The Pearl Neclace

The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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N.B. Although this story best fits under the category of Erotic Horror, it is more horror than erotic. I wrote as the story took me and it rapidly became darker than I intended. If that bothers you, consider this fair warning... I've entered this dark tale in the

Halloween Story Contest 2022

so put your lights on and please vote. Thanks! Whatever you do, I hope you enjoy this Halloween tale.

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Halloween is the time when the veil is thin and the dead walk freely among the living.

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Like any trap, it was easy to get into and almost impossible to get out of. Jim Roedel's diner had been struggling for some time. Costs had gone through the roof while footfall fell through the floor. He'd tried some new recipes. He'd slimmed down the menu and gone back to basics with only a few popular staples but really well cooked. He'd taken out adverts on the radio and hired the kid next door to put ads on the internet; Facebook and sites he'd never even heard of. Nothing had worked. The only thing he hadn't done was hire topless waitresses -- and he'd have given that a try if he'd lived in California but rural Ohio wasn't the place for that! He'd mortgaged his home to provide funds, hoping to buy time to get through this recession but then the bank had threatened foreclosure.

Then, one afternoon earlier in the year, a guy he knew by sight down at Rusty's Bar walked in. The guy looked around and saw he was the only person in the place apart from Jim himself and one bored waitress who was working through a puzzle book. The man walked up to the counter.

"Got somewhere we can talk?"

"Sure, here's good," Jim said.

The man looked pointedly at the waitress. She was an older woman, a friend of his mom, topping up her pension.

"Somewhere private."

"Okay."

Jim led the man down a narrow corridor to his office. He swept a bunch of unpaid invoices off his desk and into an empty box. He pushed a chair over to the man and sat down himself.

"What can I do for you?" Jim asked, hoping to get an outside catering gig for somebody's wedding or funeral. Or Bar-Mitzvah. Anything in fact.

"It's what I can do for you. You're going bust and you know it."

Jim opened his mouth to protest but shut it again. Why bother denying it? The nearly empty diner was proof enough. Within a few months at most, he'd be homeless and living off welfare. He wondered if his ex-wife would let him crash at her place for a bit. Probably not but you never know.

He listened as the man explained how he represented a 'businessman' who was looking to become a sleeping partner who 'invested' in and 'supported' certain struggling local outfits. This 'businessman' would make a monthly 'deposit' of cash to go through the books as usual and pay all the tax etc. on it. In return, Jim would get to keep two percent of the 'donation' for himself.

Jim sighed. Even a kid at grade school would know this deal smelled like a week-old dead rat. This was money laundering for some cartel pure and simple.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Don't take too long. Remember, my partner doesn't like being messed about. I'll be back soon." With that, the man stood and saw himself out. Jim Roedel sat with his head in his hands and thought and thought. He had a stark choice: bankruptcy or getting into bed with organized crime.

A couple of days later, the man came back. He was wearing the same cheap suit and smelled of cheaper cologne.

"Decided yet?" he asked.

"Make it three percent and I'm in," he said slowly. It felt like a vise had closed around his chest.

The man took out papers from his briefcase and got Jim Roedel's signature in all the right places. It felt like he had made a deal with the Devil. It gave a shell company registered in some Caribbean island Jim had never heard of a forty-nine percent ownership of his diner. He knew that this businessman, who he had found out had a Russian name, ultimately owned him body and soul.

The man also took out a large stack of tatty banknotes from his briefcase.

"You've got a month to put this through the books. After that, I'll be back with more," the man told him.

Jim took the cash. It was more than he'd ever seen in one place at any time.

"Thanks, I guess," he said.

"One other thing. You might be tempted to skim some off or talk to people you shouldn't. You do, this is what will happen."

The man took a phone from his pocket and scrolled through until he found a video clip. What Jim saw was a scene straight from Hell. Despite the poor quality of the shaky recording, it showed a wooded clearing. Kneeling in front of a pit were two men and a young woman with their hands bound before them and gags in their mouths. All looked terrified and he heard muffled screams and pleas coming from them. A huge man, stripped to the waist, well-muscled and showing Russian prison tattoos with Cyrillic script, entered the scene. He carried a katana. The captives' screams rose in intensity. But it was to no avail. Three times the Russian swung the katana and three times the kneeling people were decapitated. The Russian looked at the bodies and spat. Then he left the scene.

"Do you want to see that again?" the man asked.

Jim shook his head. He wanted to be sick and fought to keep his stomach under control. No way was he going to skim. He'd just do as he was told and hope to keep his head.

Over the next few months money flowed through the books and Jim was able to pay off most of his creditors and get rid of the lien on his home. Things were looking up. He never met the Russian and never wanted to as all his dealings were with the man in the cheap suit. But the trap deepened as a few weeks later, they had him making deliveries to other local businesses.

He tried to say no but the man took out his phone and made him watch that clip again. After that, he was also driving around much of the state passing over packages and receiving bundles of cash. All the people and places were sketchy and he was always grateful to get home in one piece.

It was the last day of October and Jim's diner was actually busy. He'd decorated it with Jack O'Lanterns and bats and a couple of spooky cut-out skeletons. His waitress, Denise, had even baked a few home-made pumpkin pies which were really popular and come dressed up as Snow White. Long time since Denise was pure like snow, Jim thought.

The man in the cheap suit came in and walked straight up to the counter.

"Need you to go down to Portsmouth," he said. "Make a transportation run."

"Tonight?" Jim asked, looking around his diner.

"No, now. Our usual courier decided to do a runner and, shall we say, lost her head," the man grinned showing a mouthful of nicotine stained teeth. "They need to get there by eleven p.m."

Before leaving, he passed Jim a large sealed padded envelope from out his briefcase. Jim sighed. Nothing he could do.

"Do you think you'll be alright locking up?" Jim asked Denise, his waitress.

She nodded. "Take care, Jim." Denise wasn't stupid and had guessed where all this sudden money was coming from.

Jim picked up his plaid mackinaw from the rack, slipped the package into a pocket hidden in the lining, and swung his blue Toyota Tacoma pickup out onto the highway. He joined US 23 and headed south towards Portsmouth. Traffic was fairly light and he'd just passed the city of Chillicothe when he started to get a prickly feeling between his shoulder blades. Perhaps it was that gray car that always seemed to be hanging back but was always there in his rear view mirror. Probably it was just heading in the same direction but his Dad, who'd done a tour in Vietnam, called it a hinky feeling. And his Dad always said that if you got that feeling then don't ignore it.

He turned off down a rural road and soon it was like he had the whole of southern Ohio to himself. At this time of year, Ohio was so beautiful with the trees in full fall colors of red, orange, yellow and brown. The sun was a huge orange ball, sinking low in the west over the rolling wooded hills and the land was bathed in a bronze glow while dark shadows stretched out across the road. The air was crisp and clear and it felt so good to be alive. But how could he get out from under the Russian's thumb without getting killed? Not easy.

His burner cell rang. He picked up on the second ring, his palms sweating.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Change of plan. You're staying overnight in Portsmouth. Your contact will call you later to fix the meet. Be there." The man's voice rang off.

Jim swore. He didn't want to stay overnight in some rundown motel where the roaches eyeballed you and the other guests were either headcase inmates straight out the slammer or hotsheets hookers. He banged his fist against the wheel and swore. He knew the contact was most likely to be that ex-biker pastor who ran that odd church outside of town.

Daylight was shading into gray as he approached the small town of Waverly when he saw a young woman standing in the shade of a tree outside a cemetery gate. She put out her thumb. Jim thought for a moment. Picking up a hitch-hiker probably wasn't the best idea with what he had in his pickup but if the law was out looking for a single male driver, then having her in the truck might throw them off the trail. Anyway, she looked harmless.

He slowed to a stop beyond her and threw open the passenger door. The woman walked over and stood by the open door and looked in, assessing him as he was assessing her. She was young, only eighteen or nineteen, slim and petite standing about 5' 2", and had taken the goth look to an extreme. Not surprising considering it was Halloween and she had been standing outside a graveyard. Her spiky hair was dyed black highlighted with crimson streaks. Her skin was incredibly pale and white, accentuating her dark eyes heavily lined with mascara and her purple lips while both ears were pierced with multiple studs and yet another stud ran through her nose.

Looking down, her slender neck was encircled by a wide choker necklace of black lace with pearls. She wore a short, black nylon jacket wrapped around her thin body and a purple miniskirt. Neither of which would provide any protection against the evening chill. Torn fishnet stockings and black boots completed the look.

"You getting in? Where're you heading?" Jim asked.

The woman slowly nodded and slipped into the cab.

"Thanks. I'm going to Portsmouth," she said. "I was just visiting with friends." Her voice was low and husky. She glanced over to the cemetery. The shadows were lengthening and the sun was now barely above the horizon.

Jim put the Tacoma into Drive and pulled away from the cemetery. The young woman crossed her legs making her miniskirt ride up her leg, showing her lean thigh. The cab's heating was on and she shrugged off her jacket, revealing a cropped black bustier beneath which showed her pierced belly button. She crossed her arms beneath her A-cup boobs, heightening and maximizing her small mounds. Despite himself, he felt a twitch in his groin.

"I'm Jim," he said, holding out his hand.

"Helena," she said.

They shook. Her skin was remarkably cool and dry but Jim remembered that she had been standing out in the brisk air maybe for some time before he came along. This rural road wasn't well traveled and his was the only vehicle in sight. It wasn't long before they passed through rolling, wooded hills along the Ohio River and reached Portsmouth itself just as darkness fell. Jim had heard that the National Civic League had named Portsmouth as an 'All-American City' whatever that means. And he guessed that what he was doing by working for a crime gang could be taken as being 'All-American' now.

"Where shall I drop you? Where are your friends?" he turned and asked Helena.

"I left them in the cemetery. I've got nowhere to stay so anywhere's good with me."

Jim frowned. He didn't like the idea of just leaving this young woman in her thin clothes to fend for herself on a cold night. Anything could happen.

"Up to you," he said, "But I'm checking into a motel or somewhere. If you need a place to stay for the night, you're welcome. And you'll be safe with me but it's your decision."

He knew he wasn't the best looking man in the world being over forty and looking every one of those years and also badly in need of a haircut.

She looked at him. "That's kind of you, thanks."

He drove through downtown Portsmouth, past the floodwall murals, looking for somewhere to stay. Halloween and it seemed half the town was out trick or treating. The children all wore cute ghost, mummy, witch, vampire or little Grim Reaper costumes and many parents wore something similar. He took a second look at one mom, a pure MILF, whose huge tits were just falling out of her low-cut dark angel outfit. She was holding hands with her boy who wore a Superman getup. Jim thought his mom's top would help her son get plenty of candy.

"I saw that," Helena said, with a sad smile.

Jim glanced over. Unlike that woman, Helena was less well endowed, barely an A cup size he guessed, but her small boobs suited her petite frame.

He turned his gaze back to the road. The citizens of this part of Portsmouth had done their town proud and black and orange bunting was draped several times across the street and every porch seemed to be decorated with at least two carved pumpkins and cardboard skeletons with spider webs. He smiled as it took him back to his childhood.

They were on the outskirts of town when Helena pointed to her right.

"Look, there's a motel," she said. "And it's got vacancies."

The sputtering neon actually said it had 'va an ies' but it seemed the best bet. He swung the Tacoma in front of the 'of ice', and stepped into a room lined with cheap Formica paneling that was probably put up when Nixon was President. The old man peered at him over the top of half-moon glasses but let him sign in. The room rates were considerably more than when Nixon was President.

He took the key just at the point his stomach rumbled.

"Let's get something to eat and drink before turning in," he said.

Helena nodded slowly.

They drove back into Portsmouth and Jim pulled into a place called the Washington Bar & Grill and put the truck in Park. The bar was open and he heard 'The Man Comes Around' by Johnny Cash coming from the speakers. Always a good sign, he thought. He smiled at the inevitable Halloween stuff outside, a theme which was carried on inside.

They got a table and ordered. Helena said she wasn't hungry but Jim took in her slender form and ordered her something anyway. As they waited for their food, he noticed a few of the other men in the joint glancing over at her and frowning as if deep in thought. A couple of men in work clothes playing pool paused their game and looked over. When they resumed play, the man playing made a terrible shot, missing badly, but his friend never even joked about it. The man shook his head, put down his cue, said something to his friend and they both grabbed their denim jackets and hurried out, looking over their shoulders as they did so.

The waitress brought over their burgers and fries. The woman seemed nervous about something and didn't linger but the meaty, salty smell reminded Jim that he was ravenous but Helena merely picked at hers.

After eating, Jim noticed there were few people left in the bar despite it being Halloween. Somebody had turned off the lights over by the pool table and that part of the room was in darkness. Shadows filled the dining area and the leering Halloween decorations now looked sinister and foreboding rather than kitschy. Taking her elbow, Jim led Helena over to the mahogany bar.

"One for the road," he said.

The waitress was wiping down the polished top.

"I'll have a Jack and coke, please. What do you want?" he said, turning to Helena.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closing soon," the waitress said. Her face was almost as pale as Helena's and her eyes were large, looking fearfully at them both.

"But it's only nine p.m.," Jim said.

"We always close up early on Halloween. It's a town ordinance or something," the woman said, looking away. "You'll have to go now, please."

He frowned, maybe that was true with the cops looking to reduce DUIs but he'd never heard of anything like that before but he wasn't about to argue. Not with what was tucked into the lining of his mackinaw coat, he wasn't. He couldn't afford any trouble or the cops being called.

"It's okay, we're leaving," he told the woman as he helped Helena into her jacket. As his fingertips brushed her bare forearms he was once again struck by how chill her skin was. They drove to a liquor store where he picked up a fifth of whiskey then back to the motel where he let them in using an actual old-fashioned key.

The room was clean if not inspiring and had twin beds. Helena looked at him, gave a little smile, and started trying to push the beds together but her slender frame was not up to the task.

"You sure?" Jim asked. It was kind of surprising as he was a lot older than Helena and knew he looked like what he was -- a down at heel owner of a failing diner. Hollywood would never come knocking at his door.

"Yes, I want this. I need this," she said quietly, looking away. "I'm so cold inside and need warming."

He pushed the beds together. The legs made a scraping sound over the tiled floor which set his teeth on edge. It sounded like a coffin lid sliding open. Where did that image come from, he wondered? Must be the Halloween season.

"You want to freshen up?" he asked.

Helena shook her head.

"Well, I do," Jim said. He stepped into the attached bathroom and switched on the light. The fluorescent flickered like a dying heart before settling down. He blinked under the harsh glare, stripped off his clothes and quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face and armpits. That'll have to do, he thought, picking up a couple of plastic tumblers. He knocked off the light and a darkness like the inside of a tomb descended. Back in the bedroom, he saw it was little brighter as the only light came from the orange street lights through the thin, shroud-like curtains.

He carefully crossed the room and set the glasses by the whiskey. He saw Helena's clothes carelessly tossed onto a chair and she was lying stiffly in bed. For a moment, he thought she had passed out as she was so still until she raised herself up on one arm. In the dim light, her skin stood out as being so pale. He shivered and not just with the cool air in the room against his skin.

Helena turned down the sheet and he saw her small breasts, her nipples standing upright like headstones.

"Come lie with me," she said softly.

Jim looked down. "In a moment." He cracked the seal on the whiskey and poured them both a shot. He handed her a glass and, as their fingertips touched, he was again struck by how chill she was. It was like all the frigidity in the room was emanating from her. They touched glasses and he poured his down in one hit, enjoying the fiery heat sliding down his gullet and warming his stomach. It did something to fire him up inside. However, Helena merely wetted her lips with hers. He poured himself another shot and then a third, larger than before.

Helena looked up at him and a little smile crossed her lips.

"Come to me now," she whispered, pulling the sheets back still more revealing her naked body to him. She was completely naked except for her wide pearl choker around her neck. Jim reached for it but she patted his hand away.