Author's Note: This story is an edited version of an earlier post that was entered in a Halloween Story contest a few years ago. It really has very little to do with Halloween, which only provides the context. It is really about a mutual first-time sexual encounter that blossoms into lifetime love. I have edited the title and text accordingly. If you're a romantic at heart, I know you'll enjoy this one! Regards, Average Bear
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In retrospect, we should never have been trick-or-treating that Halloween night. Less than two months into our senior year in high school, we were way too old to sport costumes and beg for candy. Yet there we were, weaving through the neighborhood, trailing behind droves of younger kids. Amy was in her Cinderella gown and I in my pumpkin carriage garb.
We deliberately hunched over or stood on a lower step to make ourselves look smaller after we rang each doorbell. Occasionally an adult would grouse, "You kids are too old for this!" When they did, we would simply say "Sorry!" and turn off in another direction. No sense playing "tricks" in retribution, especially since we had both turned eighteen on October 2, and if there were any criminal mischief, we could be charged as adults.
Though Amy and I were completely unrelated, some of our friends called us "twins" -- not only due to our shared birth date, but because we had grown up as inseparable as twins. We were like brother and sister, only without all the bickering.
That fateful night was the first time since we were pre-teens that we had trick-or-treated. Perhaps the start of the last year of school had stirred in us a longing for the simpler days of childhood. Perhaps it was the dare from a few of our friends from school. Whatever the cause of our setting out on this All Hallow's Eve, Amy and I found ourselves having the time of our lives.
"Scott, this is even better than when we were kids!" Amy laughed in my direction. We were nearing the end of our neighborhood, the comfortable suburban sprawl where we had grown up as next-door neighbors. "You wanna keep going on the road toward town?"
"I dunno," I said. "It'll be getting dark soon." Unlike many Halloween evenings in our past, there was no rain and no chilly autumn wind. It was a rather balmy eve, part of a nice stretch of renewed October warmth that once upon a time was referred to as a not-so-politically-correct "Indian summer."
"Come on, Scott -- we can see first-hand the old fart who's moved into the old Weatherby plantation," Amy chirped. "It'll be an adventure."
I wasn't too keen on using trick-or-treating as an excuse to gawk at some stranger who'd just moved into our town. "Parents of little kids won't be bringing them up there, Amy -- there won't be any camouflage. He'll call the cops. We'll be busted as overage candy-holics. It'll be a waste of time," I complained.
"We won't know if we don't try!" Amy retorted. "Besides, part of Beth's dare was to get some candy from the 'ogre' that now inhabits the place."
"You know I've never been one to fall for being manipulated by other people's dares, Amy. I agreed to trick-or-treat with you because it sounded like fun, not because some of the crazies from school dared us to," I stated in my firmest brotherly older-twin tone.
Amy turned her lower lip down in a disappointed pout. A slight gust of warm wind pushed a few tendrils of her long, straight blonde hair up in the air into a somewhat silly-looking spike. Her eyes, a shade darker than a chlorinated swimming pool at dusk, were fixed on me in a silent challenge.
Had her Cinderella gown not puffed at the sleeves and hips to create an image of austere royalty, she might have resembled a little lost waif. My resolve weakened. Despite my belief that I was in the right, I fell into my usual trap of wanting to make her happy. She truly was the "little princess" -- not just the Disney brand, but the youngest-girl-in-the-family variety.
She could see in my hesitation that my mind was beginning to waver. "Okay, let's go -- but we're back here before dark," I ordered. The bow in her Cinderella sash crinkled as she gave me a quick hug.
"Don't worry," she quipped, "Nobody's expecting us, and nobody's going to miss us if we're late."
"Tardiness is not the point. I'm talking about safety. We don't want to be outside the neighborhood in the dark, on the shoulder of the main road with no street lights, possibly becoming the deer in somebody's headlights," I joked.
Amy smiled her cutest waif grin. My heart always skipped a beat when she showed by that smile that I had done something to please her. She had paid the price to get those well-aligned teeth. I remembered well those years of self-doubt that she had endured while sporting a set of gad-awful silver braces. At first, I had done my share of teasing, but I soon stopped when I could see that it was really bothering her.
"We'll save some time by not stopping at every house. I'm really intrigued to find out what Beth was talking about with the old Weatherby plantation house. She made it sound really mysterious. We can just go there and come back home before the twilight fades," Amy asserted.
She grabbed my hand and started out of the neighborhood. My pumpkin outfit was beginning to weigh me down, but Amy's tug gave me just a tad of momentum as we headed up the hill. Houses on each side became more sparse as we made our way the three-quarters mile or so up to the Weatherby place.
As we turned off the road and walked up the gravel drive, the mood changed and our pace slowed.
"The place looks spooky to me," I asserted honestly.
"Yeah, it does," admitted Amy.
The stucco house was massive and sprawling, with Gothic columns two stories high. Only one entrance faced the road. The entrance was on a raised porch, and a yellow bug-light spilled rays of golden light from the entrance door. A few tattered Halloween decorations adorned the window beside the door.
I didn't see any lights on inside the house, nor did I see a doorbell to ring. "Maybe they went somewhere," I remarked.
"Maybe they just have thick drapes," Amy countered. "Scott, you knock on the door to see if they're home. I'll stand beside you with the candy bags."
I stepped first on to the porch, Amy making way for my expansive pumpkin carriage suit. The porch was made of wood, and as I made my way to the door I was vaguely aware that the floor of the porch reminded me somewhat of a giant picture frame.
"Go ahead," Amy encouraged. I had a queasy gnawing deep in my belly. Something just didn't feel right to me. Then I saw what appeared to be a giant door knocker, about three feet to the left of the door rather than on the door frame to the right.
Amy plastered a princess smile on her face, readying herself for the inevitable "Trick or treat!" if anyone happened to be at home. I reached for the door knocker and pulled it down hard.
What happened in the next few moments is difficult to remember, much less describe. At the split second that I slammed the door knocker, I heard Amy scream beside me. The porch gave way and dumped Amy and me into a room below, sort of like a cold cellar or wine cellar with concrete walls. Though we dropped about ten feet, a mattress on the floor below kept us from serious injury.
Even so, I was momentarily disoriented. I checked on Amy, who was unconscious beside me. I checked her breath and vital signs -- she appeared to be okay. Maybe she had just fainted.
I looked around the room to see where we were. It dawned on me that the illumination was not yellow, but rather a sterile white fluorescence from beside the lone door in the room. I looked up, expecting to see the porch light and tattered wood above us, but the floor of the porch was completely intact, forming the ceiling of the room!
It was then that I heard the Voice. "No, the porch did not collapse," I heard it say. It was a voice like the one from "Monster Mash": distinctly British, somewhat creepy, but with no hint of humor.
Amy was starting to come around, and I knelt down to help her up. "Where are we?" she asked. She looked shaken but not badly hurt.
