Thread by @justabloodygame

The storm following Maggie up the coast chased her into dreams as shivering in the dark, warmed only by the prospect of reconciling with Jerome, she slipped into troubled dreams. She closed her eyes, opening them back in her own bed, strong hands rubbing her thighs in the dark.

"Is this all right?" A familiar voice asked. Rome's velvet tongue followed where his hands had traced before. Maggie gasped.

"This all right Mags?" The smile in his voice, the scoundrel already knew the answer.

"Oh! Rome," She moaned, closing her eyes, giving in to the warmth.

Upwards his kisses traveled until... yes! That man knew what he was doing, and she didn't mind the slight pain at how tightly he gripped her thighs... at first. But he squeezed tighter, more firmly, until finally she had to cry out.

"Rome!" She said sharply, "Watch what you're-"

Looking down, she stopped mid breath, and gasped. That wasn't Rome. The bald pate that bobbed up and down as it roughly gripped her legs. That was-

"-Bill?" She managed through gritted teeth, riding alternating waves of pleasure and pain.

Like ripples in a still pool, each one that came amplified the ones that followed.

Yes, it was Bill, but not the 37 year old man she knew. Rather it was the 18 year old boy grappling her lower half. She tried to push him off in alarm.

"Bill, I don't think-oh. Rome will kill y-"

The young man looked up and smiled, a strange hunger in his eyes.

"Is this all right Mrs. Hader?" He asked, in the deep rich voice he developed in manhood. A stark contrast to his boyish features. Candle-light flickered off his skull.

Wait, candles? Why were there candles here?

The youthful Bill didn't wait for her answer. Pushing up from her legs to kiss her forcefully on the lips. Warmth spread from their touch down through her whole body, an electrifying tingle that set every nerve afire.

Yes, she thought, yes, this is just fine.

Maybe, I can...

But the warmth didn't, the gentle flesh feel of his lips and tongue probing her, exploring her, as his wandering hands set sleeping parts of her alive, slowly faded. Replaced by the cold embrace of a stone left out in a winter storm, the burning bitter cold.

"Bill? What is-?"

But opening her eyes. She saw it wasn't Bill. It wasn't any man at all. It was. No, it couldn't be.

Her eyes, unguarded by despair, gave truth to the wriggling shape before her. Given years, given enough paper to fill the ocean, she still would fall short describing its misery.

She pushed back. Almost falling over. Somehow they were no longer lying in her bed, but standing in a circle of berobed figures, each holding a candle flickering in unnatural wind.

"Ny-Nyla? Is that you?"

The thing, shape melting, molting in the shifting light, shook its head.

NOT QUITE.

It gripped her close, with prehensile digits that weren't fingers, attached to appendages that weren't hands.

THIS IS THE TRUE TEST. It spoke to her reeling mind, her shattering soul. TELL ME.

CAN YOU SEE ME? DO YOU BEHOLD THE SHIBBOLETH?

The chamber flooded with light, and she saw its face, and she screamed and screamed and screamed until, after an eternity of horrors, her son's strong hands finally shook her awake.