“Let me what, Lucy? Trick you like the dumb fat fuck you are?”
Lucy looked heartbroken. She clenched her fists in rage. She so wanted to punch his fat, arrogant face.
“You'll regret this, Peter,” she promised, her voice shaking with anger.
"Is that a threat, not-so-little girl?"
“It's a promise but re-ve-en-ge is a d-ish b-est se-erved cold,” Lucy stammered.
“Yeah? Well, if you serve it up, I'll eat it. But quicker and better than you ever could, like I did today, Lucy Loser,” he jeered as he made an L shape on his forehead.
The crowd were oblivious to all this as they were continuing their chant of “Ten more years, ten more years!” Prayer was orchestrating the chanting, which got louder when Peter turned his back on Lucy and joined in.
“Ten more years, ten more years!” he screamed at the top of his voice.
With this Lucy bowed her head dejectedly and walked off the stage with tears rolling down her cheeks.
***
Prayer, still dressed in her tight white vest and even tighter pumpkin-coloured shorts, closed the door of her luxury penthouse apartment behind Peter.
“Wow, Prayer! This is some swanky pad you sure got here. It's like something from the future, or some kind of alien spaceship,” he said, looking around the high-tech apartment in awe.
The apartment was sparsely but stylishly furnished. The floors and walls were all shiny black marble. The living area had a huge, expensive-looking leather couch that was big and wide enough to seat an entire basketball team. The only other major piece of furniture was a strangely designed and very large black dining table. It was crescent shaped, with a sturdy-looking seat at the centre. It was like the table was wrapped around the seat.
“You sure must get paid well working for the pie company,” he remarked.
“Oh, Mister Gore can be very generous. Let's say he lets me put my fingers in a lot more than just pies,” she winked, stroking a finger up and down Peter's pie-stained t-shirt.
“Heehee,” Peter let out a nervous, almost girly, giggle.
“Why don't we get you out of those dirty old clothes?” she moaned seductively into his ear.
Quicker than you could say “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper”, Peter was stark naked in front of Prayer, trying to cover his modesty. He had a huge smile on his face and nodded eagerly, anticipating that Prayer was about to slip out of the few clothes she was wearing.
“Now your turn,” he said with an excited, puppy-like enthusiasm.
“All good things, Peter. We’re not racing against the clock now. What do you say I give you a little massage first to help you relax?”
“I’d say I've died and gone to heaven. Oh, God, yes, YES!”
She led him by the hand, glancing quickly down at his groin but barely able to see his growing erection poking out from under the folds of fat.
They stood beside the dining table that Peter noticed was now in a spotlight as the other lights had gone off behind them.
“How did you do that with the lights?” Peter asked.
“Oh, special motion-sensor lighting.”
“Wow! That's great. If I had that in my apartment, I'd spend all night running backwards and forwards across the room. It would be like being in a spotlight in a stage show. I'm babbling, aren't I? I'm told I babble a lot.”
“Just a little,” Prayer smiled as she opened a drawer in the table.
“I babble a lot when I'm nervous, or horny, and I’m both at the moment. Which is a bit of a strange feeling.”
“That's why we need to relax you.”
Prayer pulled out a bottle from the drawer and applied some of the liquid liberally to her hands, and then began massaging Peter's chest with it.
“Wait a second. What is that, oil?”
“Olive oil, Peter, it's very good for the diet – I mean skin,” she quickly corrected herself.
Peter didn't care what she was saying at this point as her oiled hands were moving over his man-boobs so sensually. She worked her way down his body, massaging his every curve and crevice.
He was becoming turned on, and Prayer moved lower.
Peter moaned and then let out another girlish giggle.
“Sorry, I'm rather ticklish down there,” he confessed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire. “But it feels wonderful. Actually, that little bit might need more oil.”
Her hands moved back, and Peter let out a deep moan.
“Ooooh! Yeah. That little bit more makes all the difference.”
“Why don't you sit down, Peter, and we'll eat?”
“Sitting naked to eat? God, you're so hot, you must be European. Ow," Peter exclaimed as he took his place in the big chair. "This chair is hot.”
“Well, we wouldn't want you to catch cold now, would we?” Prayer put her hands on his shoulders keeping him firmly in place.
“No, I mean it's really hot,” Peter said, squirming uncomfortably. “Almost like a hot plate or something!”
“We like you well done,” Prayer said with a glint in her eye.
“We?”
“Yes, we. The other guests. Or to be precise, my sisters!”
“Oh God! Sisters? You are Southern after all,” Peter moaned with desire.
“Let's get you sitting comfortably before we begin.”
Prayer took Peter's arms and put them on the chair rests. Quickly, she fastened his arms with straps of leather that were tied firmly to the chair. She made sure Peter couldn't move his hands.
“Oh, kinky. I tried bondage once. But my girlfriend ran out of rope ...”
Prayer smirked as she picked up the bottle of oil once more and started sprinkling it down his back and then massaging it into his skin. Peter moaned at this attention.
“Peter Pumpkin is a strange name. Why did you choose it?”
“Well, it's what I am, and besides, everyone called me that when I was a kid.
“But why ‘Pumpkin’?”
“Because that's where I was abandoned as a baby, in a pumpkin patch.”
“Aww, I hate a sad story,” she said.
“The farmer found me, and he and his wife didn't have kids of their own, so they brought me up. Then I moved to Metropolis and got a job on The Daily Planet. No, wait a second, that's Superman.”
“Superman? Silly ...” She drew an S on his chest with the oil.
“My dad always said it was because my head was shaped like a pumpkin,” Peter continued, trying to win favour. Then as he saw no real change in her reaction, so he told the truth. “Actually, Mom says it's because I went missing one Halloween night and they found me the next day in a pumpkin patch. I would have starved to death if I hadn't eaten most of the pumpkin harvest.”
“You sure do know how to eat.”
Prayer checked Peter was securely tied. The leather bonds cut into his wrists which gave a pang of pain but also shot a buzz of excitement through his body. He was helpless and at her mercy.
“What about you? I mean, Prayer. Where the hell does that come from? You're not from planet Krypton are you?”
“No.” She straddled Peter's lap so she could rub more oil onto his temple and face.
“Gosh, this seat really is hot, seems to be getting hotter. Maybe we could turn it down a little?”
Prayer ignored his request. “My surname is Mantis, Prayer Mantis, and you're now in my grasp.”
"Prayer Mantis? I see," he nodded, none the wiser.
“Do you know about nature, Peter?”
“What? Like the birds and the bees?”
“Do you even know what a praying mantis is? Have you ever read a book? Or watched nature shows on TV?”
“I saw the Discovery Channel once. Sperm whales copulate in mid-air and on average a Sperm whale’s penis is the same weight and length of a school bus. Which I thought was neat. But then they started talking about the sloth and it did nothing, nothing, I tell you.”
“A little knowledge is a danger
ous thing. We need to educate you. These ladies are my sisters.”
Prayer clapped her hands and out of the shadows came six other women, all dressed in long, black, hooded silk cloaks. They walked towards where Peter was sat tied to the chair. They took turns rubbing his anointed body all over with their hands.
Peter strained to look at them in the dimmed light and he could have sworn they were the same girls from the front row of the audience at the pie-eating contest.
“Wow,” he said. “This is incredible.”
Some seemed to be rubbing salt and herbs into his skin. Peter could smell rosemary and thyme.
"Prayer, I think you might have tied me up too tight?”
Prayer moved down and in-between Peter's legs.
“Here we go,” Peter gasped. “It's show time–”
He stopped in mid-sentence as Prayer tied his feet tightly in some ankle straps. “You’re
tying my legs as well? You girls are into some real kinky shit.”
The sisters moved around the table menacingly.
“If you girls are real chubby chasers, don’t worry. I mean, I ain't gonna run anywhere.”
Prayer ignored him as she jumped off his lap. “Ladies, time to eat,” she announced, clapping her hands once more.
“I always have room for pie,” Peter said, but he was beginning to feel vulnerable and conscious of his nakedness in front of all of these strangers. He was almost getting to the point where he wanted to see a friendly face.
“It's almost like we could read your mind,” Prayer smiled.
“Oh, I hope so,” grinned Peter.
“Don't you worry, Peter, you’ll get your just desserts.” Prayer gave an evil grin. “Bring out the pie!” she shouted.
The kitchen door opened and Peter was surprised but grateful to see Lucy, his opponent at the contest, come out of the shadows. She was wearing a tall, white chef's hat and some catering whites. She was wheeling a trolley holding a huge pumpkin pie with a mountain of cream on the side. The pie was about four feet in diameter.
“Lucy? Are you a chef? I’m glad to see you. I'm a little under-dressed but I can explain everything."
Lucy looked daggers at Peter as she laid the dish on the table in front of him.
"I gotta say, that is one beautiful big pie!” exclaimed Peter.
“They do say the best way to a man’s heart is through his belly,” said Prayer with a grin as she began to ladle huge amounts of cream onto the pie.
“Yeah? Try telling that to a cardiologist,” Peter laughed somewhat nervously.
“You have no heart, Peter!” Lucy cried with real venom. “I hope you eat yourself to death, you liar, liar, pants on fire!”
Peter looked gobsmacked and it suddenly hit him he was in a very compromised position and might actually be in a bit of danger.
“You can leave us now, Lucy. You have your prize,” Prayer snapped as she smoothed the cream over the pie.
Lucy picked up Peter’s golden trophy from the table.
“Hey! That's my trophy. Hey! I won that fair and square ...”
“No, you didn't. You lied to me and you made me feel sorry for you. You had no intention of retiring. You’re a lying, fat bastard!” Lucy declared as she stormed out of the room.
Peter began to struggle. He was confused and a little frightened. He suddenly felt an overriding urge to break his bonds. Prayer, sensing this, dipped her finger into the creamed pie and slowly and seductively started licking it off. She looked Peter square in the eye as she did so and then his overriding urge was … horny!
Peter stopped struggling and now he strained with excitement to get closer to her. Prayer dipped another finger, taking a big dollop of cream, and then offered it to Peter. He licked and sucked the cream off her digit like a hungry kitten. Prayer nodded in approval and gave her cat more of the same. She began taking bigger and bigger chunks from the over-sized pie and placing them in his mouth. He was eating it with fevered desire. Food trickled down her arm and onto his chest as he fought to keep up. She looked wild as she started taking bigger and bigger handfuls, now cramming them it into his mouth. Peter was eating and licking as fast as he could to try and keep pace. His hunger was mixed with sexual excitement, but he was finding it harder and harder to breathe.
With each mouthful, his already grossly over-filled stomach felt like it was going to explode, like Mr Creosote from the Monty Python film, The Meaning of Life.
Peter kept eating, wondering if now he was eating to save his own life. “W–wait a second,” said Peter, turning his face away from Prayer’s manic, insistent feeding. He gasped for some air and tried to talk at the same time. “Haven't you forgotten something? What about these other ladies?”
“You want us to say grace?” laughed Prayer.
“No, not grace. I meant, aren't you lovely ladies going to eat anything?”
Prayer laughed loudly, throwing her head back. The hooded figures pulled back their hoods and all stared at Peter greedily.
“We always prey together before we eat. That’s why you are here.”
“What?”
“Prey, Peter. P-R-E-Y. You are our prey!”
At that signal all of the women produced long, sharp knives and pronged forks from beneath their robes and moved towards Peter's plump body.
“What? Prayer?!”
Someone prodded Peter’s shoulder with a prong. He felt the cut of a knife on his arm.
“Oh shit!” he cried out.
“Praying Mantis, Peter! You should've watched more of the Discovery Channel. Why on earth did you think we've been fattening you up? Why do you think we travel around the country organising these grotesque eating freak shows? So we can feed. Like the Praying Mantis, we eat our partners. Now we are going to eat you!”
Prayer gave out an evil, manic cackle and clapped her hands.
Peter screamed as the knives and prongs tore into his body, ripping his flesh off. Chunks of flesh flew off onto the heated table where it begin to sizzle like bacon in a frying pan. Peter screamed in pain but he was powerless as the women tore into him like hungry piranhas. He could feel he was about to pass out through loss of blood when he saw Prayer come towards him with a huge axe.
“I'm going to eat your head, Pumpkin!” she shouted as she wielded the axe bringing it down with a sickening fatal blow.
HALLOWEEN POEMS AND LIMERICKS
KENSINGTON GORE – BY HIS CREATOR
Kensington Gore the infamous theatrical blood
To the leg end director up to no good
Every horror fan loves a bit of Gore
Loads of blood & whole lot more.
If you like horror that makes you jump
In the night Kenny will give you a bump
Read and watch Kensington Gore
You will never find him a bore.
We all like a good old fright
To hear things, go bump in the night
From haunted house to cabin in the wood
The scarier the better as long as it’s good
Make them laugh make them scream
Killer monster with laser beam
Some say horror is stuck in a rut
Mr Gore changes that when he shouts cut!
HORROR LIMMERICKS BY GRAEME PARKER
Two vampires decided to dine
On a lady, whose blood was like wine;
While pausing to savour
It's delicate flavour,
One said, this Housewife is fine!
***
When watching Christopher Lee,
Or even Bela Lugosi,
Their Draculas’ had bite,
Keep me awake at night,
And make me scream with glee.
***
There once was a young vampire called Mable,
whose periods had become very un-stable.
Until one bright red full moon,
she got creative with a spoon,
and drank herself under the table.
***
There once was a horror director called Gore,
Who was such a frightful old bore.
After looking at rather an attractive filly,
In a clapperboard he caught his willy!
When he shouted “Cut!” he was no more!!
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER ONE
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER TWO
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER THREE
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER FOUR
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER FIVE
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER SIX
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER SEVEN
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER EIGHT
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER NINE
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER TEN
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER ELEVEN
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER TWELEVE
Photo by Nicola Jones
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER THIRTEEN
Photo by Nicola Jones
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER FOURTEEN
Photo by Nicola Jones
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER FIFTEEN
Photo by Nicola Jones
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER SIXTEEN
Photo by Nicola Jones
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER SEVENTEEN
Photo by Nicola Jones
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER EIGHTEEN
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER NINETEEN
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER TWENTY
HALLOWEEN IMAGE NUMBER TWENTY-ONE
Scary Halloween Page 6