Halloween 2015
Rosie Sweets pushed up off the railings as a black hearse, its windows tinted so dark it didn’t appear to have any, rolled up to the kerb not even a dozen feet from where we were standing. That wouldn’t have been so bad if Chloe Weaver hadn’t giggled and followed suit. They held hands, dancing on the spot in their barely there Dorothy and Toto Halloween costumes, half in excitement at the latest arrivals, half in an attempt to stave off the chilly autumn air.
Making a ridiculous yipping noise and letting her tongue loll from the corner of her mouth, Chloe beckoned me to join them. I traded a sardonic eye-roll with Alyssa Ferrell and stayed exactly where I was, lounging against the Chillington Cemetery railings, just as I had been for the past twenty minutes. Alyssa didn’t move either, though I could have forgiven her any over exuberance, given that it was the first year her parents had allowed her to attend the long running Chillington Cemetery Halloween Haunt.
My lungs protested when I drew in a deep hit from my cigarette, but I refused to cough. I exhaled slowly instead, shrouding myself in bluey grey smoke, using it as cover so I could stare poisoned daggers at the wolfman who had just leapt out of the back of the silver skull and purple flame decaled hearse.
God, I hated him. I hated him and I adored him, and I wanted to never see him again almost as much as I wanted us to get back together. But it wasn’t going to happen, we were over – again – and that was that.
A loud noise dragged my attention away from the prancing wolf – who I could have sworn was watching me through my smoke screen – and I blinked fast, trying to catch up with what I’d missed while I’d been ruminating. Debbie Day clapped her hands in the same rat-a-tat rhythm that had startled me and stepped forward, shimmering in her good witch Glenda costume. I knew she was looking at the wolfman too, and I scowled.
“He looks so fine,” she said dreamily.
Ridiculous bitch of a girl!
The thought was as bitter as lemons, but I wasn’t sorry I’d had it. He wasn’t even her boyfriend and there she was, drooling all over him. I hoped he saw because he’d literally die of a heart attack at the thought of his best friend’s girl panting after him, and I liked the idea of him being dead. Yes, Dale Robinson might have acted like a prized prick when it came to our relationship, but he would never betray one of his bro’s.
Spinning on the spot and nearly taking one of the Scarecrow’s – a.k.a Tracy Larkin’s – eyes out with the star on the end of her spangly wand, Debbie suddenly stopped. She was facing me, and her smile was twice as sweet as any candy that would be handed out that night. I felt my teeth start to ache at the very sight of it.
“You don’t look like you’re ready for a good time, Meg. Do you wish you’d come as the wicked witch of the west? I know you do. Don’t you? You wish we’d teamed up on costumes like the others have.”
Did I fuck! I was all for being close to my friends, but there was no way on this earth was I ever going to allow myself to become part of their fashion squad. The very idea of always being identifiable as one of them by my choice of outfit, be it matching and coordinating like they’d wanted me to for their stupid Wizard of Oz theme tonight, or contrasting while still complimenting like they’d wanted when we attended the harvest fayre. I was an individual, dammit, and I would do my own thing.
Knowing that my reluctance to be part of the whole was what kept me on the outside brought out a cruelness in me that only such irony could generate. Looking Debbie right in the eye I sniggered, “You wish I had, you mean. It’s gotta be killing you that I’m dressed as Morticia and Scottie’s dressed as Gomez.”
“Of course it isn’t!”
She could deny it all she wanted, I could see in the way her ever present smile had tightened that I was right.
Eyes running down the length of my dress, her tight expression slackened and one elongated canine – I mean, when did Glenda ever have vampire fangs – pulled the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth. The way she wiggled her teeth back and forth was driving me crazy, but she soon stopped to push the fake fang back over her real tooth.
“I can’t remember Morticia’s dress being split up both sides like that,” she mumbled. “It’s not a true to life costume, is it?”
Debbie cast her eyes toward the hearse –or rather to her boyfriend, Scott, then back at me, and that sickly sweet smile was gone. Now I felt guilty. It wasn’t a crime to find my ex attractive. I knew she loved Scott and would never betray him, no matter how gorgeous he was. It wasn’t irony making me cruel, it was jealousy. I needed to grow up.
Giving her my widest smile, I tucked my arm through hers and towed her toward the cemetery gates. “Artistic license, Debs,” I told her, not even bothering with the Glenda and fangs angle I could have taken.
As we reached the gates I let her go, and I hated that I started to sway my hips in the exact same way she and the others were. The guys by the hearse started to wolf whistle, and the only one of them dressed as a wolf let rip with a bone chilling howl. He stalked forward a few paces, only to come to an abrupt halt when Scott broke off from their small group and sauntered forward.
With his wide, dark, bulging frog eyes and slicked back dark hair, he looked so much like Gomez it was disturbing. Debbie shifted her masses of blonde curly hair to expose her glittery pink décolletage, but Scott waved her aside.
“Cara mia,” he drawled, offering me a dead, flaking red rose. I didn’t take it, so he grabbed my hand and started running kisses from my knuckle to my elbow.
“Try to dip me and I’ll kick you so hard, you’ll have to come as Morticia next year.”
Flouncing off in five-inch heels while towing Glenda along behind me wasn’t easy, but I managed it. The laughter that followed us was raucous, but it delighted me, not that I’d ever admit it, of course. I’d have been crushed if Dale had laughed along, but I didn’t hear even the slightest hint of his usually manic howl, so I just sashayed away in my split-assed dress.
“I can’t believe Scottie would –” Debbie began, but Alyssa shushed her.
“He’s drunk and in character, you’re giving off puffs of glitter like an enraged Tinkerbell that would totally ruin his costume…” she paused and pointed a fluffy, Cowardly Lion paw at me, “And you have red lippy on your teeth. Sort it out, ‘Tish.”
Blushing beneath the three layers of white foundation, white powder, and matte setting powder I’d caked my face with, I rubbed my front teeth with my finger until they squeaked and followed the blinking chain of pumpkin lights that edged the path on both sides. Chillington Cemetery was old, and the town council had voted against putting lampposts in because ‘the dead are dead, let’s not go lighting up their resting places any more than is necessary’. In other words, fuck that, it’s expensive.
A noise from just beyond the lights caught our ears, and we all turned our heads, trying to see into the gloom. I knew I was blushing a little deeper, but Rosie’s cheeks more than matched her name. We couldn’t see a thing, but we could all hear the grunts and groans of what sounded like something I’d kill to be involved in. I could have killed for a good fuck in that moment, even if it was from someone who sounded like something from the Evil Dead.
“This is why my folks didn’t want me to come here.” Alyssa shook her mane and twisted her tail in her hands. “They knew this would be going on. They knew there’d be too much drink, too much sex and… is that weed I smell?”
I nodded. “It is, and your parents were right. All of that stuff goes on here, but that doesn’t mean we have to be part of it. I’ve been here every year since I turned seventeen and I’ve never once let myself get high or drunk, and I’ve never desecrated a grave.”
I ignored the five scoffs that came from my five companions. Most people – including one or two of my present friends – assumed that, because I dressed in blacks, reds and purples, dyed my blond hair black and wore black lipstick and eyeliner, that I was one of Chillington’s creepy goths who did get high and drunk and desecrate graves. I’d given up defending my innocence long ago, because who gave a shit what they thought?
You do, something inside of me said, but I ignored it.
We reached the nameless mausoleum in the centre of the cemetery without any further excitement to upset Alyssa, and I needed a drink. The pumpkin lights were concentrated here, and skull, bat, and ghost lights had been added, so it was quite bright. The tables were just the wooden wallpapering variety with cheap plastic dripping blood covers thrown over them, but they were laden.
All of the food was individually wrapped stuff, and the bottles all had their metal caps intact. It never used to be this way, but two years back a dickhead in a grim reaper costume was caught drunkenly poking his dick into an anatomical jelly heart while his buddy popped pills into random bottles, so these days the guys who ran the Haunt were diligent about health and safety.
Loud music began to pour from speakers on top of the mausoleum, drowning out Tracey and Alyssa’s chatter. Rosie and Chloe were off dancing already, and Debbie was sidling up to Scott. I laughed at her trying to inconspicuously wipe some of the glittery sparkles from her chest with a hankie. There was so much of it she was getting it all over everyone she shimmied past.
A strange scent curled up my nostrils, making me blink fast. It was sweet, but sickly, and reminded me of vanilla, rotting apples, and decaying flowers. There was a smokiness to it too, and the hint of dust that lay over the top of it made me sneeze. I couldn’t decide if it was the most disgusting or the most delicious perfume I’d ever smelled.
Peering around, I tried to guess who was wearing it. Of the people closest to me, I was certain it wasn’t the witch. I knew she only ever wore Dior, and the spider with the cleavage who was standing to her right didn’t wear perfume at all. Not the mutilated bride, or Chucky’s bride, or Frankenstein’s bride… who was it?
Someone tapped my arm and I yelped. Across the table to me stood a Voodoo priestess and priest, or a mambo and a houngan as I’m sure they’d insist on being called. She looked a likely candidate for the scent, but it was all but gone now, so I doubted it was her.
“What are you drinking, honey?” she asked in a high pitched voice, shattering the sultry magic vibe her costume conjured.
“Just a beer. You guys look great, by the way, especially your makeup. The skulls look amazing.”
She popped the cap on my beer and handed it to me, then moving as one, they turned away, moving on to the next person who wanted serving.
“Oh thanks, you look great too, loving that lipstick, you really know how to rock the Addams look, girl.” Wow, was I in a pitiful mood.
Maybe catching up with the girls was a good idea. We were supposed to be here together, after all. I took a few steps in the direction I thought I’d spotted a fuzzy lion’s mane, but didn’t get any further than that. There was a man standing in my path, and he looked outstanding, even if what he was wearing wasn’t at all Halloweeny in any way shape or form.
Almost as if he knew I was judging his lack of festive effort, he unbuttoned his black tailcoat and slightly opened the left-hand side. There on his crisp white shirt, directly over his heart, was a massive, red blood stain, and at its centre was a gaping tear. Using two fingers, he widened the tear and I could see a shockingly realistic stab wound. It looked like the guy had really been mortally wounded somewhere in the past five minutes, and if the spreading stain was anything to go by, that wound was still oozing blood.
I grinned with strong approval muttering, “Sick,” before closing my eyes and taking a quick drink from my bottle. When I opened them again, the guy was gone. Disappointment wasn’t a new emotion to me, so I just sighed and continued my quest to find my friends.
Debbie was the first one to come into my line of sight, but she was batting her eyelids at Scott and Dale, so there was no way in hell was I heading in her direction any time soon. Even still, I lingered a little too long, and Dale caught me watching. He didn’t smile or look away. He just stared back at me, as if he was daring me to look away first.
Gah, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to let him know how much he was getting to me, but I couldn’t stand there all night, gawking like a fool. What would Carolyn Jones think of my representation of her immortal Morticia?
“You win, jackass,” I sighed, giving in.
Turning my back on him was harder than it should have been, but it had to be done. I was a twenty-one year old woman, I needed to stop living my life like I was the protagonist in a high school drama.
Once I was out of his immediate vicinity, I began to relax. I chatted with Rosie and her friend Helen for a short while, putting the world to rights and bemoaning men, healing tattoos, and day jobs, then decided that I needed to talk to Alyssa. But first, I needed another drink.
I’d only taken a dozen steps when Alyssa came into view, and just as I lifted my arm to wave at her, my newly affirmed adulthood leaked out of me in a shrill scream. My asshole older brother, Joey, danced in front of me in his Pennywise costume, squawking maniacally and squirting me with red liquid from the flower he had pinned to his sleeve. Bastard, he fucking knew I hated clowns! I’d bet he’d taken time out from his usual schedule of annoying the shit out of our neighbours with his ridiculous, grown man trick or treating, just to freak me out.
There was no way was he getting any more than that one scream from me, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Trying to hold onto what little dignity I had left, I squared my shoulders and headed toward the brighter lights of the mausoleum.
I could see Alyssa waving at me, but she didn’t seem to be beckoning me closer. It looked more like she was waving me away, and frantically too. Curiosity kept me moving forward, but then I saw what she hadn’t wanted me to see. To the left of the mausoleum, in the shadows cast by one of the stone angels someone had attached a strobe light to, was a couple having sex.
All I could see of the woman was the asp on her Cleopatra headdress, her glow in the dark stiletto fingernails, and the creamy paleness of the leg she had wrapped around her partner. Her furry partner. A wolf. Dale.
Alyssa was calling my name, but I ignored her. My feet carried me in the direction of the cemetery gates, but when I spotted Joey there, still doing his ridiculous fucking dance, I turned tail and headed further in. I walked until the music became dulled, and until the light was so dim, only my knowledge of the cemetery layout kept me on the path.
Had anyone ever felt as sorry for themselves as I felt in that moment? I wasn’t convinced they had. But I didn’t have time to lament on how pitiful I was being, because the scent from earlier tickled the edge of my senses, and I noticed a movement from the corner of my eye. It was the guy from by the drinks table, the one with the chest wound.
It probably should have bothered me that I could see him so clearly, but it didn’t. Unable to fight the curiosity that scent instilled in me, I put the eerie glow that I could see emanating from his skin down to mad makeup skills and asked a question.
“What aftershave do you use?”
Thin lips curving into a mysterious smile he replied, “Come with me and I might tell you.”
Did I want to say no? Of course I did! I wasn’t an idiot, I knew that going anywhere with a complete stranger was utter lunacy, but I had to know what that damned smell was.
Inching toward him I said, “I carry mace,” as a warning, slipping my hand into my bag for effect.
“I’m sure you do,” the guy chuckled.
I followed a few feet behind him, surprised that I could keep up with his clipping pace in the dark, and in these stupid shoes. I asked another question, not sure whether I should expect an answer. “What’s your name?”
“Vernon Cleveland the Third.”
Oh, he answered. OH! “Aah, your costume makes sense now,” I muttered. I’d spoken almost silently, but he heard me.
“Does it now?” He sounded amused.
It should have dawned on me sooner, and I should have been way more shocked by his audacity than I actually was. Vernon Cleveland the Third had been a resident of Chillington Town back in the late 1800s. He and his wife, Lucretia, had owned a lot of properties here, a couple of them on my own street. They’d dominated Crow Street as though they’d owned it all, but their local empire had come crashing down in murder and flames.
Vernon had outlived his wife, but not by long. He’d been stabbed in the heart by an unknown assailant, and had died not two doors away from where I now lived. Chillington was host to many Halloween Haunts, but nobody ever dared dress up as either of the Cleveland’s. It was considered bad taste at best, curse-worthy at worst, and this guy was the first to ever break the unspoken rule. He was bad ass!
I kept following. We must have been at the far end of the cemetery by now, right by the willow trees. The guy – Vernon – wove between and around gravestones, as if he were heading for one in particular.
When we reached it, he spun on his heels, the tails of his coat audibly swishing, and grabbed me by the shoulders. I could see his eyes quite clearly, so I guessed he could see mine. I probably should have filled them with all the no in the world, but I didn’t. I loaded them with as much yes as I could muster.
But he didn’t kiss me like I’d expected him too. He ran his hands down the deep V of my dress, pushing the fabric apart until my breasts were completely exposed. The air was cold, but his hands were colder still, and my nipples responded eagerly. They tightened so much even the gentle brush of his fingers stung, so I had no chance when he took hold of both between his fingers and twisted.
“Shit!”
My yelp was loud enough to wake the dead. It didn’t deter Vernon, though. One of his hands was on my shoulder, pushing me to my knees, and I guessed his other hand was busy releasing his cock. If it had been Dale acting this presumptuously I’d have twisted his nuts for him, but as it was, my mouth was open before my knees hit the dirt.
I had just enough time to coat my lips with saliva before I felt his cock sliding past my teeth. He was smaller than I would have guessed, so I managed to take all of him with ease. Not every girl I knew delighted in giving blow jobs, but I’d always loved it. I put my all into it, making every suck and every lick as dramatic as I could, moaning, slurping, and making as much noise as I could without getting overly porny.
His dick tasted like the scent that had seduced me before I’d even realised it. The vanillary part of it reminded me of ice cream, and the dead flowers were stale Turkish delight. The smokiness and over ripe apple scents played with my head, and I felt a desperate need to taste his cum.
“Cum in my mouth!” I demanded, panting like I’d been getting fucked for hours. “Please, I want to taste it, I need to taste it.”
“Okay,” Vernon said calmly.
My eyes rolled when, as if on demand, he exploded over my tongue. God, he tasted so good. Each pulse of his cock sent a rivulet of sweet, bitter fluid down my throat, making me suck harder, trying to draw as much from him as I possibly could. My pussy was soaked, but if he was like the other guy’s I’d been with, I’d just ended the game by giving him leave to cum in my mouth.
I kept sucking, willing his dick to stay hard. And it did. That was definitely a new one on me, and I was going to make the most of it.
Once I was on my feet again, I expected Vernon to kiss me, but he didn’t. He just watched me, wearing that same amused smile. There was an air of expectancy – and entitlement – to it, and I wondered if maybe he was going to let me walk away frustrated, even though this cock was still ramrod straight and rock hard.
“Do you want to cum?” he asked.
What a stupid fucking question, I thought. But I didn’t say it, just in case I offended him. “You know I do,” I said shyly.
Vernon shrugged and spun me around. Cold air on my knees, cold stone on my breasts, a little tear of fabric between my thighs, and then his cock plunged into me. We both let go of soft moans when the sound of wet fucking shattered the quiet around us. His cock felt twice as big as it had when it was in my mouth. It was the perfect size for me then, and it was the perfect size for me now, which was odd considering those two things weren’t the usually same thing. Dale’s cock was huge and I could barely get half of it past my teeth before gagging, but I could take him balls deep in my pussy all day long.
Yes, Dale was an amazing fuck, but Vernon, it seemed, wasn’t. His technique was a little basic, and I needed so much more than just the right size to get me off. Again, as though he could hear me, he pulled out with a wet slurp and boosted himself onto the altar-like gravestone I was leaning against. His cock glistened with my juices, and as pissed I was at him for stopping, I couldn’t help but wrap my lips around it.
“If you don’t like how I fuck, do it yourself,” he whispered, hands in my hair, forcing me down on his cock. I’d been right before. Somehow, it was bigger than it had been.
Both hands fisted in my hair now, he dragged my head up and down, lifting his hips, pushing my nose into his flesh and laughing at the choking noises I was making.
“If you want to cum you’re gonna have to climb on and make it happen, Megan. Do it. Fuck me.”
As soon as he let go of my hair, I dragged my dress to my hips and scrambled up. He was so cold, and glowing so bright I could make out the shadows of words engraved on the stone just beyond his head, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was getting that cock back inside of me. My moan when it slid home was so loud and filled with relief, it made him laugh.
No matter who I’d had sex with in the past, I’d always been a noisy girl. Dale loved it, but the guy I’d been with before him and the two since we broke up had hated it. But now? I was as quiet as the grave. My knees scraped against the stone beneath us, my ass bounced off clammy, cold thighs, and overly bony fingers dug into the hot flesh of my breasts.
Vernon was beautiful, lying there beneath me. He was breathing deeply, watching me, slipping his hand between my legs every few minutes so he could gather up our combined juices and bring it to his mouth, moaning as he sucked those long, pale fingers of his clean.
My hands were on his chest now, supporting my weight so I could fuck him faster. Red liquid was still pumping from the wound on his chest, covering my fingers and wrist. “Lick it,” he demanded. “Lick your hand.”
I didn’t even think, I just did it. The vanilla taste was as strong as it had been in his cum, but the tang of rust overpowered it. Blood. It tasted like real blood. I didn’t spit it out though. I dipped my head and started to lick the wound instead, curling my stomach to make sure his cock remained deep inside of me.
My pussy started to twitch, and I knew orgasm was close. Vernon must have sensed it too, because he shoved his hand between us again and this time, instead of looking for something to drink, he started to tap my clit impossibly fast. My body was still, but my hips and ass were moving, and a quiet grunt puffed from my nose every time my groin crashed against his.
Something happened then that had never happened to me before. Vernon yelled that he was coming and I believed him, because I could feel it. I didn’t mean the coldness I could feel trickling down my thighs with each downward thrust, but the coldness splashing inside of me. Over my cervix, up my walls… he was filling me, and knowing that those delirium inducing cries he was making were for me shoved me over the edge.
The orgasm rolled through me in waves, getting weaker and weaker as the seconds drew on. When my pussy pulsed out its last spasm I thought it was all over, but I was wrong. Vernon lifted me up, positioned his wet cock right at the opening of my ass and pulled me down.
I screamed, but not in pain. I was cumming again, and didn’t that shock the shit out of me. Every time my orgasm faded he pulled out, and every time he forced his dick back into me I came again. This was unreal…unnatural…unbelievable.
After I’d come three more times, he flipped me onto my front. The stone was scraping my nipples and knees so much I knew they were bleeding, but who cared? That cock was sliding into my ass again, and that was everything. Vernon had woken up now. He’d found his technique, and man, was he good!
“Oh…fuck…oh…fuck,” I grunted, scraping my nails over the damp stone.
Vernon’s slap felt like it had split the skin of my ass, but it felt too good for me to worry. “Fuck me back, you lazy little bitch,” he growled. “Move that ass and fuck me back.”
Back arched, I did what I was told. Vernon wrapped his hands around my throat, pulling me, bending my back until the cheeks of my ass were inches from my spine. His cock was sawing in and out of me at a mind blowing pace, and just as I started to cum, he kissed me.
Heat poured down my throat as his cold cum filled my ass, confusing my senses, twisting my mind until I felt like he’d fucked me insane. My muscles loosened, making me limp, and Vernon lay me on the stone, rearranging my dress around me, covering my still shivering pussy and ass, and hiding away my bruised and scratched breasts.
“Happy Halloween, Megan…Megan…Megan.”
My name echoed softer and softer, as if I was losing consciousness, but all of a sudden it became louder, grew frantic, until it was being screamed in a panic.
I sat up, looking for Vernon, but he was nowhere to be seen. The vanillary scent lingered, but the eerie glow was gone, and I couldn’t see a foot past my face. More voices were yelling my name now, and I recognised them all.
“Alyssa?!” I hollered as loudly as my dry throat would let me. “Dale?! I’m over here by the willows!”
Beams from torches came into view, getting wider and brighter as they approached. “Megan!” Alyssa cried in relief. “We’ve been looking for you for hours, what the fuck are you doing all the way out here?”
What was I doing? I shifted on the gravestone beneath me, pulling a face against the imminent rush of cum I knew would escape from me as soon as I moved. But it didn’t come. I wriggled and shifted some more, but nothing. I was completely dry. My arm brushed my right breast as I let Alyssa help me down, but there was no pain, and my butt didn’t feel like it had just been impaled by the biggest cock it had ever seen. I felt like I’d been sleeping, and nothing more.
“Megan,” my friend said again. “Are you okay? Look, about earlier. I thought the wolf that was doing Cleopatra was Dale too, but it wasn’t. He came looking for you literally seconds after you vanished and he watched the other wolf with me. He said he hoped you didn’t think that was him, and I told him you kinda did. I’m sorry.”
Huh. I totally had thought that had been Dale. Speaking of, I could see him running toward us in the light of someone else’s torch, and the way his wolfy ears flopped made me giggle.
Words exploded from him as soon as he reached us, and he sounded exhausted. “There you are! What the fuck, Meg? I’ve been running my furry ass all over this fucking cemetery, thinking you’d been kidnapped, or maimed, or killed by some psycho clown or something, and all the while you’ve been over here having forty winks. Jesus!”
“Don’t worry, the only psycho clown around here is my brother and I can handle him. I just needed a little time to think, that’s all, and I must have walked further than I realised.”
Dale looked more sheepish than any wolf should, and he sighed. “It wasn’t me, Meg.”
“I know, Alyssa told me.”
“So are we, you know. Are we good?”
Were we? I had missed him, and if I was falling asleep and having seriously intense sex dreams even though I’d only had three beers, I guessed I kinda needed him too. Giving it another try wasn’t going to do anyone any harm. I nodded and said, “We’re good. Now gimme your torch, I need to find my bag.”
I flashed the light at the gravestone, locating my bag immediately. As I leant over to pick it up, the beam of white light shone on the raised stone at the top of the altar. There, etched in time-worn letters was a name that left me cold.
“Vernon Cleveland the Third,” Alyssa said curiously. She angled the light until it shone on the faded oval picture just above the date of death. “I’ve always wondered what that guy looked like, and now I know he was a total babe. You know, I read once that he used to bathe in water spiked with vanilla pods, red roses, and droplets of his crazy wife’s blood. He’d burn dried apple slices on censers while he was at it, too. Folk were crazy back then.”
A total babe just about summed him up, but how my sleeping brain had drawn up his exact likeness for a hot sex dream was beyond me, never mind the scent of his damned bathwater. It was weird enough to be considered creepy, and I wanted to be away from his grave as quickly as was humanly possible.
Dale wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and together we set off toward the little gathering of waiting torch lights. I’d be back to the cemetery for the Halloween Haunt next year, but I’d make sure that, if I ventured away from the party, Dale would be with me. Maybe he’d get to share my dream next year. Now wouldn’t that be something?
Vernon sat on the edge of the gravestone, listening to the conversation before watching the girl and her friends leave. His patented cheeky grin was fixed firmly on his face, and it didn’t slip when he heard the soft rustling of satin behind him. Aah, she had been spectacular and hadn’t even suspected a thing.
“So you enjoyed yourself, did you?” his companion asked. She sounded jealous, and he loved it.
“I did, yes. But we both know she wasn’t as good as you, my darling.”
The air grew frosty, and he noted the wolfman drawing Megan closer in the distance. It must have been some chill if they could feel it from that distance.
“She wasn’t the only one who was… good. You seemed to be putting in a lot of effort once you had her on her belly. I can’t remember you ever being like that with me, not even when I took you in my ass.”
Vernon mock-sighed and faced his pouting wife. “Oh, Lucretia,” he murmured, marvelling at how tiny her waist looked in her corset. “It’s been ninety-nine years since I touched a warm body. You get to play with one every Halloween, surely you can’t begrudge me this one time.”
Lucretia’s laugh was like a knife on bone, so sharp Vernon wondered if it could actually cut. She sauntered around the grave – his grave – and stood before him, her hand rested on his swelling cock. She always had this effect to him, and he wanted her desperately, but there were only two minutes left before the clock struck midnight. It would be a year he’d have to wait to see her in the flesh again.
Her nails were so sharp they punctured straight through his breeches, scratching softly at his balls. “Oh, but I can begrudge you, my love,” she said. “And I can begrudge her too. You’ve started something tonight, Vernon. You brought our one night a year’s existence out of the shadows, so next year it’s my turn. Next year I won’t just choose a single live one to play with, and I won’t stay here. After one hundred years I’ll finally get to leave this damned cemetery, and God help the residents of Chillington Town when I do.”
Click here to read the next instalment in Scandarella’s Halloween Town Tales.
