Halloween 2016
I couldn’t have been more entertained when Iris Day slammed her front door on my visit.
Her daughter, Debbie, marched me along Crow Street, in the direction of Chillington Cemetery. She was heading to the annual Halloween Haunt, and so was I, but not just yet. I had a task I needed to finish first. A tradition, if you will. Something I’d been doing for the past six years, ever since my ex-girlfriend’s kid sister had come home crying because the tight-fisted fuckers in the neighbourhood had sent her away with no treats in her little ghost shaped bucket.
Shaking Debbie off, I turned my best smile on her. As zombie Alice in Wonderland went, she was a total babe. “Wanna help me wreak havoc in my quest for justice for all the deprived little Halloween boils and ghouls, Debs?”
Hands on hips, she shook her head, making her boobs jiggle on purpose. All the guys – and a good few of the girls – loved Debbie’s chest, but nobody loved it as much as she did. “Jesus, Joey, do you ever plan to grow up? I swear to God, I’m gonna make sure the next Haunt theme is Peter Pan, and you’ll be the star of the show. You won’t even need to dress up.”
“But I love dressing up,” I chuckled. “Just ask your mom, I do it for her all the time. Did you know she’s partial to my tank top and nerdy glasses ensemble?”
Debbie took a swipe at me, but missed. “Stay away from my house, Joey. I mean it, if one thing happens tonight, I’ll get your spare car key from Meg and I’ll fill the chick wagon with strawberry blancmange. Understood?”
“You wouldn’t!”
She just stared at me. Damn, she would. She’d actually vandalise my car. Well, that was her house off limits now, which was a shame considering the fresh white paint job on her dad’s garage door. I’d have to find something else to spray paint glow in the dark swastikas all over now.
After jabbing a warning finger at me she brushed past, intentionally catching a boob on my arm, kicking her heels as she skipped across the road. One of these days I’d get her in the chick wagon. It was an inescapable fact that she’d always had a soft spot for me. I’d heard her defending me to my sister, Megan, a few times, and I’d heard her lamenting the fact that whenever she was single I wasn’t, and vice versa.
Well, we were both single now, thanks to that absolute bellend Scott Denon, so when I wasn’t so busy getting revenge on all of the stingy residents of Crow Street, I was free to make my move.
Tearing myself away from watching her perfectly rounded ass bouncing up the street, I headed back in the direction of her parent’s house. Passing by number 60, I couldn’t help but bark out my dirty laugh. Emma Heatherington was hot, and in the middle of one hell of an orgasm, if the shrieks coming from her open window were anything to judge by. As sexy as it sounded to me, Halloween was probably a good night to keep the windows closed on that kinda behaviour. I’d make sure I told her that when I saw her, too.
I was soon walking past the Day house, staring longingly at the garage door, rattling the cans in my bag impatiently. Shit, I so wished I could fuck up that paint job. When it came to the kids, Debbie’s mother was one of the good ones, so I knew I was being unreasonable. But she didn’t like me at all, and that was gonna cause me problems once I made things happen with Debs.
Meg’s boyfriend, Dale, had said I was doing myself no favours by antagonising Iris, and I knew he was right. But even with the threat of having my beloved car trashed added into the mix, it took me a lot of effort to keep my spray paint in my bag and walk away, but I managed it.
The next house I planned to hit belonged to Richie Sweets. He was a miserly twat, for sure, and his broken marriage to Emma was entirely his fault. Maybe I could spray paint glow in the dark cocks on his white car!
I bounded up the path to his front door, hand outstretched to knock, but a crash from inside made me hesitate. I pushed open the letter box, stooping to get my ear closer. Huh, it would appear that the former Mrs Sweets wasn’t the only one getting her rocks off tonight. Whoever Richie was with seemed to be having a mighty good time, which was a true surprise. I’d assumed he’d be shit in bed.
But his fuckmanship skills weren’t my concern. I wasn’t gonna knock and ruin the fun of whoever he was with, so that meant I couldn’t spray paint his damned car for telling me to piss off.
The next door I knocked at was Mrs Vanderbilt’s. She didn’t like me cos I didn’t screw her in her garden when Mr Vanderbilt wasn’t looking like Scott Denon did, so she always told me to sling my hook. But Mr V himself opened the door this time, and the guy was beaming with happiness.
“Trick or treat,” I said, holding out a pumpkin shaped bag.
He tipped in a couple of tubes of Lovehearts and a Drumstick lolly.
Shaking his hand, I peered over his shoulder. “No Mrs V tonight?”
“She’s out putting potato peelings on the compost heap. She’s been out there a while, though. I should probably go check on her, I suppose, make sure she hasn’t fallen in and composted herself.”
The door closed, and I took a deep breath. I’d put money on her being pushed up against the fence while Scott pummelled her. He was a dirty little bastard, that one. I hoped he’d finished before poor Mr V was reminded what dicks were for.
Stomping to the end of Crow Street was fun. I did little jigs with mini witches, mummies, and werewolves, handed my paltry sweets to a shy little vampire, and waltzed all their mothers around lampposts. I even pretended to be scared off by a terrified little girl’s plain clothed father. It was hard to say which of us felt prouder of her daddy’s a hero squeals.
The last house on the street, number one hundred, had been abandoned for longer than I’d been alive. It was an imposing place, all huge and mansiony with black spires poking out of the top, and massive arched windows that looked dead and black.
I’d have loved to have pranked that place in its heyday, but I had a feeling that the people who had last owned it, the infamous Lucretia Cleveland and her husband, would have embraced Halloween and all its trappings with both arms.
I was about to cross the road to go annoy the inhabitants on the other side of the street, when something caught my eye. I stared, trying to figure out what I was seeing. It looked like a… but no. It couldn’t have been, it made no sense.
A group of slashed up playing cards rounded the corner, heading for the cemetery. They slowed when they saw me staring. Coming to stand beside me, the ace of hearts said, “What you looking at, Joe?”
I pointed. “Don’t you see it?”
They all laughed at me. “You’ve had too much sugar, man. Come to the Haunt and have a burger and a drink.”
“Yeah, I’ll catch you there in a bit. I just wanna go check this out.”
I waited until they’d gone before pushing open the gate, nearly leaping out of my skin at the racket it made. Fucking hinges! They sounded like they hadn’t budged for nigh on a thousand years. The path was broken and overgrown with weeds and thorny bushes of what were probably blackberries.
I was aiming for the stone steps that led to the double front doors. Those doors were something else. They were arched, just like the windows, and decorated with peeling black iron strips and studs. They looked like they belonged on a castle in a fairytale, not on a house in Chillington.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw that I hadn’t been imagining things. There, right on the bottom step, sat a carved pumpkin. It was a carved with a cats face rather than the traditional triangle eyes, and the candle inside was lit. I could see through the nose that it was a black candle.
A muted light in the window on the left hand side of the door caught my attention. It disappeared, moving to the window on the right, then back to the left again.
“In for a penny,” I muttered, my breath clouding my vision for a split second.
Clack…clack…clack.
The knocker was as rusty as my first car had been. Shit flaked off it onto my fingers, and when I knocked again a screw fell out. Not one to be deterred, I leaned over and tested out the bell.
Dring!
Ha, it worked! Holding my finger on it, I let it ring for almost two minutes, only letting up to change hands cos I had an itch. But no matter how obnoxiously fucking loud the ringing was, whoever was inside didn’t seem remotely interested in answering.
“What do I do now?” I asked a spider that peeked out from behind one of the metal numbers on the middle of the door.
Should I bother doing a trick? They’d ignored me, and that’s what I’d usually do. I had the spray paint, as well as toilet rolls, feathers, and firecrackers in my bag. I could light the firecrackers and stuff them through the letterbox. But if I did that, I’d have nothing to use to freak out my sister once I made it to the Haunt. And looking at the state of the place, anything else I had in my bag of tricks would only improve it.
Fuck it, I’d go knock on a few more doors then head to the Haunt and find Megan.
When my feet hit the bottom step, I stalled. Beside the cat pumpkin sat another, this one with bats carved into it. Whoever had planted that must have snuck up on me while I’d been ringing the bell. Bold, and pretty hilarious.
Things became immediately less hilarious when a third pumpkin flickered to life. This one? A witch on a broom. Then another appeared, and another, until a long row of pirates, vampires, wizards, and hunted houses lined the front of 100 Crow Street. A couple more pumpkins appeared, curling around the corner. I could see the very last one had an arrow carved into it, and the light flashing inside was green.
Should I follow? They were obviously lighting a path for me to follow. The pumpkin was flashing green for go, beckoning to me. There was no doubt in my mind that whoever put them here wanted me to follow their trail. The big question was, why? Nobody wanted me on their property on October thirty first, and I’m quite certain that the estate agents would have told any potential buyers that, too. In fact, I knew they would because they’d done it before. My ex’s mother was the local estate agent, and she’d told me so.
But knowledge and sense had always been secondary to curiosity for me. I wanted to know who was playing with me, and I was ready find out.
“Well, here we go,” I huffed, picking my way over the smashed stepping stones that ran through the garden.
All of the candles in the pumpkins were black, and they were all giving off a sickly sweet, dry dirt kinda smell. As gross as it sounds, I liked it. It filled my nostrils, and my belly, and relaxed my mind while, strangely, making my cock stir in my pants.
The pumpkins lined the side of the house and I followed them over a fence, then through a short hedge, straight into the back garden. They led all the way to the back door, which stood open and gaping even blacker than the suddenly black night.
I stopped a few feet away, staring into what seemed to be a wall of darkness. Nothing moved, no lights shone, but I could feel that prickle on the back of my neck that said my instincts were more sensible than my eyes, and they knew I was being watched.
“Stay away from that back door, cos there’s something in there,” I sang under my breath.
I may have dearly wanted to know who was messing with me, but not enough to walk blindly into the abyss. I hadn’t come prepared for something like this. The closest thing to protection I had was the emergency condom I kept in my wallet, and the contents of my bag would make useless weapons. I couldn’t defend myself with toilet roll and fucking feathers, could I?
But there was something strange afoot. Something was drawing me in, enticing me to walk into the darkness. Something that pulled all the right strings in me, making invisible promises that everything would be okay, that wonderful things would be waiting for me if I could just find the courage to pass the rotted threshold. The need in me to know what those things might be was stronger than my reason, and I cleared the gap between me and the nothingness inside of 100 Crow Street.
“I’m gonna end up on the six o’clock news tomorrow,” I sighed, then walked through the door.
I’d only taken half a dozen steps inside when the door slammed behind me. Someone shrieked in my ear, someone else laughed, and I hit the deck, unconscious, helpless to defend myself from whatever was going to happen next.
The first thing that struck me when I came around was my inability to jump up and run the fuck away. I wasn’t drugged, or broken limbed, or anything like that. I was strapped down, though. My wrists and ankles were bound to a bare metal bed frame with thick leather straps. I could see the metallic glint of buckles, and the horrific shape of full on padlocks…it was safe to say I’d stumbled into one helluva bad shit situation.
To top it off, I was freezing cold, probably due to the fact that I was in my birthday suit. Well, there was one of those fake spider webs with the little plastic spiders covering my groin, but other than that I was very much bollock naked.
“Hello?” I called out.
The only response I got came from one of the fake spiders. It moved, crawling toward my belly then scuttling back down again. They weren’t fake at all.
“Fuck this shit, somebody get me out of here!”
Even though I understood that struggling against the restraints was useless – they were padlocked for God’s sake – I still strained my muscles, trying in vain to get free. As I thrashed, something dug into my back. Lots of somethings. Turning my head to the side I let out a desperate groan. Beneath the metal slats I was lying on was a bed of sharp silver nails.
“Still,” I whispered, feeling sweat tickle down my sides. “Stay calm, Joey. Stay still.”
“Yes, Joey,” a female voice answered from one of the dark corners of the room. “Do stay still.”
The click of heels on bare wood was loud. Sharp clicks with a duller, deeper undertone that echoed through the sprawling empty house. I didn’t dare move my head, but my eyes roamed, searching for the first glimpse of the speaker.
I saw a white light first, shining through the face of the ugliest pumpkin I’d ever seen. It was so bright I couldn’t focus on the person carrying it. Whoever it was kept going until they were standing beside the bed, right by my left foot.
After a few minutes my eyes either began to adjust or the light began to dull, because a shape was slowly becoming visible to me. A hip…an arm…a shoulder…soon I could see my captor, and I was struck dumb.
She was unbelievable. Truly unreal, her face and body the most perfect I’d ever seen. Almost all of her was encased in glossy black latex, her neck, face, hands and breasts the only parts of her on show. The ugly pumpkin dangled from the index finger of her right hand, swinging silently on a loop of string.
The woman wasn’t smiling at me, but I could see her features were slowly shifting into an expression of mild amusement. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, her dark eyes were sparkling, and the corners of her glossed red lips were just starting to turn up.
And I knew her. I’d never met her in person, mostly because she’d been dead for a century or so, but I knew who she was. I’d seen her picture in books, and in a portrait in the corridor outside of the mayor’s office. I was naked and tied to a bed, and Lucretia Cleveland was the one who’d done it to me.
Lucretia flicked her eyes away from my face, and my gaze followed. Shit, could this have been any more humiliating? My cock was rising, pushing off the spider web like Gulliver throwing off his bonds, and sending all of its residents scuttling over my skin. Well, almost all of them. One big hairy fucker sat at the base of my cock, taking a few steps to the left, then to the right, before scurrying up my shaft and perching right at the tip.
My grimace must have been as impressive as my tensed muscles, because Lucretia pouted and stroked her hand across my forehead before trailing her fingers down my stomach and slapping my dick, sending the spider hurtling through the air.
“Trick or treat?”
She smiled then, and my jaw dropped. My favourite picture of her was the one in the Scandalous Women Throughout the Ages book my ex had made me read. She was smiling in that photo too, but it was old, black and white, and not so clear. But now? Her white teeth stood out boldly against her red lipstick, the apples of her cheeks rose so round and high they made her eyes crinkle, and she looked ten years younger than she had before.
I took a breath, meaning to speak to her, but nothing came out. I’d caught sight of her nipples, and my jaw dropped a little more when I realised that they were hardening. They kept wrinkling, shrinking until they were less than half the size they had been. They were sticking out almost an inch, though, and they looked twice as delicious as any sweet, chocolate, or piece of candy I’d seen all night. I wanted them in my mouth, and I was seriously considering telling her so.
“I asked you a question, Joseph,” she drawled. “Trick. Or. Treat?”
I met her eyes, feeling something inside of me expand, grow bolder, willing to do and let her do whatever she liked.
“Trick and treat,” I answered.
Her responding smile was beauteous. She plucked the top off the fugly pumpkin with a soft ‘pop’, pulled the black candle from inside it, then dropped it. I heard the wet thwack, felt little pieces of the flesh splatter my calf.
Holding her hand a couple of feet above my chest, she tipped the candle. It was almost as if the first drips of the wax fell in slow motion. I could see them moving away from the candle, forming teardrop shapes that elongated just before they hit my skin.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I hissed.
Stinging surface pain spread out from each splash of wax, sinking deeper into my skin, turning into a dulled burn that made the strangest sensation of hot chills throb from my neck to my navel. The rest of the drips came in real time, slowly pattering over my chest, dragging hisses from between my clenched teeth when they dried, tugging what little chest hair I had.
Lucretia was lost in concentration. Furrowed brow, one tooth pulling her lower lip into her mouth, eyes focussed on the pattern she was making. It seemed to take her hours to finish, but in reality it was only minutes.
Once she was done, she righted the candle and I looked down. There, in the centre of my chest, was a pentagram in a circle. The heat coming from it warmed my entire body, chasing away the cold shivers I’d woken up to.
Lucretia dripped a little splodge of wax onto the uppermost rail on the headboard, sticking the candle to it. My eyes followed her back down the side of the bed, onto the edge of the frame, and along the metal bar my head rested on. The spiked heel of her left boot dragged across my bottom lip, then she was straddling my face.
I stared up. Pale white against the black latex, was her clean shaven pussy, the glow from the candle directed at it like a spotlight. The latex was cut in a large oval, leaving everything between her legs exposed. She crouched, hovering over me. The inner lips were turning to a flushed shade of purple, even as I watched, and clear fluid crept from inside of her deep pink vagina.
I lifted my head, tongue outstretched. Lucretia let me strain, let me stretch the tendons in my neck trying to reach her. Then all of a sudden, she slammed my head back down, holding me still by my hair.
Her pussy lips dragged my lips down, then back up again. They saturated my nose and forehead with her juices, and all I could do was moan while she rubbed herself all over my face. I didn’t even need to suck or flick, she knew exactly what she wanted from me, and I let her take it.
My tongue snaked out, giving her something else to work against. She was yanking at my hair, pushing, grinding, cutting off my breath, blocking out all sound until I could hear nothing but my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, getting faster as fear of suffocation set in.
Then she was stiffening, putting her weight on my face, her tight cunt squeezing my tongue and sending gushes of fluid spilling down my chin and throat.
Her descent back to the floor was as graceful as a cats, even though she was walking on a three inch wide metal strip in six inch heels, and on shaky legs. Was she… she was! She was actually purring, running her fingers down my thigh, greedy eyes fixed on my bobbing cock.
Disappearing from my line of sight for a second, she rummaged at the side of the bed, immediately climbing back up onto the frame. Standing over me, she upended a bottle, pouring out a sticky amber liquid. It was thick, so took ages to ribbon down to my body. Lucretia looked pleased with my gasp when it reached me.
The head of my cock was covered in it, and I wondered what it was, but only after I’d hoped I understood what it was for.
“Can’t have Halloween without a toffee apple,” she said with a wink.
“Where’s the apple?” I drawled back.
“We can’t have everything, can we?”
Oh my God! She bent at the waist, holding my eyes as she lapped at the sticky stuff on the end of my cock. Bending further, she parted her lips wide, not even touching my dick but taking it all in her mouth. The tip of her nose was cold against my skin, and her painted lips were closing around my shaft. Sucking her way up, she left a shocking red smudge from base to tip.
Jesus, could that woman suck cock! Throat, teeth, lips, tongue…every part of her mouth got involved. Her long red nails were scratching at my balls, nipping, squeezing, lifting, and she hummed a quiet melody that she kept time to. The tune sped up in some places, slowed down in others, and I lay helpless as Lucretia Cleveland sucked my dick until I came.
And I came hard.
She kept me in her mouth despite my warnings, swallowing every drop of cum I shot over her tongue. Rising quickly, she rubbed her pussy until her head lolled back and jets sprayed from inside of her.
My one regret was that she hadn’t fucked me to orgasm. I’d have given anything to feel her body wrapping around my cock, stretching to accommodate me, but I was a one shot wonder. My cock would be a dead body for at least twenty four hours, and I wasn’t dumb enough to think she’d still be around, waiting for it to be ready to go again. This was Halloween. She was Halloween, and when it ended, so would her presence here.
She grabbed my bag, taking my wallet from the inside pocket. Her nails snagged something, drawing it out slowly. My emergency condom danged from her fingertips, the foil glinting in the light of the candle. How could she make a fucking condom look like the key to the gates of heaven?!
Regret almost swamped me then, but a twitch on my thigh made me look down. If it was that fucking spider again…but luckily, it wasn’t the spider. It was my droopy cock, rising off my leg like a waking zombie, bobbing and jerking upright until it stood proud from between my hips.
I raised a questioning eyebrow at Lucretia. She winked back.
Women tearing a condom packet open with their teeth. That was a sexy fucking sight, but watching Lucretia do it? My gut crunched, and I groaned so loudly I gave myself a fright. Hot, hot, hot, and now she had it in her mouth. She was back on the bed, walking along a metal slat, bending over again and rolling the rubber down my cock in one move.
Then she was squatting over it, lowering herself until I could just feel the tip pressing against her pussy, rocking her hips a little, teasing me. Then she slowly sank down, her moan getting louder and louder, peaking just as our bodies pressed together. My hips surged, pushing my dick in as far as it would go.
Her ass slapped off my thighs, her pussy pulling against my cock as she lifted, pushing against it as she dropped back down. I could hear every wet squelch, see the pull and tug of my dick burying itself over and over in that almost too tight cunt.
I felt all of her orgasm this time. Her walls pulsed, sucking and pushing all at once, squeezing me as she shrieked my name into the darkness above us. Then she was reaching for the post at the bottom of the bed, grabbing something long and black.
My cock was still nestled inside of her when she brought her new weapon down on my skin. It fucking hurt, and my jump forced my cock just a little further in. She was delighted. I kept my eyes on her, too afraid to look at the cat ‘o nine tails she had in her hand. I’d looked once, and the metal things on the ends of each tail scared the shit out of me.
Lucretia whacked me again and again, making me fuck her involuntarily. Willingly, but involuntarily. I had no say on the depth, no say on the pace, no say on how hard or for how long. The harder she hit me, the harder I jumped and the louder I yelled, and by the time she came I was aching and bloody.
But I didn’t have time to whine, because she was sucking my cock again. The condom was on my belly and she was making noises like a starving animal choking on its first kill in months. She was gagging, drooling, her eyes watering and sending streams of mascara down her cheeks. So. Fucking. Sexy.
“Are you ready for it to hurt now?” she whispered.
I wanted to say, hell no. Pain had never excited me, and I didn’t want that to change, but with her? I’d have bled to death for her in that moment if she’d asked it of me. So against my better judgement, hell, against my very nature, I nodded.
Lucretia crawled up my body, sucking and kissing, murmuring about what a sweet natured boy I was. Her nipple brushed my bottom lip, and my smile made her smile. It was shiny and tasted of toffee. She must have wiped that stuff on them when I wasn’t looking.
I closed my eyes and sucked, wondering if she could come from this kind of stimulation. I didn’t have a chance to find out, though, because she was lifting my cock, positioning it at her entrance, sliding onto it with a quiet gasp. Then she was lying down, boobs squashing against my chest, groin mashing against mine, knees pressed into my thighs.
All of her weight was on me, and hundreds of nails were digging into my skin. She started to rock, so slowly, rubbing my cock along her front walls. I knew that as soon as she lost control, as soon as she started to fuck me, those nails would break my skin. I’d bleed for her, from my shoulders to the backs of my ankles.
“Do you want it, Joey?” she whispered. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
That was a no-brainer, really. “Yes, I do.”
So she did. The pain was all I knew at first. My shoulders bled, then my ass, my thighs and calves. I knew I was crying. Knew I was losing it. Fear, lust, agony, need… all of it building inside me, mingling with the pain until I felt like my mind was trying to move away. It was trying to separate itself from me in an attempt to save us both.
But then the pleasure rushed in all at once. Lucretia’s nipples on my chest, her tongue in my mouth, her hands on my face and her pussy stroking my cock so fast I could hardly stand it. And then I was coming, deep inside of her, and each and every one of those puncture wounds felt like throbbing heaven.
I was still floating in a world of my own when Lucretia freed me. I couldn’t say how she’d done it, but I was on the floor in her arms, sucking on one of her hard nipples and squeezing the other between my thumb and forefinger.
I discovered then that she could indeed orgasm from nipple stimulation, because she was drawing my hand to her pussy, holding my finger still and telling me to suck harder, letting me feel it when it happened.
“Why me?” I asked, watching her get to her feet.
She stuck the candle back in the now undamaged fugly pumpkin, still smiling. “Because you’re a kind hearted soul, Joey Walker. Just in this one night back in Chillington I’ve seen spite, jealousy, and neglect. I’ve seen lies, betrayal, needs that are going unmet by not just lovers, friends and families, but also by the ones in need themselves.”
She walked to the bottom of the bed, resting against the post. “But you dressed yourself like a fool to play vigilante on behalf of all the ignored children of Crow Street, and while that was sweet, it was what you did for that frightened little girl just outside of here that swayed me. Her father isn’t a hero, but you let her think he is and now she’ll sleep soundly knowing she’s under his protection.”
Now she was walking away. The light was dimming, and her beautiful silhouette was blurring. “Keep being you, Joey,” she whispered, and then she was gone.
Scrambling across the floor, I grabbed my bag, fishing out my mobile. In the light from the torch, I could see everything. Or rather, nothing. Literally nothing at all, the room was empty. No bed, no nails, and no Lucretia.
I was kneeling in a circle of my own footprints. One small circle. The rest of the floor was shrouded in a layer of undisturbed dust. Had I floated here? I was fully clothed too, and on the floor by my knee was a used condom and a foil wrapper with a smudge of red lipstick on it.
I heard a shushing noise, then a quiet giggle.
“Lucretia?” I said loudly.
“Here’s your trick,” the giggly voice said.
I admit it. I screamed like a girl when the firecrackers in my bag started exploding. I raced out of there, laughing like a madman. It wasn’t even midnight yet, so I had plenty of time to get to the Haunt. I wouldn’t bother finding Meg, though. Tonight I’d visit Lucretia’s grave, and I’d get her back for her trick. I still had one can of spray paint in the pocket of my costume. Let’s see how she liked having glow in the dark dicks sprayed on her headstone.
Click here to read the final installment of my Halloween Town Tales.
