Author's note:
This is an entry for the
Halloween Story Contest 2023
. Rate and comment if you enjoyed!
I was redlining the submission deadline after manually converting the master text to plain-format, and did not have time to review it in detail. Any formatting errors will be corrected after the contest ends.
Two hours later and Bailey was ready to acknowledge the unfortunate truth:
This party blows.
An enduring mythology surrounded a student's ascent of the educational ladder. During those formative years when faces morphed with every class photo, each step up seemed so distant as to be a voyage to an exotic new world full of alien customs. Kindergartners looked across the playground to the fourth-graders' monkey bars and basketball hoops with awe and wonder; the middle-school alpha pack secretly trembled at the prospect of being punted back down to prey for the high school seniors. It was all bullshit, of course—a new grade, even a new school didn't convey some sudden revelation of the secrets of the Universe, but for some wretched reason those that had ascended the peak continued to perpetuate the illusion to those without the wisdom of hindsight.
But like most bullshit theories, it was stubbornly
persistent
. Even after suffering the cycle twice already, Bailey had naïvely believed that university would be different, that postsecondary was the threshold through which children finally became adults. Instead, she'd spent most of the evening wading through a crowd of half-drunk strangers who no longer had to worry about cleaning up the house before their parents returned. A Halloween costume party suggested at least
some
decorum, and she was quite proud of her Red Riding Hood outfit, but a fair number of her peers had opted to half-ass it the same way they half-assed their trick-or-treat runs in the twilight years before—typically, it seemed, by raiding a lingerie shop.
Granted, it hadn't been a
complete
disaster: she'd got chatting with a few peripheral classmates that she made mental notes to follow up with back on campus. She also thought she'd hit it off well with a nerdy English boy named Neil, who'd crafted an impressive facsimile of samurai armour out of old cardboard boxes. Alas, just as she thought she might've kindled a flame, his friends swooped in and scooped him up, presumably to get hazed with more...
compliant
females.
That was half an hour ago. Since then, she'd spent most of the time dodging handsy freshmen and veteran frat boys that couldn't process the word 'no', keeping the warm plastic cup in her field of vision at all times, lest an unseen party slip something in. Most of the girls that remained were visibly tipsy, consciously fishing, or both—those with clearer heads and cleaner goals had already left. When she noticed groups of boys trying to break up the girlfriends huddling for safety, Bailey bailed too.
It was unusually warm that week, and even so late into the night she didn't need anything over her costume. Besides which, the outfit was built to purpose: Bailey's mother worked as a tailor and her daughter had picked up some sewing skills. A short-sleeved, floral-patterned forest-green blouse with white lace trim hid behind a sienna-stained leather corset that more resembled a working vest than the quasi-lingerie of commercial costumes. Black thigh-high lace-up hiking boots clamped past the loiterers outside the townhouse's entrance; the only article that didn't quite jive was the skirt, a red kilt with blue and green checkers (clan unclear; Fraser, she thought she'd heard?) inherited from a cousin that she simply wanted to use more often. The quintessential cape was a darker red, closer to burgundy, and a proper cloak—almost too hot to keep on indoors. The hood was thrown back, leaving her shoulder-length chestnut bob to bounce freely as she made for home.
Despite the lingering ring in her ears, she thought she'd heard a follower, and she hadn't even made it a block before the drunkard hailed her. "Hey there li'l red riderhood," he slurred, voice cracking in a terrible attempt at the song. Ignoring him, she picked up her pace. "Hey, wai'up!" he stumbled after her.
Bailey cursed under her breath as she reached the street corner just as the light changed to red, and she spun around as a hand grasped her shoulder. "Whassa hurry?" heaved a curly-haired student who would've been rather handsome if he wasn't red-nosed and swaying in place; she winced as the stench of alcohol splashed her face. "Party's thissay!"
"It's late and I'm going home," she replied stiffly, backing away when he started towards her.
"Aw dombe a bish!" he whined, struggling to smile; "Howbow a Halleen kisher luck?"
"Oi," barked a voice from behind, "She's not interested."
The boy turned around, and Bailey saw a female figure approaching. She looked young, probably another student, tanned skin and long black hair flowing freely down her back. She wore a maroon, long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and even in the low light her eyes glimmered with reflections from the streetlamps.
"Eyyy!" he exclaimed, an arm shooting skyward, "Th' mora merrier!"
"Haul your ass back to base and get someone to call you a cab, before you hurt yourself."
"Why don'..." he staggered up to her, "You make me, swee'tits?" From the heavy exhalation, Bailey could only imagine the fumes bombarding the woman, yet she didn't even flinch.
"Oh, I
couldn't
..." she smirked, "I don't bully babies."
"You fuckin'--!" She easily dodged his clumsy swipe, darting to her right before backing up. Crouching slightly, she clapped her upper legs in an obvious taunt. The drunk growled, making a fist, but she leaped out of the way at the last second and he tripped over his feet before slamming his face into the streetlight pole. "Mu'fucker!" he hollered, collapsing to the ground.
"Too late," she shrugged. Grinning to Bailey, who couldn't suppress her own cathartic smile, she walked over. "What say we ditch this joint?" she thumbed behind her shoulder.
"Brilliant idea," she sighed.
"Fuckimbishes!" cried the dude, both hands clutching his forehead as he writhed on the sidewalk, "
FUCK!
"
"Thanks for that," Bailey spoke up once the cries had faded to background noise.
"Hey, no problem," replied the woman, "Bitches gotta put the pups in their place." The brunette chuckled. "You going far?"
"Yeah, about twenty minutes, it's up on Kingfisher."
"You're walking the whole way?" she asked with audible doubt.
"I'll be fine," she grinned reassuringly, "The stragglers fall off after the first two blocks, and I know these streets. You probably have somewhere to be, don't let
me
keep you!"
"Nah, least I can do is make sure you reach Grandma's in one piece."
"Funny you should say that," Bailey smirked, "I actually live with my grandma."
"No way!"
"Yeah way!"
"Well then," she leaned in, lowering her voice, "Perhaps I should show you the shortcut..?" That got a laugh. "Maria, by the way," she darted out her left hand.
"Bailey," she replied, shaking. Walking side-by-side, she could study her escort in detail. Maria stood about a head taller, her face at once soft and refined, with piercing almond eyes and a rather long, but statuesque Greek nose. Rounded cheeks swept into a firm jaw and somewhat narrow lips above a gentle chin. Either she wore no makeup, or it was too faint to make out in the limited light. Shining black hair concealed her ears, forming parted bangs over her forehead. Eyes drifting lower, Bailey noted braless breasts bouncing beneath the maroon shirt, surprisingly firm for their large size; she felt a twinge of envy.
"So what's your costume?" she began, "I'm thinking a TV character but I don't know which one."
