1. The Last Halloween


    Date: 9/15/2017, Categories: Fantasy, Cheating, Consensual Sex, Exhibitionism, Gothic, Horror, Straight Sex, Monster, Oral Sex / Blowjob, Reluctance, Romance, Author: BlackRonin, Source: sexstories.com

    “I don't know that there are real ghosts and goblins, but there are always more trick-or-treaters than neighborhood kids” -Robert Brault *** Somewhere in one of the darker corners of the world, a witch and a ghoul stood at the entrance of a cemetery at midnight, and both of them were afraid. They weren’t afraid of what was inside: Rather, it was everything outside that scared them. “Mark my words,” said Stokes, shuffling his old undertaker’s boots in the dirt, “tomorrow will be the last Halloween for all of us.” A night breeze stirred the tree branches and the old cemetery gate creaked, as if in agreement. Anne knew he was right. There was something in the air that year, some quality of the night or the moonlight or just the entire world, that suggested terrible finality. Almost all of the old magic was gone. It was a miracle any of them had made it to this Halloween; expecting another would be hoping for too much. She chewed her nails; they were looking ragged these days, tending toward the bloody side. “Are we the only ones?” she said. “Where’s the countess?” “Dead,” said a voice from the shadows, and there, stepping out from the hollow of a tree, was Jezibaba, an ancient hag with a hump that could capsize a ship. How long she‘d been there was anyone‘s guess. Anne had sent for her, but she was still surprised to see that the other witch had come. “Dead and gone,” she said again, “and the word has only just come. I was the first to know, and now I’ve told you, so ...
    together we make three who know: Dear Liz has gone the way of dust and darkness, and there will be no more midnight sabbats or crimson baths for her wherever she is now. It would bring a tear to my eye, if witches could cry.” Anne gasped. Stokes took off his hat (a battered stovepipe affair that he‘d stolen from a particularly famous grave) and lowered his head. “How?” said Anne. “The rumors disagree," said Jezibaba, stopping to light a pipe, the orange flames reflecting on her iron teeth. “Some say a mortal believer found her coffin and opened it, exposing her to the daylight. But others say…” She didn’t have to finish. Anne knew: Elizabeth had left her own coffin open, because she‘d given up hope. She wouldn’t have been the first. Anne dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, though she did it out of habit rather than necessity, for of course she couldn’t cry either. She’d known Elizabeth for nearly 400 years, and just like that she was gone. Was life so short? “ ’Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep,’ ” said Stokes. “We’ll never see her like again.” “Was she the last one?” Anne said. “There are a few old bloodsuckers still knocking around in Romania, and at least one that I know in this country,” said Stokes. “But there can’t be many. My kind runs into them less and less as we till the midnight soil. Of course, there are few enough of us left either.” “Few enough of any of us,” said Jezibaba. “Few vampires, few witches, few ghoulies and ghosties and ...
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