The Lesbian, Witch and the Wardrobe

Hi, this is my entry into the Halloween 2023 competition.

Despite this being an entry for Halloween, readers didn't like the cruel ending and for that I apologise.

I'd originally written it to include the following year's Halloween, but thought the original ending too slushy, so published the shorter, crueller story.

This is the extended, original, soft version.

If you've already read this, then jump forward 11 pages to the second Halloween, '356 days later' and read on.

If this doesn't suit you, then please, read either any other of my stories or another contestant's story.

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The Lesbian, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

Debbie leaned into the freezing wintery blast as she walked through suburban London. She cursed the local council for dimming the street lights even further than before. The night's icy wind whipped around the parked cars, rustling the thick hedges that stood guard over the large Georgian town houses that lined the road.

She loved the symmetry of the old stoic buildings. Unlike typical Georgian houses that open out onto the street, these had little front gardens surrounded by hedges and tall poplar trees. Although, her friends thought hers looked foreboding, more Amityville than Downton Abbey. It stood out, because it was set back further than the others, with a drive on one side and a gateway to the garden behind on the other.

She kicked an imaginary tin can as she wished for something to take her frustration out on. Her new job, which had seemed so promising, ended up being just as mundane as all the other jobs she had ever had. The lack of anything romantic on the horizon added to her melancholy.

She'd forgotten what it was like to have a meaningful relationship after her last few failures. Thankfully, her few close friends had arranged for a get together later, for them to enjoy what local pubs and clubs had to offer for Halloween. Maybe she'd find the woman of her dreams tonight.

She swung her leg at another invisible tin can, wishing that her life had taken a more exciting direction than the one's she'd found since school. "Fat chance!" She cursed at herself and then all her subsequent career choices. Even her summer holiday had failed to produce any romance. Only she could go on a Women only Cruise and return empty handed.

As she turned the corner into her street lined by three story Georgian houses, she cheered up. Her new apartment was the best thing to happen to her in years, and she had it all to herself. Until now, she'd endure house shares with temperamental hippies, vegans, Goths, gay and straight men!

She glanced up through the two overhanging trees opposite, trying to glimpse her top-floor flat lounge window. Relieved that the warmth waiting inside was barely a hundred yards away. The strength of the wind bent the tall trees over, hiding her portion of heaven from her for a fraction longer.

The gust relaxed, allowing the tree to flick upright, giving her a clear view of her snippet of Shangri-La. Her heart missed a beat when she saw her large, dark window panel framed by her deep blue curtains, but rather than being empty, a white face peered out of the centre, looking down at the street below.

Debbie froze as the wind forced another tree's branches to once more obscure her view and the interloper from her. She waited a few seconds, and the tree swayed upright, revealing a now empty window. Blinking, she gasped, unsure of what she'd seen, but as reality sank in, her inner voice screamed at her.

'That bloody old hag at 1A. I knew she was getting in.' .

She cursed, remembering the smell of stale perfume and mothballs that sometimes welcomed her home from work. Debbie picked her feet up and ran as fast as her heels could carry her.

'This time I'll catch the cow, red-handed and teach her a lesson she'll not forget!'

The hood on Debbie's coat flew off as she charged across the road, flicking her long, jet black hair around her face as rain lashed her unprotected head.

Furious as she ran, ignoring the weather, she remembered how she found the apartment's details by accident. After someone had incorrectly filed it in the sold section, gathering dust. None of the estate agency's staff could raise enthusiasm about it, but the grand high-ceilinged rooms appealed to her, and the cheap price, way below market value, won her over.

They had decorated and furnished it to make the ageing apartment sellable. She knew she couldn't let this opportunity pass, especially as it was on the top floor. It avoided the chance of foot stomping, chair scraping neighbours above her.

What was strange was the reluctance of the staff to promote it when she enquired about maintenance and utility charges. She initially assumed they were trying to divert her to apartments with more lucrative commissions. But after a while, she became suspicious that they actually wanted it for themselves or a friend.

Throughout the rental process, she overheard staff whisper and hint about ghosts in the house, but ignored them, knowing Halloween was approaching. Sure, the first week was odd, but then any old building has its strange creaks and groans. But she soon settled into her new home.

Debbie arrived at the building's entrance and her wet hands fought through her handbag for her keys.

'Ha, ghosts my arse, it's that witch of a neighbour poking her nose around vacant apartments and somehow she's gotten a key to mine.'

She slotted the key into the lock, glancing at the windows to the side, seeing them still dark, she hoped to catch the old hag hobbling down, making her escape. Slamming the door behind her, she ignored the postal lockers and streaked up the stairs.

Leaping two treads at a time, she was soon pounding up the second long flight of stairs, surprised not to meet the elderly lady coming down. She reached the top landing, panting heavily as she struggled to insert her key into the still locked door to her apartment. Her heart pounded as she expected, catching the culprit red-handed.

Debbie sucked in a huge breath before she opened her solid wooden front door. With a flick of the light switch and a single leap, she flung herself into her lounge. Inside, she held her arms spread out wide, as if she were about to catch an elephant, giving a theatrical shout of "Aha gotcha!"

Her voice trailed off as her jaw dropped. Never mind the lack of an elderly intruder, the real problem was a huge stout wardrobe standing in the space between her TV and kitchenette, with its doors hanging open. The fresh addition stood like a monolithic sentinel protecting the newly enlarged lounge, and the additional space either side of it.

Debbie's arms flopped down as she digested the revised shape of the already large room. More confusing was how her wall had withdrawn to expose the monstrosity dominating it emitting the strong odour of stale perfume and mothballs.

Both her TV, table, and her kitchenette opposite, now separated the newly carpeted floor from the bare floorboards behind. Her shelves above the sink, containing her crockery, hovered unaided in midair, just as solid as when the wall supported them.

She walked up to the wardrobe and partially closed one of the heavy doors to look at the front, which remained covered in the room's paint. But framed and contoured timber replaced the smooth plaster. She rapped her knuckles on the paint to hear the knock of timber instead of the original wall's plaster and brick.

With the shock of the new feature in her room dwindling, a rustle of clothing on the far side attracted her attention.

Stepping through the door from her bedroom was not the white-haired senior citizen from 1A, but a short, thin woman. She had long, flowing blond locks of hair that hung over her shoulders and held her hands pressed together before her, as if in prayer. She raised her head from its bowed position as her wide eyes pleaded with her.

The stranger's eyelids fluttered highlighting her wonderful piercing eyes that drew her in. Debbie couldn't help but focus on the bright green globes that seemed to suck her into their depths, like wandering dreamily through fields of long grass waving in the breeze.

All the anger and anxiety that had built up inside her sank away as her hands brushed over strands of tall grass and gazed up into the azure blue summer sky. Elevated into an almost euphoric state, she spread her arms wide to spin around, sweeping over the grass, laughing with a girlish glee. Debbie dawdled in this imaginary world for what seemed an age, but a voice called to her, pulling her back into the room to refocus on the stranger.

Now more composed, she examined the slightly younger woman before her who wore what looked like a very secondhand, black silk prom dress. Although as she emerged further into the room, with her hands raised in a silent plea, she could see it was more of a classic maid's uniform, without the silly, white lace edged apron.

Her pink narrow mouth widened to omit a light, musical voice, "Please miss?"

She held her palms up as if to hold Debbie back.

"Please don't be angry with me, I can explain."

Her deep green eyes beckoned her to return to the peaceful pastures. She could almost feel the summer breeze against her skin and the grass brushing across her hands once more. The return of her anxiety rose to fight against it, holding her in the room as she stammered out a protest in her fight to avoid returning to the serenity of the grassy fields.

"But, but, who are you, where did this wardrobe come from and where did my wall go?"

She flapped her arms against her sides in frustration. Unable to fully understand what she saw before her or how this stranger had entered her apartment through a locked door.

"Please, Miss."

The short woman's gaze remained on her, but she calmly swept into the room, surprising her as she grasped her hand. The Woman's dry, icy touch seemed to suck the growing heat of anxiety out of her as she encouraged her to join her on the sofa.

Debbie, no longer agitated, removed her coat. Rather than break the close tie she now had with the intruder and hang it up by the door, she dropped it on the arm of a chair. She sat close to her, turning in to face her interloper. The stranger brought Debbie's hands together beneath hers, to rest them on her black silk covered knee.

"I know it's hard to understand, but a magic spell imprisons me inside, that!"

She stabbed an accusing finger towards the wardrobe.

Debbie blinked, vainly attempting to interrupt the stranger's alluring stare. Although part of her wanted to dive back into that green pool of solace as her body felt a strange tingle all over. The same twinge of excitement you have when meeting a lover. She shook her head but couldn't break the gaze that bonded them together.

"Spell? Magic?"

Was all she could ask. Her eyes drifted across the pale skin of the woman sitting close to her, drifting down her small nose to admire her thin lips. She wondered what they would be like to kiss and whether her new friend would allow her to.

'Friend? For fuck's sake, Debs, she's a stranger in your apartment. You can't be that sad and lonely, can you?'

"That's okay. I know it's strange and difficult to understand but, if I tell you my story, I'm sure we will become friends."

She put a little emphasis on the last word. The corner of her mouth twinged upward, and a brief glint appeared in her eye.

'Fuck, can she read my mind?'

Debbie couldn't argue against the use of magic, or how else could you explain the new feature to her now enlarged room. The stranger certainly didn't pose a threat with her composed exterior and pale, china like face. Her tongue slipped out and licked her dry pale lips as they broke into a knowing smile.

Debbie lowered her head, trying not to stare, but stopped where her smooth, white neck plunged inside the silk dress. She glared at the material, attempting to imagine her cleavage and the shape of her small breasts hidden within. She felt her cheeks rouge up and, unsure of where to look, returned to gaze at the beauty of her orb like eyes. A wry smirk grew on the stranger's face.

"I used to work here as a humble housemaid. The family wasn't nice, but it was the only job I could get to keep me off the streets."

"I don't understand. They'd said it had been empty for years until a developer in the seventies turned it into apartments and they kept this one boarded up for most of that."

She twisted her head, questioning the stranger's statement.

"Ahh, I find it hard to remember dates, but the family were still here in the eighteen-seventies, so it must have been in the nineteen-seventies when they divided it up permanently."

"That's nearly two centuries ago! When were you born?"

"January eighteen-hundred, under King George the third."

Debbie leaned forward as she gasped.

"You're joking? That makes you over two hundred and thirty years old?"

"Well, not really. I went into service in eighteen-fourteen. I was nineteen and looking forward to Christmas before being incarcerated. So I'm probably barely twenty in real terms."

"Oh my god, you didn't finish school before going to work!"

"There was no school for the likes of me, only for the rich. I had to work helping my mother sell flowers, or at least what scraps we could buy cheap or find loose on the cobbles of the flower markets."

Debbie felt awful at hearing the stranger's tale of woe. She's enjoyed school and college afterwards, finding it hard to understand how anyone could manage in a world without that basic foundation in life.

"Anyway, we digress. After I'd worked for the family for several years, a distant great aunt came to live with them and she was worse than all of them put together. She replaced most of the staff with her own and they were all in her mould. She embittered the children, making them even nastier and more spiteful than ever."

Debbie couldn't tear her gaze away from the stranger as she talked. Her eyes studied her hair, shoulders, or lingered to imagine how her lips would taste at their first kiss. The story teller's slim mouth returned a smile as if a reward for her thoughts.

"She insisted on being called Mistress Eleanor, taking a shine to me, but rather than treat me with preference, she took great joy in finding a reason to slap and beat me. Then one day she made her intentions clear to me, demanding I lie with her that night to meet her sexual demands."

The stranger broke her own gaze and looked away, leaving Debbie bereft and empty, needing the reassurance her eyes gave her. She swapped her hands to hold the interloper's to squeeze them, hoping to warm them, give her reassurance and return to being the focus of the stranger's attention.

"Time and time again she made demands of me, but I refused. They punished me, with it slowly getting worse each time. Until one day, they marched me upstairs to her bedroom. They threw me into a chair opposite Mistress Eleanor, who had a banquet laid out in front of her. I hadn't eaten properly in days. She told me that if I agreed to give myself willingly to her, I could eat."

The stranger looked down, avoiding Debbie's gaze, and rung her hands together in frustration.

"If only I'd agreed, I might have escaped later. But after my third refusal, she lost her temper and the butlers threw me into the wardrobe."

She glared with hatred at the timber monstrosity dominating the room.

"I thought they would just lock me up again, but when they closed the doors, I could hear the Mistress chanting in a language I couldn't recognise. Soon my mind sank into the darkest depths. Unlike sleep, it feels more like drowning in black tar. When I woke, I didn't know how much time had passed before finding myself on the floor there."

She pointed to the patch of carpet in front of the wardrobe. Debbie yearned to hug and reassure her.

"The mistress, wearing only her nightwear, was lying on a chaise lounge chair."

The stranger stood up and spread her arms out over an area before the window.

"Here. She lifted her gown up to show her naked feet, ankles, and bare legs. She smiled a wicked grin and repeated her demands. We were alone, and I felt angry and disorientated, thinking I had slept only a single night, but my stomach growled, which added to my anger."

The stranger turned to meet Debbie's gaze, and endorphins flooded around her. A familiar tingle deep between her legs, causing her to blush again. As always, Debbie rooted for the underdog, hoping she would deny the evil mistress her goal.

"What, what did you say?"

"I refused. I'd seen her angry before but this time, she became incandescent with rage."

She leaped up onto the sofa, and seemed to grow taller as she stretched her arms up to the ceiling, facing the still open wardrobe.

"She stood up like this and screamed, 'Be gone then,' and gave a flick of her hand."

She flicked her wrist, mimicking the Mistresses' actions from over two hundred years ago.

"An invisible force flung me inside and held me there, sprawled against the back wall. The Mistress seemed to rise even taller. Her hair gained a life of its own, flying and dancing like vipers. She spat unknown words at me."

Debbie gasped, enthralled by the story, and found herself on the edge of her seat.

"She told me, 'Stay here for eternity then, so no one else can have your virginity. Or at least until I take pity on you.'."

The stranger towered above her, looking down with her green eyes full of fire and anger. Debbie tingled with excitement, eager to hear the end game, wanting this beautiful blonde underdog to be triumphant.

"The Mistress paused, to smile at me. 'Hmm, despite your arrogance, I like you and for that, I will allow you a chance to redeem yourself. Once a year I'll release you each Hallow's Eve to give yourself to me, willingly, as now, only true love's kiss can free you from this bond.'."

Debbie held her breath, her hands clasped tightly together. She still hoped for her interloper to tell a happy ending, ignoring the evidence before her.

"With another flick of her wrist and more strange, foreign sounding words, an invisible hand gripped me and returned me to my dreamless tomb."

Debbie's expectations deflated, and her shoulders drooped as she exhaled.

"So that is it? Year after year you wake for a single night then have to return?"

The stranger nodded, her green eyes sodden with tears, and she stepped down onto the carpet, looking apologetic.

"Year in, year out, the Mistress came to taunt me but she grew old, not as fast as she should, but I stayed young. Then one year, she wasn't here waiting. I assumed she must have gotten bored and ventured downstairs to find the house also empty."

"So why didn't you escape?"

"I tried running, but an invisible force always dragged me back at dawn, no matter how far away I got. Then, after several years, she returned, too decrepit to climb the stairs. She'd taken over half of the ground floor, with the rest of the family in the other rooms and these boarded up."

"Do you think your Mistress is the woman in 1A?"

Cautiously, she nodded. "You know her?"

"Only in passing. I avoid her as she pokes her nose into everyone's business. Always turning up at the post boxes or rubbish bins to ask a hundred questions, digging to find something out about you, then coming back with a sharp tongue as she seems to disapprove everything anyone does. When I saw your face, looking out of my window, I thought it was her."

The stranger seemed to shrink back to her small stature, and she wiped her eyes dry. Her hands fell away and her green gaze met Debbie's, returning her to their hypnotic, calming dreamland as she became sexually aroused.