Copyright © October 2020 by CiaoSteve
CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Author's Notes
Foreword #1: All sexually active characters in this story are over 18.
Foreword #2: This is a story and intended purely for pleasure.
Foreword #3: This is an entry for the Halloween 2020 contest. If you have enjoyed and feel like leaving a comment and/or rating, it would be appreciated.
Foreword #4: Thank you so much to Frisky-Leo for taking the time to read through the first draft and provide some valuable inputs to the tale.
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There was not much which went on in this sleepy backwater of a town. Only a couple of miles away from the lights of the big city, these were worlds apart. By their early twenties, anyone with drive or ambition had followed the lure of that path of gold, and those left... well, suffice to say they followed a certain stereotype. You either loved the laid-back lifestyle, eking out a living in whatever way you could, or you moved on, and most moved on. Whether it was work, life, or love, it was always the same. You either accepted what was on offer, or you went in search of better.
It wasn't all doom and gloom. There was a certain quality about country life, the clean-living lifestyle and the lack of stress which came with success had to be good for your health, but that was countered by the sheer boredom of the place and its people. Those who chose to live here as an escape from the pressures of the city, were either already taken or soon snapped up. Those who were left, as Lena knew so well, didn't set the heart a flutter.
She lay there, snuggled under her warm duvet, dreaming of what could be. Ambition wasn't the problem, she had that in abundance. What she lacked though was courage, courage to go and seek the one thing she wanted more than any other... love.
Eyes closed, Lena dreamt of a tall dark stranger coming into her life and sweeping her off her feet. He had it all, tall, muscular, and manly, with chiselled looks, a hint of unkempt unshaven features, and a presence which commanded your attention. Oh, how Lena longed to fall into her stranger's arms, to feel her petite body enveloped by his manly frame, to have him... she reached a hand down the front of her panties and worked fingers over her aching sex. It had become something of the norm, to lie there in bed, masturbating as she dreamed of finding the lover she so desired.
One day, she promised herself, panting as she felt the warmth between her legs. One day he would find her and sweep her off her feet. Lena bit her lip as she felt the warmth intensify. She dreamed of shouting out in pleasure, as he took her all the way to heaven and back, but with family in the rooms next door, this was to be her secret night-time pleasure. It was the dream she always held, to fall back into his arms as he worked her into a sexual fervour, but it was always a fantasy so far away from reality.
In a place like this, how was the man of her life going to find her? When the highlight of the Autumn months was a Halloween bash at the local college, there wasn't much promise of a young woman finding her dream ticket, however charming she might be.
Life in this sleepy backwater was so predictable, and Lena knew it.
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Tickets sold out a long time ago, but tonight was the night. By day it was a college sports hall, but for one night only the lights were down, fake cobwebs hung low from the ceiling beams, skeletons decorated the walls and this place became a magnet for the most unhuman of forms. Dry ice machines added an eeriness to proceedings, feet disappearing into an unearthly mist close to the dance floor, wisps of grey thinning out further away. Music, loud enough to be heard but not to drown out all conversation, was suitably macabre.
Enter at your own risk, the sign read as you exchanged tickets for a glow in the dark bracelet, before entering this nocturnal devilish world. The choice was yours. Some chose to fight your way through a myriad of monsters in the hope of getting a drink before you died of thirst. Others would dance the night away with demons and devils aplenty or explore the darkest corners in the hope of finding a little private space, just for you and your choice of ghoulish companion.
Who had invited him? Nobody seemed to know, but there was a stranger amongst the plethora of werewolves, zombies, witches, and warlocks. Oh yes, the costumes were so realistic that you never really questioned who was wearing them. It had become a highlight of the year, the annual Halloween Ball, the chance for all to express themselves, to show their hidden desires. What did it make of you? Was your choice truly an insight into your inner being, or was each simply trying to outdo the next?
That was the strange thing. The uninvited guest, well... he was... just... there. He appeared, as if from nowhere, as if he had flown in through an open window. There was no handing a ticket at the front desk, no dressing to impress, no outlandish costume. He had kept it simple, a black leather jacket with turned up collar, black button up shirt open about half way down his muscular chest, and well-worn jeans, but everyone knew a vampire when they saw one, even if this particular vampire couldn't be bothered to put any effort in. The only question was... where had this vampire come from? Who had invited him? Why was he here?
From the costume stakes, he may well have been the most underwhelming there, but what he lacked in visual presence, he made up for in character. Standing over six-foot-tall, and physically toned like an athlete, he was never going to fade into the crowd, not that it seemed to matter. He was a man with a purpose as he passed through the room, taking in his surroundings like a wolf looking for its next meal. A pause here, a glance there, and then he would move on again.
"Hey!" A hand grabbed the shoulder of the stranger's jacket, as a drunken young voice teased his appearance. "Did they run outta real vamp gear?"
Slowly the stranger turned around. His tormentor was nothing more than a kid, eighteen at most, and dressed in the most outlandish costume you had ever seen. Even those classic horror films of the sixties and seventies would never stoop so low. Purposefully, the stranger lifted the lad's hand from his jacket, a vicelike grip making the younger lad squirm as his hand was positioned back by his side.
"Think you know what a real vampire looks like?" The stranger spoke with a foreign, Eastern European, accent. "I'd happen you don't know misconception from reality, but maybe I am doing you a disservice. Have you amassed more knowledge in your one score years than I in my two centuries?"
The stranger's choice of words stood out as much as his lack of costume.
"Two centuries? You're having a laugh. Forty at most, I guess a bit less. You'll be telling me you've got real fangs next."
"Perhaps I should demonstrate," came a teased reply, a grin crossing the stranger's face, broadening out into a full-on smile.
"I... I... gotta go... nice outfit... by... the... way," the lad stuttered, his confidence suddenly rocked by the sight of two, noticeably longer and sharper canines than one would have expected.
Alone again, the stranger made his way deeper through the crowds. Oh yes, this stranger was a most understated but very realistic vampire. Then there was the appearance. How had he done it? The make-up was to perfection. A paleness to his skin, masked only by the darkest of five o'clock shadows, set off his chiselled-out features to perfection.
Asked afterwards, what everyone remembered was his presence. He would grab your attention without ever saying a word, his thoughts alone would appear to trigger a response. When he did speak, it was like he commanded the conversation, his audience simply hanging off every word.
There was something unusual, almost unhuman about the debonair gentleman. Was it the air of mystery that followed him around the room? Was it the confidence he exuded with his every move, his every word, his every action? Or was it those eyes, those piercing eyes which seemed to bore deep into your soul. Yes, if you chose one feature, it would be those deep-set eyes. What colour were they? Some would say brown, others green, even a touch of gold, but what all remembered was the darkness to those pupils and the hint of red to his scleral whiteness.
Oh yes, he was so understated, yet so... so... so, believable.
One by one, the stranger mingled amongst the party goers, a word here, a question there, just enough to grab your attention before moving on. It was like he was looking for somebody, like the boys on dance night would eye up the girls before picking up confidence to chance their luck, like that wolf would single out the most vulnerable, the one they intended to feast upon.
Suddenly there was a purpose in his general meandering, his gaze taken by a surreal group of werewolf, zombie and... well, she was somewhere between temptress and wicked witch. It was the latter who really caught his eye, and it seemed the same had caught the eyes of many others. He stood there for a moment, doing nothing but watch.
'Perfect,' he thought to himself, smiling as her demeanour suggested current approaches were unwanted. There were those who would have thrown themselves at his charms without even a struggle. They served a purpose but were not what he needed. Then there were others whose first response would be to turn and flee or scream for mercy. It never got them very far either, but again they only served the same purpose. His plans were bigger, his needs greater than a quick snack. There was a feistiness about this one, a deep-set passion inside. She knew what she wanted, yet it was obvious she had not found it yet, and more so she had not succumbed to second best.
His mind was set. She would be his chosen one, and he would enjoy the hunt.
Just like the lad before, this young thing could only have been in her twenties. There was something so innocent, so fresh and youthful, about her, both in appearance and behaviour. Standing there, in her short black dress, red lined cape, fishnets and ankle length boots, did she know she had an admirer... or more to the point, another admirer? Did she realise the message her appearance was presenting, or the invitation she was about to receive?
He moved a little closer, keeping the young woman in his line of sight, but making sure he was out of hers. The whole ensemble, her diminutive figure, the tempting outfit, the sharp cut bobbed black hair and bright red lipstick, they all oozed sexuality. Here she stood though, either uninterested, or even unaware of her seductive appeal. Within earshot, he listened in.
"You just don't get it, Malcolm," she snapped back at the werewolf guy.
"Go on, Lena..."
"No, Malcolm. I didn't want to be your date last year, or the year before, and most definitely not this year. Now, why don't you go howl at some other chick. There must be someone out there desperate enough to fall for a weirdo in a wolf outfit."
"Awww, Lena, but you know you're the one everyone wants. Go on, plant it right here."
Oh yes, he got what he asked for, only it wasn't her pert red lips which caressed his stubbly cheek. Instead it was the fast-moving swipe of a tiny palm which struck his face, a howl of pain going with the smarting blow.
"Leave it, Malc," the zombie chipped in. "You had your chance, and Sis' here gave you an answer. Now, go find someone else to pester."
"Thanks Bro'," came Lena's relieved response.
"You do ask for it, Lena. Dressed like that, it's not surprising that the likes of Malc try it on."
