Do you hear me? Don't worry about anything. I'll explain it when I get home."
"Mom!" complained Debbie. "What's going on?"
"I'll explain when I get home. Don't worry about it, Okay? Don't you go over there and bother that man. Do you understand me Debbie?"
Her mom's voice held an anxious concern, as if there were something terrible going on and she was afraid. It didn't help things at all.
Debbie's take-charge attitude bubbled up. "Mommy I want to know what's going on!" she pleaded. "Who is that man? What's he doing over there?" She almost told her mother what changes had been made to the place and then remembered she wasn't supposed to know anything about the mansion.
"Don't be scared, honey," said her mother's voice in her ear. "I'll explain everything when I get home. I have to get back to work. I'll see you in a few hours. Bye bye."
The phone went dead and Debbie moved the handset to where she could look at it, like she could will her mother to come back on the line and answer her questions. She slumped as she hung it up and leaned against the wall. She was still breathing heavily.
Debbie gave out a little shriek as Robby barged in the back door and almost ran into his sister. His hands gripped her forearms. He had ridden his bike to the bank and was as out of breath as she was. They stared at each other for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do or say.
"Mom said not to worry!" Robby barked as Debbie said, "I went over there!" at the same time.
Then there were the inevitable "What?!"s as they got control of themselves and deciphered what each had said.
Debbie took center stage, though, as Robby stared at her astonished that she'd gone over there to spy by herself. As she described what she saw he got more and more upset.
"Anything could have happened!" he shouted, getting red in the face. "You could have gotten caught! He might have hurt you!" He was shaking, still gripping her forearms, his knuckles white, his fingers digging deep into her muscles.
She shook him off "You're the one hurting me!" she yelled, trying to shake free of his grasp. "Let go of me!"
His grip relaxed suddenly and she fell backward, against the wall. She rubbed first one and then the other forearm.
"I didn't get caught!" she said, her voice forced.
Robby felt weak suddenly. He was thinking about the amorphous man catching his sister. His imagination showed him slaps, her blouse tearing, her breasts exposed to the stranger ... He shook his head to stop himself from thinking more.
He gripped her hands this time, more gently. "But you coould have gotten caught. Deb he might have done things to you," he whined. "I couldn't live without you."
Debbie felt a flush of warmth in her belly at his words. Her anger melted. She felt an overflowing gush of love for her twin brother.
She slammed against him, her arms going around him as he hugged her back instinctively. Her grip was fierce ... possessive.
"You're so sweet," she mumbled into his chest.
All their surprise ... their fear ... their anxiousness ... all the unanswered questions and the tension that went along with everything that had happened ... it all burst forth in each of them in that embrace.
This ... this embrace ... this intimacy, was something they did understand ... something that made them feel safe and warm. All the emotions they felt were suddenly channeled toward that intimacy and the embrace became sexual.
They both felt each other's bodies pressed against the other. Debbie's face came up and her lips sought her brother's. It was a crushing kiss, a bruising kiss, a kiss filled with urgency to do something they both were comfortable with.
They'd never done anything sexual at home together. It was an unwritten, almost unacknowledged rule. What they shared was reserved for the manor, that little girl's bedroom, with the ghosts looking on fondly as something loving was done in the house that had so many terrible memories staining its old walls.
But the urge was so strong that that prohibition was blown away as if by a tornado. Still kissing, still hugging, they fumbled with each other's clothing, he unbuttoning her blouse and she tugging at the fastening of his shorts. His hands roamed across her breasts, his palms scraping her sensitive nipples as her hand snaked into his shorts to grip his suddenly stiff prick. The strangeness of their contact - they had never touched each other before ... only watching the other as they sated their passions - that strangeness didn't seem odd at all. Too many other strange things had happened and what they wanted now was something to make them feel good, and happy.
Standing in the hallway by the kitchen, though, wasn't what Debbie wanted. She wanted to be naked ... on a bed. She wanted an orgasm naked and on a bed, and she pulled him, gasping and panting to the short stairway that led to her bedroom. He held her hand with one hand and held his shorts up with the other as he staggered along behind her.
No words were necessary and they both stripped out of their clothes efficiently and quietly. He got naked first and stood there, his prick pointing at her like an accusing finger. As soon as she dropped her panties she melted against him again, though, that hard cock pressing into her abdomen. She shivered, even though both were sweating still, from their exertions and excitement.
Since masturbation was what they knew, they gravitated naturally toward that as Debbie pulled him to the bed and gasped, "Touch me."
They ended up lying side by side, kissing each other with long, breath-stealing kisses as his fingers fumbled at first between her legs. She raised one leg and draped it on top of his to give him room. Her hand gripped his cock and slid sensuously along its length. Then, because they had watched each other dozens of times, their hands took on familiar rhythms. Her stroke was the same speed he used when he started, and his two fingers found her electrifying nubbin and began circling it, scraping sideways across it occasionally. Almost naturally, as she speeded up and his prick began to weep its sticky essence, his fingers moved in faster circles. She moaned as she felt her orgasm within a hair's breadth away and jerked him even faster.
"Oh Robby!" she gasped. "Pinch it for me Robby."
His slippery fingertips found the bump and he tried to grasp it, slipping off again and again. But that squeezing mashed it delightfully and she tumbled into an orgasm harder than any she'd brought on herself. Her tenseness, her whining voice as she made nonsense sounds, and her hand, still whaling on his prick, brought Robby off and his cock delivered its heavy load between them, getting on their stomachs, her breasts and her hand and arm as she kept pulling.
"Uhhh ....Uhhhh ...Ahhhhh," groaned Robby as his seed erupted satisfyingly. Her hand left his prick to grab his own hand, stopping him from abusing her clitty any longer. It was too sensitive now and she didn't need any more stimulation. She sagged, her face rolling into his chest as her hand came to the mess between them and spread its warm mass up to her breasts and over each nipple.
"Oh Robby," she sighed.
There was no shame or remorse. What they had shared was something priceless, to be remembered and savored many nights when they weren't together.
It had also drained them of their anxiety and worry.
"I made a mess," said Robby, rolling away from her.
"I don't care," she said, still stroking her breasts and belly with her spunk-covered hand. "We can clean it up before Mom gets home."
"I really liked that Deb," he sighed.
"Me too," she sighed back. "Why didn't we think about doing that before this?"
"I don't know," he said. He rolled back toward her for a kiss, disregarding the wet between them. It was worth it to taste her lips again.
Eventually his spend cooled, and got uncomfortable for both of them. They rolled apart and bounced up off the bed, suddenly energized by the task of getting the bedspread into the washing machine and using warm wash clothes to clean each other up. Robby paid special attention to the fluff of hair between Debbie's legs and she laughed and pushed him away.
"Stop!" she giggled. "You'll get me going again."
"So?" he asked.
"Mom will be home soon," she chided. "I don't think she'd approve."
"You got that right," he sighed. "Is what we do wrong Deb?"
"I don't think so," she said firmly. "It feels too good to be something bad."
"What are we going to do now?" he asked. They both knew he was talking about the loss of their private place.
"I don't know. Mom said she could explain it. All we can do is wait and see what she says." Debbie sounded sad.
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