In the dim damp confines of the cellar the three of us stood, as best we could given the cramped conditions, observing the macabre device.
"Where the fuck did you get this from?" I offer looking to my left at my house mate Dale his faced being etched with a somewhat evil grin stretched across his features.
"The Rugby Club..." he offers nodding steeping around the wooden contraption, "...sits in the corner of the storeroom unused three hundred and sixty four days a year."
"And what exactly does a Rugby Club do with such a device the one day a year it's needed?" I offer with genuine intrigue.
"Soak a bloke" Dale offers, as if such knowledge holds him at Mensa level IQ.
"Soak... a... bloke" Dharmesh, my second house mate stood a little behind me in the darkness offers with a certain amount of confusion still.
"Yes Dharms," Dale still enthusiastically offers before he finally confirms, "Summer Fete that sort of thing ...donate what you want and throw a bucket of ice water... or worse over whoever's inside it."
"Oh right" Dharmesh states "And we need it for?"
"Soak a slut" Dales darkly chuckles.
"Soak... a... slut..." I reply, my turn to break down and question exactly what he refers to. "I did just hear you right... didn't I?"
"Yeah... we just need to find the right little subject matter and our upcoming little Halloween soirée has the ultimate little bit of basement attraction."
"It's a cellar at best," I correct Dale in the gloom despite the weak bulb that flickers in the ceiling... where you once tried to grow weed."
"And I would have done" Dale offers, "And saved a fortune."
"If only your hydroponic lights had a power supply down here..." Dharmesh chuckles, "....and I'm sure the landlord was over the moon with the half a dozen extension cables that fried the circuit board and nearly burnt his house down."
"Alright... alright..." Dale concedes, "...Back to the case in point.... One girl... one set of wooden stocks... one party... two out of three already ready."
"Exactly who do you think you'll convince to join you down here?" Dharmesh takes the words from my mouth before I can speak.
"Leave that to my wit and charm" Dale states, with a caustic enthusiasm.
"Which usually equates to a liberal amount of Vodka" I quickly chide.
"I'll find someone... what about... what about that blonde... your fuck buddy from last year... Callie?" Dale ruminates already, "...She's suggestible and accommodating."
"Her name is Cassie and she's in a long term relationship with the captain of your Rugby Team," I immediately reply, not even wanting to contemplate the prospect of the girl I had been fond of but never sought to begin to start a relationship with before it had been too late, to the point that even our frequent very casual liaisons had been lost to me.
"That's a hard no then" Dharmesh chuckles "Pity she's a..."
Dharmesh's sentence trails off, as I know well, he has always liked Cassie himself, but never acted on his attraction.
"Let's not over think this..." Dale interjects "...We'll ...I'll find a little Halloween slut."
"Jill Henderson" I offer with a knowing nod and smirk from my two housemates.
"Jill fucking Henderson" Dharmesh agrees his grin spreading on the illicit thoughts playing out through his mind.
"I can charm most girls..." Dale overly confidently, given his track record, states "...but I'm not a miracle worker ...I'll trap us a bunny though."
"Could you actually sound anymore sinister?" I state backing away from Dale's ill conceived plan in order to head back up stairs to my room. Not least given that I've an essay to complete and submit within two hours.
*********
Our second Halloween party is a blaze of sights, sounds, and smells.
Just before eleven pm the mid-size rented sized property, we call home, is packed. A matter not helped by the torrential rain outside on the cold wet October night which means that the garden areas to the front and rear cannot be utilised for overspill.
Dharmesh passes me, dressed inexplicably as Marty McFly from Back to the Future.
He raises a bottle of Vodka as he leads a red head called Millie, I believe, along the corridor towards the packed kitchen area.
Stood two steps up the property main staircase I take the moment to observe and absorb everything that plays out before me. That is until I see the enigmatic Jill Henderson and two of her friends step in through the wide open front door.
Ignoring her friends I concentrate on Jill who is dressed almost head to two in figure hugging black leather. Spare only for the nylon pointed witches hat she could pass to be heading for a night out anywhere, not that I am complaining. I offer a smile and cursory nod as she passes heading immediately down the hallway towards the kitchen which is the regular drinks station at our parties.
Casting my eye up along her exquisite black thigh-high boots that reveal around an inch of fishnet clad thigh before meeting the hem of the tight black strapless dress that clings to every subtle curve of her body. As she passes down the hallway, I am not the only one to pay Jill attention, males in the main but even females cast an admiring glance, such is her presence and beauty.
I've no doubt her appearance as per usual, is to flash attention before her and her sycophantic little crowd head on into the night for more hedonistic pursuits. The latest rumour being that Jill is dating an international footballer who has recently joined the local Premier League club on a season long loan, following a sordid tabloid expose in the summer that his parent club were none to happy about.
"It's just an excuse for girls to dress like sluts ain't it" offers Mark McMasters one of my peers on the same Media course as myself as he brushes past me up the stairs.
"You complaining mate... it's half the reason we host this bash" I offer as he is lost in the melee towards the first floor.
"Not a fucking chance" I hear him holler back in my direction.
The grin still etched on my face as I watch Dale push through the hallway crowd in my direction.
"There's a rabbit in the hole" he offers looking a little dishevelled in his tuxedo that he believes constitutes a vampire costume. I suspect it is a ruse just to look smarter than everyone else, especially given his only other addition are a pair of plastic fangs, that he no longer wears.
"There's a what?" I raise my voice over the noise of the party and the loud music, conscious the Police have knocked on the door once already to register complaints raised locally.
Dale steps up along side of me, drops his head to my shoulder and clearly states, "There's a naughty little witch waiting for you in the basement."
"Cellar" I remind him, my first thought on his description being Jill Henderson's outfit of choice. "You didn't waste any time she only just got here."
My grin and my comment is lost on Dale, I do not bother to explain. For all we mock Dale he does seem to have an ability to attract females, his callous uncaring laid back nature seems to be an aphrodisiac to a large number of the female student community we live among. I've no doubt if he put his mind to it, he could attract the calibre of Jill Henderson even if his wealth did not quite extend to that of a footballer's wage.
"I changed the code on the padlock to 286," Dale offers with a nod, "Go discover for yourself... I need a piss."
Dale carries on in the direction he had been heading, I hesitate for a moment contemplating what he has said and the potential implications. Within minutes, however. I am spinning the dials on the brass padlock that prevents unwanted access to the cellar.
Entering the gloom, I pull the door closed behind me and slide the bolt lock of the door from right to left. The first thing that strikes me is the welcome drop in temperature from the stuffy humid rooms of the overpopulated house. I take a minute as I stand at the top of the wooden stairs that lead into the gloom.
Taking each step down into the darkness cautiously, taking deep breaths into my lungs. A sense of anticipation mixes with a sense of fear. Above me the raucous mix of sounds from the party our is still more than audible, the wooden floorboards above my head creak and strain and do little to block out raised voices on conversations that compete and lose out to the constant loud dance music.
At the bottom step I shiver not just from the temperature but as I turn my and cast my eye across the dark room and set eyes on her for the first time, whoever she is. There is a little pang of disappointment that the unknown female is certainly not Jill Henderson, not unless she has changed her attire and dyed her hair. Although not that even in my wildest dreams had I imagined it would be her.
My breath is heavy in my lungs as I approach her, my eyes casting up her shapely toned legs as bent over locked into the device, she shifts her posture a little. Little black square heeled ankle boots scrape in the dusty floor her feet plant upon, her legs to her mid thigh clad in thick black denier stockings that reveal and inch or two of pale thigh before a black pleated skirt falls across her ass.
Set on the floor to the left is a small porcelain bowl. In it is placed a handwritten note that I instantly recognise as being dales handwriting, the scrap of cardboard is daubed with the words "Treat Her" and sits nestled among a number of silver foil wrapped condoms. It is only as I look up that I observe the clearly used condom hung over the right hand side of the wooden frame through which her neck and wrists are trapped.
