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From: rdodger <rajahdodger@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Halloween Story: Chuck and the Bad Prank, by Rajah Dodger
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Date: Sat, 30 Oct 2010 08:10:06 -0400
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Chuck and the Bad Prank
(c) 2010 Rajah Dodger, all rights reserved

"What do you have against the old widow anyway?" Daphne asked.

The gang was at happy hour across from the college campus, and Chuck
had just announced his intention to toss eggs and stink bombs at the
home of the local psychic.  The woman was 70 if she was a day, and
nobody knew why Chuck would care other than wanting something to do
for Halloween.

"She's old, she's ugly, she's got that really weird overgrown organic
stuff in her yard - I don't know why the city lets her when we've got
to mow our lawns and trim our bushes.  So I figured it's Halloween,
what's one more prank in the city?  It'll get blamed on high school
kids or gang members."

The next round of drinks arrived, and talk turned to other things.
But the night before Halloween found Chuck dressed in camo and set up
with motor oil, eggs, firecrackers and dog poop.  It was an overcast
night, slightly humid, and the widow's garden patch gave off smells
that made Chuck's stomach turn.  He figured it would be best to start
around back, and stepped carefully up the rickety wooden stairs to the
rear porch.  Setting his pack down, he brought out the plastic bags of
doggy doo and started squeezing them over the threshold of the back
door.

The motor oil made a heavy base on the bottoms of the window frames,
and he started laying out the firecrackers.  The smell from the back
door was hanging close because of the humid air, and the motor oil
didn't help matters any.  He peered through the shaded screen of the
back window, wondering whether the inside of the house was as ratty
and run-down as the outside.

Lightning flashed suddenly, and right in front of his eyes a horrid
visage barely human leered at him, discolored sharp teeth snapping,
Chuck screamed, threw out his hands for protection, and stumbled up
and back tripping across the wooden porch, falling off the edge and
hitting his head on a rock in the ground.

When he managed to swim up to consciousness, past the killer headache
that made opening his eyes a painful effort, all he could see were two
withered ankles over house slippers that even his grandmother would
have thought outdated.  Great, he thought, caught by the widow.

It wasn't until he tried to lift his head and found he coudn't look up
that Chuck started to worry.

Not only couldn't he move his head, he couldn't move his arms or legs
- and if his head was at the widow's ankles, then the rest of him had
to be down in the ground.  He was still trying to work out what that
meant when the widow started talking.  Her voice was not at all what
he expected - it was low, silky, hypnotic, almost - the thought
repulsed him - sexy.

"Ah, good - you're awake.  Didn't your parents ever teach you not to
go around defacing people's property?  Honestly, kids today have no
manners.  Well, you'll get a lesson that should last you a lifetime."
She laughed, for no reason that Chuck could figure out.  He tried to
answer, but his throat wasn't working right - all that came out was a
hoarse animal-like whimper.  Some experimenting had established that
he couldn't move anything other than his eyes and mouth, and his
entire body felt like it was clasped in a rough, scratchy blanket.
Oh, gross - the old woman had taken his clothes off!

"I'm more than a psychic, you know.  I used to be a teacher, but
mostly I'm a witch!"

The woman squatted down in front of Chuck's face, her knees spreading
and opening the tattered robe she wore.  He closed his eyes, not
wanting to see what a 70-year-old woman looked like down there.  She
kept on talking.

"Do you know how witches work?  We serve Mother Earth - that's why I
have my garden.  And Mother - well, she needs to be fed."

The woman wasn't making any sense, but that wasn't what Chuck was
focused on.  The ground around his body seemed to be shifting, getting
warmer, creeping and scraping against his flesh, enfolding his limbs,
separating them, compressing them in rolling waves.

From human hands, the effects between his legs would have been
enjoyable.  Under the scattered moonlight with the widow's shadowed
thighs drawing closer to his face, it only added to his rising fear
and revulsion.  The widow examined his face and smiled.  "Oh good -
She is taking notice of you!"

Chuck's eyes were wide and bulging, the sounds from his throat pure
animal.  Something was working its way up his bottom.  The heat
between his thighs was growing, throbbing, aching.  The widow was
saying something now but he couldn't make it out, the sensations
inside his body swirling out of control, his mouth wide open unable to
voice the scream of pure terror as he began to convulse.

"Mother's hungry" was the last thing he understood.

The next night, all the neighborhood kids agreed that the great big
scary jack-o-lantern in the widow's garden was the best Halloween
pumpkin they'd ever seen.

//END//

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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