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| Image by tverdohlib |
They first met on Halloween. They were just kids then. She was dressed as a pirate, with an eye patch and a hook and a papier-mâché parrot which kept falling off of her shoulder. He was a ghost. His mother would be furious when she learned that he had cut holes in a perfectly good bedsheet.
She was coming down the path from the Hinkle place as he was was walking up.
“Hardly worth the bother,” she informed him. “You’ll only get an apple.”
Her parrot fell off once again and hit the ground.
He bent down and picked it up and handed it back.
“I think you should keep it,” she said. “I think it’s as dead as you are.”
Later in the evening they ran into each other again and spent some time comparing notes on their takings. He thought she was strange. He liked strange people.
That was the Halloween of 1968. They were ten years old.
On Halloween of 1978 they took each other’s virginity.
It was after a costume party. By two in the morning they had had their fill of dancing and laughing with their crazily costumed comrades. Laura was dressed as a zombie – mask with greenish skin and one dangling eyeball, tattered dress and body paint to indicate decaying flesh and exposed bones. Sam was The Wolfman – hairy mask with built-in fangs, thick chest wig under a leather jacket, and torn jeans with hirsute and clawed feet which slipped easily over his own bare feet.
Sam drove them to the top of the hill overlooking the old Shepherd place, a farm where they loved to walk, to hold each other and to kiss.
“People have always told me to beware of the Big Bad Wolf,” Laura smiled, reaching over and burying her ghoul fingers in his fake chest hair.
“You should be afraid, very afraid, Little Red Rotting Flesh,” he purred. “I get very hungry when the moon is full.”
“So do I, “ she replied. “I think we are just going to have to eat each other,”
He pulled the mask off over his head and set it aside. Then he pulled Laura’s off too. With her disheveled hair and pale sweaty skin she looked unspeakably ravishing to him.
“Do werewolves have hairy boners?” she asked, unzipping his jeans and fishing out his rock hard cock.
“You’re awful hot for a corpse,” he growled, reaching up under her torn dress and hooking his fingers into her panties. “This body paint tastes terrible though.”
“I don’t have any paint on my pussy,” she pointed out.
On Halloween ten years later they were married and they owned the Shepherd Place. For eight years they had been living there and growing corn. It wasn’t enough to live on, so she had an on-line clothing business and he was a part-time mechanic in the nearby town.
Now they celebrated Halloween on their own, cuddling in front of a scary movie, eating pumpkin pie and ending the night with some appropriately-themed role-play.
“This movie is scaring me stiff,” he would always say at some stage while watching the movie.
“Good. Stiff is the way I like you best,” she would reply.
“Are you enjoying the movie?” he would ask.
“It’s scaring my pants off,” she would answer.
“Good. That’s the way I like you best,” he would respond.
By the end of the evening the lounge room had become Camp Crystal Lake. The fire crackling and popping in the fireplace provided campfire vibes.
Sam crouched behind a chair wearing a hockey mask and holding a plastic replica of Rambo’s knife.
Laura lay naked and masturbating in a pool of moonlight. A perfect, sexually uninhibited, victim for Jason on this Halloween Friday the 13th. With her left hand she fondled her full soft breasts. She licked her lips and moaned softly. The moonlight glistened on her slick wet fingers and as they slid in and out between the soft swollen lips of her pussy.
Sam thought he’d never seen a sight so beautiful.
“When are you going to attack me?” she whispered, between moans.
“All in good time,” Sam whispered back. “God, I love watching you.”
“You’re supposed to be angry about what a slut I am,” she scolded. “You’re supposed to be more interested in my intestines than my pussy. If you don’t jump on me soon, I’m gonna cum.”
And she did. She started to quiver all over and then she squirted all over the rug.
Sam jumped out from behind the chair and straddled her, holding his knife aloft. He could feel her juices soaking into the seat of his pants.
“And so you fall into my trap, Jason,” she cried, swinging her right fist up to knock the knife out of Sam’s hands. Then she rolled him over onto his back and quickly tied his hands together with a piece of rope which had been lying near the fireplace.
“Let’s see what lies beneath the mask,” she mused, pulling it away and coming up close to look deep in his eyes. “Mmmmm. Kind of cute. Pity you are an unbelievably evil serial killer.”
Sam spat in her face, deciding he should play up to his characterisation and somewhat frustrated by his character’s inability to say anything.
“You cheeky sod!” she exclaimed. “I have a better use for your saliva.”
The soft silky globes of her bottom, glowing golden in the firelight, descended onto his face.
While Sam sucked the juices from her warm pussy lips, she unzipped his pants and pulled them down to free his stiff cock.
“This is the only thing I want to be stabbed with, Jason,” she purred, giving it a playful lick.
She stood up, turned around and then slowly lowered herself onto his manhood, carefully guiding it with one hand.
“Can you see now that there are some things which are even more fun than killing and disembowelling teenagers?” she asked.
Sam nodded vigorously and then they came together.
“Pity I can’t trust you,” Laura sighed. “I’m still going to have to keep you tied up in my cellar. But don’t worry. I’ll look after you well.”
Ten years later, Sam was dead and Laura was living in the farmhouse alone.
Strangely enough, it had happened on Halloween night three years previously.
For six months, Sam had been away working on an oil rig. They hated being apart, but the money was good. Halloween was their special time though and they were determined to spend it together.
It was a stormy afternoon as Sam drove home. All going well he should arrive in the early evening. The windshield wipers were barely up to the job of clearing the wall of water from in front of his eyes. The wind was shaking the trees. Every so often he had to drive around a fallen branch. There was the flash of lightning and the boom of thunder.
With a splintering crash a huge branch fell across the rode in front of his truck. There was no way he would be able to move it. But he was damned if he was going to spend Halloween night sitting in a truck in the rain.
It was only another half mile to get home. He would walk it. He thought about the warmth of the fire once he got there. That and the warmth of his wife’s love.
The rain drenched his clothes instantly. The rain blinded him. But he ploughed on.
He pictured his destination in his imagination. He pictured it on a sunny day. The blue sky, the green fields of wheat, the scarecrow Laura had dressed in some of his old clothes, the old-fashioned farm house, the old tree with the tire swing…
It happened just as he crested the hill and saw the light in the windows. It was just a blur to his rain sodden eyes but he knew were he was.
And then he was gone. He didn’t even see the flash of the lightning which took his life.
Laura had an anxious night. The following day was the worst of her life.
Now, three years later, she felt that the moments of joy in her life were respites from a larger sense of emptiness. And Halloween was hard to bear.
This year she went to bed early.
And she had a dream.
It began when she looked out the window of the farmhouse and saw something unusual. The scarecrow was waving at her. She waved back.
The next thing she knew, there was a knock on the front door. She opened it.
“Don’t be scared of me,” said the scarecrow.
“I’m not,” she replied. “I suppose you are just looking for directions to get to the yellow brick road.”
“I’ve been watching over you,” he explained.
“I’ve felt you,” she confessed, and now she didn’t feel like she was talking about the scarecrow.
“I came this way, because he was already wearing my clothes,” the straw man added.
“Sam…” she began, a tear falling from her eye. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I haven’t missed you at all, because I’ve never been away,” he told her. “I couldn’t let go. You’re supposed to let go. But you held me like a magnet. I flow in nature now, but I only flow in those places which are close to you. The frustration is that I can’t touch you. I can be the breeze that caresses your naked skin, but I can only be it, I can’t control it. I can’t make anything happen that would touch your life. Except this dream. Because it’s Halloween and Halloween is magic.”
And the more they talked the less he was a scarecrow and the more he was Sam. Eventually he was Sam as Sam had been and they were lying naked in each other’s arms. He made love to her with three solid years of hunger and she received it with three solid years of yearning.
In the morning, she awoke feeling satiated. No more did she long for Sam. To her it seemed that Sam was everywhere and always. She and Sam were one.
When she went out into the cornfield she saw that the scarecrow was gone. Where it had been was a newly sprouted pumpkin vine.
