by Susan Thomas
Prologue
The full story of my visitations was enacted in just over one year of my life, but what a year that was. I started the year as a young, single, successful career woman in New York City; a woman for whom great success beckoned eagerly. Wealth, status, influence and honors; all would be mine. A year later I was married, and in a most traditional kind of marriage. I was a mother and living in a small rural community in my home state. I was not just geographically very far from New York but also a very long way in my lifestyle. More than that, I was happy to be so.
I don't ask you to believe my story; I can scarcely believe it myself. I certainly don't ask you to explain it, for I can't explain it myself. Oh, I can think of explanations, but none of them explain everything. I agree it is a very strange story; and I know while reading it you will, at times, ask, "Why would she do that?" or "Why would she agree to that?" I can't answer. I can only tell you I did, and at the time I felt it right.
March 6, 2018
I was always successful at both school and college. It wasn't just academic success; I was also on the athletics team and eventually got a black belt in Judo. When I left college and began to work, my success startled even me. By the time I was twenty-six, I was already earning more money than most people twenty years older than me. I worked in New York and rented a small but safe and really great apartment. My eighty-hour plus weeks didn't bother me, as I was going places: no glass ceiling for me, the elevator went straight to the top. It was after one long day at work that I saw her for the first time.
I left the building and was walking the short distance to the subway, when everything disappeared... the street, buildings, cars and people; everything, except one person walking toward me. She was an old lady, stooped (almost like she was hunch-backed) but clearly well off. She had an ebony walking stick with a gold handle, very expensive clothes although too heavy and severe, a great deal of jewelry and a Pekingese dog; you know, one of those tiny ones wearing some sort of silly coat and with an expensive lead.
I had to stop because I was bewildered as to what had happened. The old lady spoke to me in a faint voice. "You need to stop and change direction."
I was afraid to be honest and also irritated. I was tired and wanted to go back to my apartment. "Who the fuck are you, and what are you talking about?"
"My dear, I am you. Or rather I am what you will become if you continue the course in life you're on. I'm rich, famous even, but I have nothing. No family. No friends worthy of the name. No happy memories - just memories of work and striving. Change direction now."
With that she had gone; everything was back. If the passing New Yorkers thought it strange I had stopped dead on the sidewalk, they said nothing. I figured I had been working too long and went home. But the next day she appeared with my morning coffee and looked just the same as the day before, complete with dog.
"It's not too late for you. Change your life or end like me," she said.
I was shaken I will admit, and further unnerved when, on the way to work, some bright young girl thrust a leaflet into my hand inviting me to a free lecture, the subject title: 'Where is your journey taking you?'
After her third visit I was upset enough to think that maybe I should take some time off work. I invented a dying grandmother (mine died a few years before) and took compassionate leave. I took the first plane out, flying south to my home state, and when I arrived I rented a car. I figured if she was real she'd find it hard to follow me thousands of miles away; if it was my imagination, the rest would do me good.
I had no idea where I was driving except it wasn't on any freeway or main road. I drove through country byways until at the end of a rather long, lonely road I was faced with a bridge across a river. The bridge was very old and made of cast iron but beautifully painted and maintained. A large sign said, 'You are now entering Tam's Island'. It was late afternoon and I was hungry, so I thought I'd drive on and find somewhere to eat and maybe stay the night. I passed a building from which issued a delicious fruity smell. A sign read, 'Tam's Island preserves'. Further on there was a small factory which announced itself as 'Tam's Island Joinery'. Finally, I arrived at a small town and pulled up at the first available parking spot.
I got out of the car, stretched a bit, and began walking along searching for somewhere to eat. A voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Pardon me, ma'am. May I help you?"
I turned to see an older looking man, in uniform, with a badge that showed he was the sheriff.
"I'm just passing through but could do with a meal," I said.
"Ma'am, no one passes through Tam's Island, on account of it being an island with only the one way in or out. The bridge you crossed to get here is it. We are bounded by two rivers and a lake. If it's only food you want, I'll escort you to Milly's."
And he did. I did feel I was more a prisoner under escort but that could have just been me. I ventured to ask, "Is there anywhere like a motel I might stay the night?"
He looked at me hard. "Well ma'am, do you have any skirts or dresses in your luggage?"
I was astonished. I was wearing a perfectly respectable pants suit. A bit too businesslike for a vacation, but in my haste to escape her I hadn't given much thought to what I was wearing. "Why?"
"We have a local ordinance, ma'am, that females may only wear skirts or dresses. If you were just eating here it's something we could overlook, but if you want to stay..."
"I think that is illegal, and what do the women think about that?"
"We vote on it every year, and the women always vote to retain the ordinance. Besides, we don't take a whole lot of notice of state or federal government."
I was about to tell him what he could do, and get back in my car, when I saw her again. My fourth time. She'd somehow followed me, or she was my imagination. She was standing nearby, and I heard her clearly say, "Stay, this is the place."
Seeing her totally unnerved me, and I found myself muttering I'd got a skirt and I'd wear it later if I found a place to stay. He took me to Milly's, and the food was great. Simple stuff, sure enough, but fresh and beautifully cooked. Milly herself pointed out the way to the town's only B&B. They didn't get too many visitors.
The door of Sandy Down Bed and Breakfast was opened by a tall, stern-looking man of around fifty years.
"Good afternoon," I said. "My name is Lindsay Southern, and I'm looking for a place to stay the night." He looked disapprovingly and pointedly at my pants and, to my shame, I found myself stammering, "Er... the sheriff explained the ordinance to me. I've got a skirt to put on."
He nodded and let me in. I knew what had just happened was weird, but the sight of her had shaken me so much. He was Mr. Bridges, but it was his wife, Mrs. Bridges (Madge), who showed me to the pretty room where I could stay. It was large, comfortably furnished and very clean indeed; my own bathroom was clearly very new, and the cost was ridiculously cheap, especially by New York standards.
I had planned to stay one night, so why was I unpacking everything and putting it away? That was a question I couldn't answer. I changed my clothes, putting on my skirt and dark pantyhose, and as I did so I saw her again. She was standing in my room looking at me. I vaguely noticed her dog was looking rather see-through, but I was angry.
"Why are you following me? Leave me alone, damn you."
"This is the right place. Stay."
With that she was gone again. I sat down in the only easy chair to pull myself together. I pretended to read my book, but the reality was that my mind was whirling. Then there was a knock at the door. It was Mrs. Bridges.
"Will you be staying in your room for a while, my dear?"
"Yes." I was puzzled.
"Oh good. About twenty minutes or so?"
I nodded that I would, and she left. After a while, curiosity overwhelmed me. What was going on? Without shoes I crept out onto the landing and down the edge of the stairs to avoid creaking. In the hall, from the bottom of the stairs, I could see into a small room my grandma would have called a parlor. In there, Mr. Bridges was sitting on an upright chair and Mrs. Bridges was laid across his lap. Her skirt was right up on her back, her panties and hose were pulled right down to the knees, and he had a hairbrush in his hand. My mouth went very dry. That tall stern man was about to spank his wife. At that moment he was still scolding her about unseemly behavior and disobedience. Then the spanking began.
I trembled throughout it, unsure whether I should intervene or not. That hairbrush cracked down hard on her bottom, sending ripples running in every direction and leaving a nasty red mark behind. Madge cried out, but the brush was already coming down a second time and so it continued: smack, smack, crack, crack, each one turning that bottom redder and making Madge squeal, cry and yelp with every smack. I was scared of intervening as if I would suddenly replace her over his lap. The spanking seemed to go on forever, with me a witness frozen by disbelief. When her bottom was an angry, mottled red all over, the spanking stopped and I silently retreated upstairs feeling guilty and ashamed.
Much later I decided to go out and explore the town. It was dusk, and I thought perhaps a bar and a drink might restore me somewhat. As I came downstairs I met Madge. Her eyes were a little red, perhaps from crying, but she looked quite cheerful.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yes, of course." She gave me a happy smile. "Discipline is not pleasant to receive, but it restores me."
I looked at her hard. Did she know I had watched her spanking? It was hard to tell.
"Are you going out?" she asked.
"Yes, thought I'd explore a bit."
As if he had heard, Mr. Bridges appeared. "If you're going out, young lady..." I bristled at those words. "...then understand that your curfew is ten."
"My curfew!" I was stunned. Who the hell gives a customer a curfew? Well, Mr. Bridges, it seemed.
"Everyone keeps early hours around here, and I will be locking up at ten. It would be better for you not to delay me."
I glared at him and left. The town was not large, and easily explored, but praise be there was a bar.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.