WARNING:
This story is an Erotic Horror story. Such stories are meant to contain many of the same elements that horror movies contain. That means they may not be suitable for all tastes. Classic horror movies by legendary directors like Argento, Fulci, Romero, D'Amato, Hooper, Lenzi, etc., contain sometimes shocking scenes of cannibalism, violence, gore, zombies, death, and horror. Stories in this category might have some or all of those elements. If you are easily offended by horror movies, you may want to avoid this category altogether. If you are a fan of horror movies, by all means, read on.
One cannot reasonably expect a traditional Halloween story to be light-hearted fun. This one itself is anything but. Many in fact, will likely find it tasteless in the extreme. Without giving too much away however, I would simply recommend that the reader absolve him or herself, from forming even a marginal attachment to any of the characters presented here. Horror, sex and a high body count it should be remembered, make for a pretty typical Oct 31 outing – at least in my experience. The only constructive suggestion I can make, is that the next time you see a couple of flickering pumpkins propped up on someone's verandah – be afraid, be very afraid!
*
Living in Deaddolfhin, Illinois had its advantages some said. Founded, according to accepted local legend, on the site of an early settler's fish-market, why the "f" instead of the traditional "p" no one knew. It had come though to be a rather well-loved little urban idiosynchrasy – something to engage visitors over conversationally, if nothing else.
Jenny Cornwall, by whatever yardstick one were to use, was a cutie. Just eighteen, she was in her last year of high-school. Having her mind set on a career in journalism, she was determined to follow in the footsteps of her illustrious father who was now a financial analyst for no less a tabloid than the New York Times.
Undeniably aiding her in whatever vocational path she may have chosen, was Jenny's physical appearance. "Cutie" actually downplays the situation here. "Ventricularly arresting" might be nearer the mark. Five-two in bare-feet (should you be so lucky) the most attractive little heart-shaped face looked out at her world through clear hazel eyes highlighted by sleek dark eyelashes that no street-artist could have pencilled in. Unblemished skin complemented the prettiest of natural expressions that drew one to those lips – delicate and so full of promise, one could only thank God to have been born male – and in Deaddolfhin. Her exquisitely cut and layered mass of brunette hair which trailed off her lovely shoulders even in the most gentle of winds, didn't detract much either.
The good news didn't stop there. The aforementioned five-foot two inches of smalltown, middle-American desirability was packaged into a body that did everything right. Her small but beautiful breasts were off-set by an equally restrained but spankable little bottom that sadly had last seen such action when she was but maybe four or five years old. Her legs it seemed, had been sculptured by a professional who one can only suppose, was stretchered off the field, when he reached the top.
Jenny Cornwall was to put it succinctly, one of the most beautiful young girls on the planet.
Late October and circumstances found her hunched-up rather daintily on the floor of her outrageously expansive bedroom, with her four best-friends from school. It hadn't been a particularly cold evening for the sleep-over, despite the meteorological expectations that might be ascribed the "Cute Kitties of the World" calender that hung marginally askew over her computer desk. 'October' had as its main picture, a rather magnificent study of a white tiger trekking through deep snow, carrying her solitary cub by the scruff of it's neck. To the left of the calender and partly obscured by her carved table-lamp was a sign which read "A home without a cat is just a house" which adequately summed-up Jenny's views on the subject.
Cyndi Andersson wasn't far behind in the "Girls I'd like to kidnap for a month" stakes. Of Nordic parentage as might be guessed from her surname, she was slightly taller than Jenny – around five-four. Long deep-blonde hair and quite exquisite features. One of those girls that whatever the occasion, she handled it with style. She didn't suffer fools readily and as a result, was accorded the status by the other boys at San Carlita High as a seminal-tease as it were. She could so live with that!
Bronwyn Lanchard was the serious one among them. The third daughter of Conrad Lanchard, a prominent local attorney, her grades were legendary, her future (in the legal profession) indisputable. Bronwyn, whilst not classically beautiful was just simply pretty. Maybe it was the way she was constantly brushing her long brown hair out of her eyes as she talked. Perhaps, her little habit of giggling between comments. Certainly her stylish glasses sporting their neat little rectangular lenses by "Jeunique," lent her an air of extreme vulnerability. More than likely though it was just her breasts did it for her. To die for in any clothing you care to mention, tonight as she sat on the floor with her friends in those silky little PJ's, no man could have shifted his gaze from her arousingly prominent cleavage. One might understandably be reminded of the Marianas trench.
Lucy Vandenholm could best be described as 'trippy.' Had she been around in the late sixties she would have slotted into life in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco like a born natural. An effusive little blonde, she had an interest in all things outre! Could have been a high-ranking Goth except for the fact she didn't like black! Ear-studs and accessories ran riot up into her hairline. A rather creative little tattooed scarab sat but centimeters below the rear naughty upper line of her knickers. To complete the picture, her belly button played host to a simple gold ring that her father had once threatened to tear-out without anaesthetic should she ever be thus pierced. It had not been without difficulty trying to hide this particular mutilation from his line of vision. She was though a real sweetie. Cuddly if not a little hypertense, she wasn't short of male followers let's say!
Completing the quintet was Jacqui Melville. Tallest of the group, she was not far off five-eight, courtesy of those wonderful thigh-dominating legs that were born for show and tell on the catwalk. Decidedly catlike herself, with those piercing green eyes, mane of tawny hair and a propensity to purr when you found the right spot, Jacqui was the group's balancing influence. Blessed with a truck-load of common sense, she could slink her way through any situation. For her, fear had never been an option.
"I wish we could go trick or treating again," said Jenny to no-one in particular. "It's Halloween tomorrow night guys – don't you remember all the fun we used to have?" she added wistfully.
"I certainly remember Rick Mancuso in eighth grade," laughed Jacqui, "Always looking to give one of the girls a real "treat" – behind the boy's locker-room." They all laughed.
"Well why don't we then?" said Bronwyn. "Who says you have to be ten years old to go out Halloween?"
"Hello Bron," muttered Lucy. "Look at us! We'd look like braindead co-eds fronting up to someone's house in designer jeans and stuff." The other girls stared at her. "Besides, what are we gonna say?...'Evening sir, Halloween sluts on call – just $100 the group and we take most credit cards!"
Jenny and Bronwyn cracked up.
"Hang on people," Cyndi was getting to her feet. She clasped her bathrobe to her. "Why don't we just dress-up young? I mean, we're all pretty short – well except for Miss Vogue magazine over there." Jacqui stuck her tongue out at her.
"You mean like little-girl dresses and pigtails type stuff?" asked Jenny. "You're kidding!"
"It's mega-simple," replied Cyndi. "Just take off your make-up and nail polish...hmmmmm," she hesitated, "and well, just giggle a lot!"
"You're serious aren't you Cyndi?" enquired Lucy, hugging her knees and looking up at her friend.
"Hey, it would be such fun guys wouldn't it...really? put in Bronwyn, pleased that she had been the instigator of the idea.
Put to a quick vote, the concept scored big-time. Only Jacqui had held back a little saying "Not so sure this is such a good idea girls." Nevertheless she had gone with the numbers.
Halloween, and Deaddolfhin was host to more candle-lit pumpkins than you'd find at fruiterers' convention in Hell. At the Cornwall residence it was a veritable hive of retrogressive girlish activity. Jenny, Cyndi and Jacqui had dug out their old year-eight school uniforms which still fitted them to any curve you care to mention. Bronwyn had tugged on a pair of Levis with a floppy top that hid "the trench' while Lucy had squeezed herself effortlessly into a little party dress that made her look fourteen tops! Jenny and Cyndi had gone the pigtail route, Bronwyn a pony while Jacqui and Lucy had simply brushed their hair back and employed a couple of strategically-placed clasps. To the casual observer, a more normal group of bubbly young schoolkids didn't exist.
The air was crisp to say the least, as the group, having overlaid themselves with warm coats, crossed Chadstone Road heading for Donners Ridge, an older established estate, comprising many desirable cedar-built homes on large blocks. The streets were tree-lined, the front yards for the most part – immaculate and the general aura – one of wealthy, if not staid indifference. Lucy herself lived in Greenline Avenue just up on their left.
"Hey, lets try this house," Cyndi called out to her friends. Giggling, they climbed the half dozen steps to the small covered verandah. Even as Jenny raised her hand to knock, the front door swung open, giving them and the emerging figure the shock of their joint lives.
