A Witch's Night Out - Sex Stories

A Witch's Night Out

... third sentence or so. Carol-Anne went back upstairs one clunking step after another and went into the same upstairs bathroom and, locking the door, she cried very quietly. No matter what they said now there was no mistaking the look on Mom and Dad's faces: disappointment. It was the town's fault. Of the few kids who left for college every year, almost all drifted back, some within just a few months. It was a small community, and closely knit. Leaving was not done. As far as most parents were concerned, the best thing that could happen to their children was to stay in town, marry someone from town, and have children who themselves would stay in the town. Anything else was a betrayal. It was their second tradition, after the annual Halloween mystery, and in Carol-Anne's mind the two things were connected. Nothing mattered to the town more than tradition. She'd always thought that her parents were different, or at least that they would make a special exception for her. Hadn't they always told her she could be anything she wanted? And now this. So two nights later, she decided to do something about it. Standing at the mirror, she smoothed her mask across her face and arranged her hair, thinking about these things. The mask was a simple black domino across her eyes and a long, pointed beak for a nose. She wore a long black dress, a spidery black shawl, and a peaked black hat, but elected to leave the broom behind, not wanting it to slow her down. It was very much like the ...

... trick-or-treat costumes she'd worn (in neighboring towns) as a child, but tonight it meant something more. Turning from the mirror, she regarded the calendar with a sense of grim satisfaction. Today was also her birthday. She was 18; the age of independence. Outside it was a clear, black night, with a cold wind and a pale yellow moon. Her brother Thomas, two years her junior, tagged along after her, already dragging his feet. He'd never had the nerve to try to sneak into the house on the hill when they were kids, and embarrassment at Carol-Anne’s goading was the only reason he'd agreed to come along now. He'd never actually go through with it, she knew, but talking him into even this much made her revenge better. Thomas dressed as the approximation of a ghost, blotchy white makeup covering his face underneath a white hooded cloak. He’d wanted to accessorize with some chains but she’d vetoed them for being too noisy. He looked so dismal and skulking that Carol-Anne thought the next breeze might blow him away entirely. "Wait for me," he said, as his cloak snagged on a bush, but Carol-Anne walked on. They took the old wagon road through the woods, to ensure that they wouldn't meet anyone. Thomas had to run to catch up and was panting even from the short sprint, a scrawny, out-of-shape ghost too small for his own shroud. "Why the hurry?" he said. "We're meeting someone. I don't want to be late." In fact, she could see him now: Up ahead, at the old crossroads, waited a man with horns and ...