"Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes."
-Neil Gaiman, "The Sandman"
October 31st, 6:10 PM:
The house was dark except for the black-and-white flicker of the TV screen. Richard stared at it, passive, waiting. A voice wailed from the speakers:
"It's alive, it's moving! It's alive it's alive—it's ALIVE!"
Richard yawned and checked the time. Behind him, Dwight was going back to the liquor cabinet. "I'd go easy on that," Richard said.
Dwight's hands shook as he put the glass back. "I need to settle my nerves."
"It'll all be over soon," Richard said. "And with nothing to show for it." Dwight looked surprised. Richard rolled his eyes. "I'm not scared of Pierce's witchcraft. And you shouldn't be either."
"But you read his thesis—"
"And that's why I'm not scared," Richard said. "He's either mad or thinks we are. Either way I'm only here so that there'll be at least one credible witness to this debacle."
Dwight shook his head. "It's a dangerous night for skeptics," he said.
"Comes with the territory," said Richard. And he laughed.
Dwight was about to say more, but a voice from down the hall interrupted them: "It's time."
Richard looked out the window; the sun had just gone down. Shrugging, he followed. The den was empty of all furnishings except for a set of framed movie posters on the wall, a police scanner on an end table near the window, and the sensory-deprivation tank, from which Pierce had just emerged, dripping wet.
Dwight took up his post at the scanner, pen and notebook ready. Richard leaned on the doorframe, polishing his nails on the breast of his suit.
"Well Pierce," he said. "Dwight is all worked up about your hocus-pocus routine."
"And you're not, I assume?" Pierce said, fixing his glasses to his face as he toweled himself off.
"I expect a fine time watching you make an ass of yourself," Richard said. "But that's all I expect."
Pierce gave him a sideways smile. "That's what I like about you Richard: You're a narrow, ignorant, fool. That's what will make your testimony so valuable. Once you're convinced, everyone else will have to acknowledge the reality of what I accomplish tonight."
Richard thought he heart thunder and lightning outside, but he realized it was really coming from the TV in the next room. Pierce sat cross-legged on the floor. Dwight turned on the police scanner. Richard stifled a yawn. He looked at the posters on the wall. "So these are your 'foci,' are they?"
"Indeed," said Pierce.
"And why these images, exactly?"
"Well, it is Halloween," said Pierce.
Richard scoffed again. Pierce ignored him. He closed his eyes. "Are we ready to begin?" he said. Dwight nodded. "Very well. I will begin."
Valerie put her feet up on the table. It was getting dark outside but it wasn't time to go yet, so she leaned into the phone, flipping between TV channels. "I can still make the party," she said, "I just have to wait until Colin is asleep."
"Colin?" Gavin said.
"My brother. He was supposed to be trick-or-treating tonight but he got grounded, so Mom and Dad said I have to stick around for a few hours to keep an eye on things. It's like being in high school all over again." She rolled her eyes. "I think he's upstairs watching monster movies now."
She took the phone away from her ear, looking around, making sure she was really alone, then settled back down. "So what are you wearing?" she said.
"You heard me. You're not in your costume yet, right? So what are you wearing?"
"You really want to hear about it?"
"Nah. I'd rather hear about your big dick."
"It is big, right?" Valerie said. She unbuttoned the front of her pants, sliding a hand down.
"Sure," said Gavin, "If you want it to be."
"It better be big if you're expecting to get it sucked tonight," she said, running a finger up and down herself.
"Don't worry, it's a nice thick one," Gavin said. His voice sounded hushed on the other end of the line and she wondered who was around that he didn't want them to hear.
"Oh? I like it thick, baby. You'd better not be bullshitting me. I'd stick it right up my tight little ass is what I'd do with it." She slid two fingers up and down the length of her slit.
"You like it like that?" he says.
"You know I do." She felt her outer lips begin to swell, and a flush runs over her body.
"You oughta feel my nice big head and thick shaft sliding right between those tight cheeks."
"I don't want you to slide it, I want you to slam it," Valerie said, putting one finger up inside herself and testing the wetness.
"You like it rough?"
"That's the only way I know how." She punctuated her comment by shoving two fingers in deep, all the way down to the last knuckle, grunting and jumping a little in her seat as she did. She slid all the way down the couch, splaying her legs.
"You like to think about me sitting up behind you, pounding away on your ass, the sound of my balls slapping against your cheeks as my cock pumps in and out, in and out?"
"Ohhhhh yeah," she moaned.
"Does that make you wet?"
"You have a finger in yourself?"
She complied, placing one fingertip on her tongue.
"Does my voice make you wet?"
"Always." She began rubbing her clit.
"Does it get you off?"
"In the worst kinda way."
"What gets you off the hardest?"
"When you take your big thick cock and you put it in my—"
But Gavin would never know where he was supposed to put it, because at that moment the sound of screams came down the stairs.
Valerie jumped in her seat and, suddenly guilty, fastened her pants, dropped the phone, and ran up the steps two at a time. She burst into Colin's room, dark except for the dull light of the TV. He sat in his pajamas, hugging his knees, staring in white-faced shock.
"What is it?" Valerie said. "What's wrong?"
"The monster!" Colin said. Valerie looked at the TV screen. The speakers blared:
"You look worried, is anything wrong?"
"No, no, forget my foolishness, there's nothing the matter..."
She rounded on her brother.
"Colin, that's not funny," she said. "You scared the shit out of me. If you go screaming your head off over nothing then sometime when you're really hurt—"
"Not the monster on TV," Colin said. "That one!"
He was pointing behind her. A floorboard creaked. The back of Valerie's neck prickled.
"Henry, I'm afraid, terribly afraid! Something is going to happen, I feel it, I can't get it out of my mind!"
Valerie turned around. In the dark corner of the room, a tall, ungainly shape loomed. It stared at her.
She looked at the figure on the TV screen. Then, slowly, she turned back to the man in the corner. They were identical: the stitched gray flesh, the brooding eyes, the heavy brow. And those huge hands...
Back and forth she looked, back and forth, so many times it seemed she couldn't stop. Only when the monster took a staggering step forward did she think to scream.
Fletcher's belt was caught; he pulled it as hard as he could but then stopped, reminding himself that the new budget was in and he would have to replace it if broke. Instead he let Margaret do it, her thin fingers untangling the buckle and pushing it aside, then sliding his zipper down and slipping in.
She rubbed the outline of his cock through the fabric of his underwear. "How's he doing tonight?" she said, smiling.
"Lonely and unappreciated," said Fletcher. He looked over his shoulder; they were on the back porch and there was not much cover from the yard, but it was dark and the coast was clear. If they were fast enough, there shouldn't be any problems...
"Poor guy," Margaret said, pulling Fletcher's cock out and blowing on it. He jumped and she giggled. "Having to work on Halloween and no time for fun?"
"A little time...but we'd better hurry. If I get a call..."
"Don't try to rush a good thing, baby," she said, snaking her tongue along the underside of his shaft.
Fletcher put his back against the wall and dragged his fingers through her hair; it was soft, and her mouth was hot, and she kissed her way down one side of him and up the other, stopping to leave pillowy kisses right on the ridge of his head. Now this, he thought, is the life. She teased the tip with her tongue, flicking it, watching it bounce; in the yellow porch light he saw his cock gleam, wet with her saliva. She looked at it with an appraising eye.
"Looks good tonight," she said. "It's making me wet. I'm going to have to go in and change these pants before the party..."
Damn, thought Fletcher, if she wants to fuck we'll be here all night. He grabbed her by the back of the head and, walking the fine line between asking and insisting, pushed her down again.
To his relief, she laughed and cooperated. Wrapping her lips around him, she pulled him in one inch at a time, her mouth making wet noises all the way. He saw, distinctly despite the inadequate illumination, a smudge of her lipstick on the blue-black fabric of his pants as she reached the base of him.
That could get him in trouble later...but no time to worry about it now, he thought, as the pressure from her sucking mouth was finally giving him that live-wire jolt that ran down the center of his shaft, coiled up around his balls, and then jumped straight up into the pit of his stomach as the pressure began to build up, stoked by the feeling of cherry lip gloss against his naked skin.
He started to push with his hips, bucking, fucking her wet, hot mouth; she grunted around him, opening her eyes just long enough to wink and then pursing her lips even tighter, sucking until he was shaking all over and just about to get into the groove of—
The radio crackled: "1042, this is dispatch, come in 1042."
"Fuck!" said Fletcher, so startled that he hit his head against the wall. Skull throbbing, he grabbed the com.
"Dispatch, this is 1042," he said, trying to keep his voice level despite the pain in his head and the still-insistent pressure of Margaret's mouth below.
"1042, I'm getting a really weird report here about...are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?" She was swirling her tongue in that circle thing that he liked, and his breath caught.
"Because your breathing sounds like an obscene caller. Jesus, Fletcher, you're not getting your dick sucked on duty again, are you?"
"Of course not." He pulled away; Margaret pouted. He zipped up, careful not to catch himself.
"It's just a little winded from...look, what's the call?" With one hand he held the com while he made apologetic signals to Margaret with the other "I'll be back, I'll be back later," he whispered, covering the radio.
On his way back to the cruiser he checked to make sure he hadn't left anything behind: belt, keys, badge, and gun. Last month he dropped his pepper spray in her living room and caught hell for losing it.
Fletcher got into the cruiser and started it, pulling onto Lincoln Avenue, listening to the com. He frowned. "Um, can you repeat that, dispatch? What's the complaint?"
"There's a mummy at the museum," said the voice on the com, obviously struggling to maintain a straight face.
Fletcher rolled his eyes. "Yeah, so?"
"Well, they say they're not supposed to have one," answered the com.
I can't believe I got called away for this bullshit, thought Fletcher. He pulled the cruiser to a stop, yellow headlights washing over the shrubs and trees of the nearby park.
"The staff are saying that an antique sarcophagus and an intact mummy that aren't part of any exhibit and aren't listed in their catalog showed up in one of the galleries while they were closing. And then—now pay attention, this is the important part—as they were trying to figure out what to do about it, the mummy—"
"Got up and walked away?"
"Oh, you've heard this one before?"
Dispatch was now clearly losing the straight-face battle. Fletcher rolled his eyes again.
"Okay, as far as Halloween pranks go, that's pretty good," he said.
"Yeah, well, they don't think it's funny. They sounded real upset about it when they called. It's right in your neighborhood, so could you just keep an eye out for...well, anything at all while you're checking the park?"
Fletcher sighed. "Okay, dispatch, but everything out here is as quiet as a..."
He stopped. He stared.
"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me," he said.
Fletcher squinted through the windshield, hoping that what he was seeing was some kind of mirage. But no, there it was as plain as day: an awkward, gangly figure swathed in rotten bandages stumbling across the road right in front of him.
He watched the "mummy" shamble and trip over its own feet as it crossed both lanes and traipsed off into the tall grass. He watched it the whole way, at first too dumbstruck to pursue. Please tell me I don't seriously have to do this, Fletcher thought.
He sighed and thumbed the com again. "Dispatch, this is 1042, I have a suspect in sight that, um, matches the description for the museum break-in."
A pause on the other end. Then: "Repeat that, 1042? Do you mean to say you've found your mummy?"
"Fuck off, dispatch."
Fletcher hung up and, reminding himself that a pension was only ten years away, got out of the car. "Hey!" he said.
The mummy was still visible but disappearing fast into the trees. "Hey you! You with the...just hold up."
The retreating figure stopped. "Police," Fletcher said. "Step out where I can see you, please."
The beam of his flashlight bounced between the tree trunks, singling out the suspect. The mummy took pained steps back toward the road. "Hurry it up buddy, we don't have all night."
Now that the suspect was closer Fletcher could see that it was a good costume, though the gauze was a bit of a mess after trek through the park. The exposed face was particularly startling.
"That's far enough," he said, trying to keep the light in the suspect's eyes (where the hell were the suspect's eyes?) "Hands where I can see them. Have you been drinking tonight? Have you taken anything?"
The suspect kept walking, dragging one leg.
"Buddy, I said that's far enough. Hey. Hey, back the fuck off!"
Fletcher grabbed for his gun, but the grip slid between his sweaty fingers and the suspect, putting on a sudden burst of speed, leapt forward, wrapping its cold, brittle hands around his throat and squeezing.
Fletcher fell back and the mummy pushed him against the side of the car. The flashlight dropped and rolled away, and Fletcher put both hands up to try to break the choke.
In the moonlight he saw the brittle flesh stretched tight over the mummy's skull, with those black eyes staring, unblinking, into his. Its jaw moved up and down and a muffled, strained sound like a sob came out. Fletcher struggled, adrenaline spiking even as the pressure on his windpipe made his vision blur.
And then, in a moment, it was over; the mummy dropped Fletcher and took off again, vanishing into the trees. Fletcher hit the asphalt, sucking air into his aching lungs for a few seconds and then struggling back into the car.
He grabbed the com with both hands. "Dispatch," he said, his voice hoarse. "This is 1042. I'm reporting...look, this is serious, don't laugh when I tell you this..."
Warren sat on his toolbox, leaning against the rear window while Evelyn got on her knees in the truck bed, blonde braid bobbing with the up-and-down motion of her head. She held his stiff cock with one hand and gripped his thigh through the fabric of his jeans with the other, slurping the head wetly, forming her lips into a perfect O and sucking so hard that it made a popping noise whenever she took it out.
Behind them, the lights of the entire city were spread out beyond the edge of the cliff.
Evelyn slid the entire length of cock into her mouth, pushing to the opening of her throat, gagging a bit until her muscles relaxed and then beginning the swallowing motion that she knew got Warren off most effectively.
He tensed up as she milked him, looking back and forth now and then to make sure the coast was clear; this street was usually empty at night, just a scenic overlook squeezed between two expensive houses in a remote neighborhood, but you never could tell.
He thought he caught a flicker of movement on one side, but when he looked again it was gone. Then he was distracted, once again, by Evelyn's mouth as it slid down to the bottom of his shaft; he bit his lip.
Eventually Evelyn broke off, lying back in the truck and pulling Warren down with her. "It's getting cold out here," she said. "Hurry up and fuck me."
He groaned a little. "Oh come on, just a little more." He gestured to his still-wet dick. She shook her head.
"A little more and you won't last." He glares at her. She puts up her hands. "What? It's true. Come on, sitting there with your feelings hurt isn't getting either of us laid any faster; stick it in."
"I don't have a condom..." Warren said.
"It doesn't matter."
"But what if—"
"Babe, come ON!" Evelyn said, reaching around his waist and grabbing his ass with both hands, pulling him down onto her. She wriggled out of her jeans and wrapped her bare legs around him, stretching her arms over her head, grabbing the truck gate for leverage.
"Now," she said, "are you going to be a little bitch, or are you going to be a real man?"
Warren glared at her.
"Show me then," she said, lips curling
He responded by thrusting once, hard, burying half the length of him inside of her. She was amazingly wet and he slid in without resistance, the muscles of her cunt clamping down on him. She gasped, eyes rolling back into her head.
"Good," she said. "Again."
He gave another thrust of his bare cock, pushing the other half in now, sliding up to the base. Her legs squeezed his body. She gripped the gate tighter.
He started to pump her violently, rocking against her body, pushing with all the force that his arched back and squared shoulders could exert.
He held onto her hips, fingers threatening to bruise her flesh. He drew all the way out and penetrated anew with each thrust, grunting like an animal. Her back was soon bruised by rubbing against the metal, but still she panted over and over again: "Harder! Harder! Harder!"
Without thinking, he clamped one hand over her mouth, and with the other he started to choke her; not hard enough to cause real harm, but enough to set the furnace inside of her burning hotter and brighter than it ever had with him before.
Evelyn's eyes rolled back in her head and her fingernails scraped metal as her body throbbed. Warren was relentless, pushing and pounding, pouring out exertion, trying, muscles aching, hair dripping with sweat. His cock piston-slammed again and again. Evelyn's pussy was saturated. Her eyes bulged as his fingers twitched on her throat, then relaxed. She couldn't talk now, so she just moaned, and when that was too much trouble, she growled.
Warren became aware of the headlights of a passing car but he ignored it, even though the driver surely must have seen him. He paused only long enough to verify that it was not a police car and then went back at it. The hard, hollow thump of their bodies against the metal seemed incredibly loud in the quiet night: thump, thump, thump.
Below them the whole city was lit up with partiers, but up here it was just the two of them. Evelyn's hands were all over him now, and her hands slid under his shirt and raked down his back; he imagined the bright red scores standing out against his skin. They ached.