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From: pleasecain@aol.com (PleaseCain)
Subject: Sunset Scarestory 1/2 by PleaseCain
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To Sonya

Visit Femmes Obscure's celebration of Halloween
http://femmes.blackplague.org




EXPLICIT MATERIAL NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS.
© 1998 PleaseCain@aol.com and Femmes Obscure -- Commercial use
prohibited without author's consent.  Removal of this notice is prohibited.




Sunset Scarestory (The Beautiful Bowl of Stars With Some Smoke in It)
by PleaseCain@aol.com

It had been a good take this year; the little vampire tossed the crumbled
blanket aside and emptied the overstuffed plastic grocery bag onto his bed.
A cascade of tiny colors and shapes, with a good amount of browns and
oranges speckled throughout.

Separating the booty into piles, he rasped a violent cough and wiped his
nose along a patch of forearm exposed through white makeup; it was
something he'd had when he was little and had returned since they'd moved
back, but Mom didn't yell at him any more for wiping his nose on his arm, so
it was no matter to him.  He flicked his spoils into two piles, candy bars and
everything else.  It was what he did.

The little vampire stuffed a couple candy bars into his mouth and cut the
rest into a bag that he shoved it under his bed.  Then he picked through the
remaining stack, making a toy pile, a chewy pile, a hard candy pile and a
gross pile.  He even got three dollars.  In the hard candy pile, yellows and
blues sucked, and went to the gross pile.  Then he found something
strange.

It looked at first like a gross green and white swirl.  It was an eye.

He recoiled, but it remained still--it was only an eye.  It was staring at him.

He tapped with a cautious fingernail; it was hard, either plastic or glass.
Cool and weighty in his palm.  Probably the most awesome thing he ever
got trick-or-treating.  Still, weird . . .

"We're feeling pain, aren't we?"

"Y-y-yes."

"We're angry at our cold parents, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"To heal, we need to tell them we're angry, don't we?  I want you to tell them
. . . Chevette, I want to hear you say, 'Mommy, Daddy, I'm angry.'
Chevette?"

"Go on, tell them," the vampire's mother encouraged from the stairmaster.
"Say it.  Let them have it."

Eerie bauble in hand, the vampire stood at the foot of churning, perspiring
machine-and-mother, waiting for a break in Oprah.  He called twice over the
television.  "Mom?"

"Huh?  Hi, baby."  She turned back to the screen, daubing her eyes with a
hanky in her fist.  She didn't comment on his costume.  The machine roared
ahead, in place.

"Mom, can I show you something?"

"Hun, this is Mommy's time, right?"

"I know, Mom, but this is important.  Please?"

Tears streamed down Oprah's fifty-foot face, and down a succession of
others, too.  "Gerard Paul, can it wait?  Mommy's time is almost over.  We'll
talk about it in a bit.  Right, hun?"  She turned, but he was gone.  Ensconced
in the television's glow, she sobbed with the whine of television and
exercise machine.

The same blue corona pulsed within a room upstairs, but the accompanying
voices were not female but male, calling an L.A. Kings game.  The vampire
snuck in the doorway and spied around the entry at a man laying like a
corpse on the bed.

Best not to disturb him, just figured he might know something about this
stuff.  The man never even called the vampire by his name.  He called him
Jerome.

Back in his room, the vampire pulled the bag from beneath his bed and
dropped the eye inside, and his it again.  In the mirror, he admired his
costume.  But for his nose and eyes, the white makeup remained on his
face, and his hair looked as slicked and pointed on his forehead as it had
that afternoon.  The rotten fangs he'd ordered were gnarly.  He did a great
job.  To think that only last year he was B2 from Bananas in Pajamas.

The little vampire rummaged on his desk and extricated a well-crushed tube
of model glue.  He pulled a baggy from its box and squeezed a fat line of
clear epoxy on the inside, and held it to his face, sucked--the plastic
imploded--paused, exhaled, sucked, paused, exhaled, over and again until
he dropped the bag and steadied himself.

Through the tinny ringing, he daubed fresh white to his nostrils and upper
lip, bared his fangs and hissed, hands becoming claws above his head.  He
looked cool.

He stumbled to bed and curled around the bag of candy, snuggled in his
cape.




"The way you creamed that guy in the end zone."  Bubblegum lips curled
around the words: "Did you hurt him?"

"Yes."

"Oh god," she writhed and pulled at his chesthair, pricked his nipple in her
nails.

"I knew you liked it," Troy huffed, "I did it for you."

"Oh-oh-oh my god" was Melody wet.  "All the girls on the squad, oh, they all
want you."  He always liked that line.

"But they can't have me, sugar.  I'm only sweet on you."

"Are you?" then, "I want sweets, too."

"I've got your sweets . . . right 'ere!"

"No, I want something sweet.  For real.  I've got a craving.  I want candy."

He sighed.  "Whatever.  You mean, now?  Do you have any ice cream
downstairs?"

"Don't take that tone with me.  And no, I want candy."

"Come on, let me take your mind off of candy."  He nuzzled her neck, his
hands pushing to her bra.

"No!  Troy Ontario!"  She shoved.  "I'm serious."

He grunted in disgust.  "What!  Do I have to run out and get you candy?"

"No, silly.  You don't have to go that far."  She bounded to her feet and
waved him follow.  She stopped in the hall and looked over her shoulder,
pointing to a closed door.  "Paulsy probably has a ton of Halloween candy."
He locked fingers below her ribcage and nestled his erection along her ass
through her skirt.  "We can swipe some after he crashes."  She returned one
of his nudges.  "Right?"

"Absolutely," and followed her back into the room, closing the door behind
him.  She lay back on her elbows, sweater on the floor, her nipples dark
tents in her diaphanous bra.  Troy dove atop her.

Kisses deep and spitty, fingers on muscles and ticklespots, the lovers saw
one another through touch.  He was so strong, she so soft.  He moved on to
business, trailing down her throat and shoulders while she ruffled his golden
hair and inhaled the scent of shampoo.  His tongue snaked between her
breasts as he pulled the straps and unwrapped his prizes.  His mouth
followed one beautiful slope and fastened around its straining nipple.  She
shuddered.

"Bite them," desperately.

Teeth delicately scraped her erect ends, top to bottom, as she liked.  She
arched her back in surrender.  He  played between her breasts until her
chest was shiny and heaving, jutting with need.  Fingers burrowed into her
skirt.

Suddenly lucid, she called, "Troy, Troy, I want some candy.  Troy, go, get
me some.  Troy."  He looked up, incredulous.  "Yes."

He rose and hurled a "Dammit, Melody" at her, covering her breasts in her
crossed arms.  He fought into his pullover and grabbed his jacket.  Then he
stopped, as she plucked dark blue satin panties from around one of her lacy
anklesocks.  They were even darker in the crotch.

"Look what you did to me.  My pretty's all wet."  Legs parted under the skirt.
"You want to play with my pretty, don't you?" she sobbed.

He wavered like a compass needle.

Very gently, she directed, "Check if Pauly's light is on."

He was out in the hall and back again, settling in.  "It's on."

"See if he's awake.  Tap on his door.  Go."  He left, sighing, and returned
shaking his head.  "Get his bag.  He won't hear, just be quiet.  He won't, I do
it all the time."

He came back a couple minutes later.  "At first I didn't know, but," she lay in
a short kimono, "but, man, was he out."  He tossed down the sack and lay
behind her, fondling luscious legs while she poured out candy.

"Bastard!  Where's the good candy?  I want chocolate!"  She hurtled out of
his clutch.  "I know where he put it!  I'll show him!" and she was gone.  He
was up and trailed her as if a leprechaun.

She was on her knees and reaching under Paul's bed, her pouty lips matted
and blowing a kiss across the room.  Troy adjusted his dick.  She walked
past him carrying another bag.

She was already stretched on the bed when he closed the door behind him.
"This is better," she clucked through a full mouth.  "Pervert's got a hole in
his bedframe.  There's a gross magazine in there.  God, all I had today was
ricecakes."  She reached into the bag and unwrapped another, quite
oblivious to him yanking off his pants and mounting her.  Over his flexing
shoulder she inserted another chocolate bar.




There was a void inside, a desolation he couldn't rub or blow on, so with his
palm he kneaded the side of his face, not because it hurt so, but because
he couldn't caress himself where it really did.  This shuddering chasm drove
him staggering onward, lost but knowing exactly where he was going, only
vaguely aware of objects passing around him.

Some moved in blurs, especially the smaller, louder ones who gathered in
packs about him, though they didn't disturb him unless they poked him or
fell into the striding turbines of his legs, and then were easily dispersed
with
a terse bark.  Even the more aggressive beasts, with their glaring pairs of
eyes and wailing horns, charged past but earned little of his attention.
Delirious beyond time and reason, his only object was succor.

The torment stretched endlessly, and yet as he felt himself drawing near, his
gait became a clumsy gallop, heedless of the others fleeing in terror.  He
moaned, the proximity tempering the mad longing like a spike.

Plunging through thick shrubbery, he discerned the dim outlines of another,
climbing from a building.  Closer, he saw it emerge from a window and
lower to the ground.  It turned, too late to scream.  Enraged by its
obstruction, he dashed it away.  The soaring body left a gurgling skid along
the length of the wall, innards exploding onto the decorative bushes.

He bounded into the window.

It was here!  Searching frantically, he located it, handled it, drew it home.

Clarity!  Joy!  The eye was again in place.

Paralyzed by sensation and emotion, he stood and trembled, spraying a
tinkle of excitement.  And then, if it could be, he discovered something even
more astounding.

On the bed before him lay his vision, the one he stared at in his cold corner
for so long that she continued dancing and smiling when he slept each
night.  He shut his eyes and saw her; when he opened them again she
remained unchanged.  Long golden hair, citrus lips and brilliant teeth, with
unblemished bronze skin from sculpted face to bounteous domed breasts
and long legs.  Missing was the form-fitting white cloth which in the vision
partially covered her, but she was close, so very close.

As the young woman's scream found root in her larynx, the giant stepped
forward and she swooned.  It gathered her limp body and climbed through
the window.




Sweating, eyes moist and bloodshot, Andromeda replaced the sports drink
in the refrigerator and turned out the remaining downstairs lights.  Traipsing
up the steps, the bathroom, undressing, drifted past in a daze.  She felt so
centered after her body-and-soul sessions, solitary and able, serene, while
cool water ran over her body, and she inhaled deeply and touched herself.

In the heatlamp, she dabbed her body with her softest towel and glided into
a white silk robe.

She stepped into the world again.  The carpet welcomed her toes.  Love
brought her closer to her family.  Melody's door was closed, and she
respected that statement in accords with their agreement: such a fine young
woman she had become!

Pauly's door was shut, too.  She opened it and peered inside.  Her little man
lay sleeping so adorably.  She tiptoed near, brought the sheet over her
peaceful angel, kissing his forehead.  The dear was still in costume.  That's
right, it was Halloween!

Her eyes scanned the room.  Mommy had a sweettooth.  She lifted
discarded clothing, some papers.  Then her face brightened, because she
knew where he hid the bag.




Outraged, he pushed the brat's door open.  She was gone, all right.  The
room was a sty, shit thrown everywhere, every square inch.  The curtains
twisted in the chill breeze.  He stormed off.

The boy's door was open.  There was his batty wife bent underneath
Jerome's bed, her old cunt hanging out of her robe.

"Andie!" he barked.  She slammed her head against the bedframe.  The boy
didn't stir.  "Get out here!"

"What is it?" she grimaced, rubbing her head.

"Come out here, I've got something to show you," he commanded and
pulled her to her feet, dragging her by the wrist through the hall and into
their
dark bedroom.  He pointed at the screen.  "Half of L.A. is watching this
game, and look what they're seeing."

"We've now received dozens of calls.  Bravado, West Hollywood,
Beechwood, Mulholland, all reporting sightings.  Again, we cannot certify the
credibility of these eyewitness reports, but apparently we have an unfolding
hostage situation, details of which are unclear, and still police will not
comment or confirm our inquiries.  We'll go back to Click Berman in the
Newshound Minivan, but first let's have another look at that dramatic
footage captured by the security camera at a convenience store."

Andromeda scratched her smarting scalp.  "Jesus, George, you dragged me
here to see another freak show?"

"Knock it off.  Watch."

"These, these are only cigarette-buyers, I mean, the kind of people who
stand in line to buy cigarettes in stores such as these.  And here, entering
from the left, let's freeze here, you see, obviously a mammal, humanoid, of
stunning height and, uh, proportions . . . let's back that up, and freeze,
again, a view of the captive . . ."

George tap-tap-tapped the screen:  "Huh?  Huh?"

"An as-yet unidentified Angelino, apparently unconscious and in her late
teens-early twenties, caucasian, thin, long blondish hair, with really, really
outstanding . . . yes, well, we can safely conclude that both captor and
captive are without clothes, which the staff and management here at your
news channel note for purely journalistic reasons (yes, and AP is now
confirming this fact, thank you).  And while the visual quality is less than
perfect, clearly this compelling clip is raising concern around the entire
Valley area, concerns that a monster is loose with a naked girl on the
streets of Hollywood!"

"Huh?  Huh?  What'd I say?  Trouble, that's what she is!"

Andromeda slumped to the bed.  "My Melody," she said through her fingers,
"my baby."

"Your Melony."  Her snapped a clip into his 9mm and thrust it into his
shoulder-holster.  "I'm going into the station.  I'll get your baby back.  Sit
tight, sister."  Slipping on his jacket, he went into the dangerous night.

She rocked to her feet, taking tiny steps to her daughter's room.  She stared
at the incomprehensible wreckage, moving only when her feet got cold.
Treading past Gerard's doorway and down the stairs, she clicked on the
stairmaster and the television:

"This is Click Berman at the In-And-Out Burger on West Sunset, and you
can see behind me the extensive property damage, mangled cars, broken
windows . . ."

and began stepping.




Noise and brightness pursued him at every turn, and though he kept moving
in search of some peaceful corner, the riotous chaos relentlessly followed.
The furies uncovered each restful backyard and dim alley, with harsh reds
and blues, shrill sirens, or roving mobs, twittering, jeering, shouting,
throwing.  In this hostile landscape, madness besieged him like unleashed
water, an alien sensation--panic--seized the giant ape like hands about his
throat.

Even the beautiful creature in his arms set herself against him.  Sometimes
docile, draped in his arms like a sublime tapestry, or clinging to his hairy
chest with its complex of rippling muscles, in the next instant she could stir
and flail at him with her little arms, and her dangling feet became weapons
jabbing his ribs, though not as effective as her persistent screams, which
shocked and irritated him at first, then had a wearing, depressing effect on
him, a morose tug he'd never before experienced.  This hadn't happened in
the vision.  Out of his confusion coalesced the understanding that what
appeared to be a fair and dainty creature would not be so easily managed;
in fact, would need to be heeded.  And just as his frustration grew so
overwhelming that he might flee howling into the darkness, she would again
be silent and surrender in his arms, nestled to his chest.




Melody had never been so afraid in her life, not even when her parents
divorced and she almost had to move to Missouri, but luckily Mom remarried
quickly.  But this was far more serious, she might even die.  She had no
clothes.  And the thing wouldn't let her down, and people wouldn't go away,
no matter how she screamed.

But that wasn't why she fainted: the creature smelled of onions and Paulsy's
wet socks.




The goliath barreled through a six-foot stockade fence and onto the
boulevard, a rottweiler snapping at his heels.  Cars swerved frightfully, and
as a set of canines was sinking into his calf muscle, its adjoining body was
thumped skyward and down the hill.

Two, three, five cars piled into one another.  With the woman under one
arm, the monster did not slacken its pace when it reached the far parking
lot, until it saw the Oreo sign in a 7-11 window.  Stricken, it entered the
store.

Inside was flouescent bright, with more noisy people who scattered like
ants.  Rampaging through the room stacked high in vivid packaging, the
monster searched for the familiar blue, and when it found it, unmistakable, it
shredded the wrapping and crushed tray after tray into its yawning mouth,
this good taste of home the first semblance of gladness in a long unsettling
day.

A bullet tore into its shoulder.  A second whizzed by its ear.  Puzzled, it
shook crumbs from its fur, and might have returned to his feast had not the
woman been roused to consciousness by the gunfire and resumed her
distressing cries.

Flustered the loss of the state of grace, the monster shuffled from foot to
foot, bellowing obscenely in its version of cooing, and finally offered the
girl
a cookie.  She bawled even louder.

Now enraged, the beast glared at the quivering clerk, who shook with such
intensity at its charge that the pistol clattered to the floor and he barely
ducked in time as the Slurpee machine flew through the glass and into the
parking lot.  He crawled behind the counter and escaped through the shards
to safety, just as flashing squadcars squealed to a halt outside.  Their quarry
was long gone.

The monster and his captive emerged from the rear door, and stole into the
brush and downhill.


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