Although this was submitted for the 2010 Halloween Story Contest, please be aware that it falls under the INCEST category - those opposed should avoid.
Many thanks to Gayle for editing my mess!
As always, comments welcome and please remember to vote!
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Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. Growing up, most of my friends liked Christmas better as they always anticipated a large haul of gifts from Santa. I, on the other hand, loved everything about Halloween, from the costumes to the candy and everything in between.
As an adult, my love of all things Halloween is just as strong as when I was small. Fortunately, my only daughter, Emma, embraced it just as I always had, even more so if that was possible. My ex-wife thought we were childish, making such a big deal of things, but it was a special passion shared between father and daughter that was priceless to me.
From the time Emma was a child she was constantly delving into her mother's closet, trying on new outfits and playing dress-up. Because of this, it was no surprise to find her as enthusiastic about Halloween as she aged, each year spending a great deal of time picking out the perfect costume. Her outfits were almost always sweet and innocent, as opposed to the gruesome attire some chose to wear.
Emma also loved to help me decorate the house and hand out the candy, even more than getting her own. Our home was a must see for all the kids in the neighborhood as we went over the top with spooky stuff, almost all homemade by the two of us.
After our divorce just four years ago, my ex wife and I agreed on joint custody of Emma, which overall worked out well. Emma came and went between our two homes without much trouble, but thankfully gravitated to my home almost exclusively during the run up to Halloween.
The last few years, Emma has hosted a pumpkin carving party at our home for her closest friends the Saturday evening before Halloween. Usually a few days before the party, the two of us would go to a local farm and select a car load of pumpkins and bring them home to clean out before the big event. It was a lot of work, but was totally worth it as everyone enjoyed the get together, particularly my daughter and I.
One week before the party, Emma and I had gotten up early to hit the local farm to select our hoard of pumpkins for the party. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday, but a bit on the brisk side, so it had a really nice fall feel. We drove under a canopy of fall colors in the trees above the road. It seemed like we were in a yellow, orange and red tunnel as we made our way to the small farm on the outside of town.
Emma looked beautiful as we wandered the fields under the bright sun. The chill put a hint of color in her cheeks, while her long blonde hair was occasionally tossed by the gusts that blew leaves across our path. She was dressed in an old pair of jeans which molded to her lithe young bottom and legs, with a baby blue fleece jacket which really highlighted the color of her eyes. She really was a stunning young lady, but looked far more mature than her eighteen years.
Candidly, I had been much more aware of her physical attributes since the 'incident' a few months before. Shortly after Emma's eighteenth birthday, I arrived home from work earlier than usual one evening. Apparently she had not heard me enter the house, because after a shower she exited the bathroom completely naked, rubbing her hair with a towel as she walked to her room. We almost bumped into one another, and I don't know who was more shocked, her or I.
Before she was able to cover herself, I got an eyeful of the most lovely figure I'd ever seen. Even though it lasted the briefest of moments, the image was burned into my brain. I had not seen her in that state of undress since she was a child, and she certainly had changed. Her breasts were full, maybe a C cup, with pretty pink nipples. Her tummy was tight, and her hips flared out slightly above her long, sleek legs. I also noticed her crotch was completely shaven, clearly displaying her womanhood to my surprised eyes. I was forced to shake my head to clear the thoughts as we walked about the field.
I had learned from experience that picking out pumpkins was serious business for my daughter, just as it always had been for me. We spent hours scouring the fields for the perfect specimens, making sure they were suitable for carving. After we found a keeper, I was tasked to scoop it up and add it to the cart I diligently pulled behind us. I had to return to my car four times to unload all the pumpkins we selected, filling the trunk completely before we headed for home.
Emma spoke excitedly about her upcoming party as we drove. It always amazed me that in most ways she was every bit the mature young lady, but at times like that she could display the childish enthusiasm of a girl a fraction of her age. Candidly it was refreshing because the time went by so fast and it was nice to think of her as my little girl at times, not the adult she clearly was. Our time together was extra special because at that same time next year she'd be off at college for the first time, so I wanted to cherish every moment.
We spent the next week decorating the house and yard, enjoying each other's company as much as the work, making things exceptionally pleasant. There were giant spiders and webs over all the doors and most of the windows, with fake rats and black cats perched around the yard. We used some of my old clothes to build a wonderful scarecrow, which we placed on an old whiskey barrel near the front door. The place really looked great, if I do say so myself.
The day of Emma's party arrived and we huddled in the garage as we always had to complete one of the last major projects. We put a layer of newspaper down on the concrete floor, and then set the load of pumpkins on top in preparation for the messy work ahead. We sat near one another on old patio furniture cushions as we worked in tandem. I would wield a large knife to carve a lid out of the top, and then hand it over to Emma to begin scraping the guts out.
My job was much easier, so after I finished opening all the pumpkins, I jumped in and began cleaning them out as well. The task at hand was not particularly pleasant, but we attended to it diligently as we knew how much people enjoyed the carving contest.
After two hours or so, we had a number of buckets filled with slimy orange pulp and the dirty work was largely done. My lower back was sore from sitting on the floor, so I rolled onto the cushion to stretch and rest for a moment.
Emma was clearly in a playful mood, because she jokingly tossed a small glob of the pulp at me, which landed with a splat on my chin. She giggled hysterically as the wet sludge clung to my face like some kind of orange alien attacking my face.
