Halloween Candy

Glenda waved to the last of the party guests; the couple had dressed as ghosts, and they waved back as they departed up the walkway. Glenda stood in the doorway until they got in their car and drove away, closing the door and locking it when their taillights disappeared. She brought the Halloween Candy from by the front door and took it to the kitchen. Opening a drawer, she grabbed a couple of pieces and tossed them in with the rest. Returning to the living room, she set down the bowl and pushed it towards Mark before flopping onto the couch.

The credits on the zombie movie rolled. She grabbed the remote, thumbed the cancel button, and switched back to her playlist.

“We have vampires, another zombie, and witches,” Glenda said.

Mark sorted through the dregs. The good candy had been handed out to trick-or-treaters.

“I really should go.”

Glenda angled her witch's hat. "Stay. I've played hostess all night. Keep me company."

Mark looked up from the bowl, feeling Glenda’s green-eyed stare. A small shiver ran up his spine. With her witch’s hat and intense eyes, she looked beautiful and a little dangerous. He swallowed.

"I don't want to be that guy," he said.

“I said I wanted you to stay,” she said and lifted an eyebrow.

“Anything you say,” he said and smiled, then returned to the candy bowl.

Glenda grabbed the brim of her hat and peeled it off her head, laying it aside and fluffing her long red hair. Returning to the screen, she flipped through titles.

“Good. What are we watching?”

Mark paused and dipped his hand into the bowl. “No way. Apple-caramel. I was sure they’d all be gone.”

Untwisting the wrapper, he popped the candy into his mouth. Tart apple and dark caramel. He leaned back on the couch.

“You choose.”

She pushed the button. “Witches then.”

In black-and-white, the transfer still had audio pops and artifacts from the film stock. A bombastic chord played over the title: The Cursed. Then, it faded to an innocent English village with children playing in the town square.

“To be fair, I should have sent you home as soon as I saw it,” Glenda said, looking Mark over.

“I dressed as an ordinary office drone – the scariest creature of them all.”

She hmphed and looked at her costume, with its artfully ragged sleeves and skirt, bustier, and thigh slit that revealed fishnet stockings when she walked. Then, she looked at his button-down shirt and khakis.

She lifted her wand and tapped the air between them. “Should curse you for that.”

A charge ran up his spine. She seemed serious, just for an instant.

“I’ll make up for it next year.”

"Promises are binding," she said, turning back to the screen.

The town’s parson was touring outlying farms and listening to residents complain about withered crops and cows no longer giving milk. Counseling piety and telling parishioners that this was the result of their sins, the priest would sneak off, drink from a hip flask, and drive the car between farms, weaving in and out of his lane.

The scene cut to a ragged witch with long white hair working over a cauldron.

Mark’s eyes traced over Glenda’s costume. “Is that how you’d handle it?”

“She’s punishing the wrong people. They’re just living their lives. The parson’s the hypocrite.”

“Maybe it’s how she enjoys herself.”

Glenda’s expression became serious. “No, everything she does will come back times three. It’s why she’s so twisted now.”

“Why be a witch if you don’t get to enjoy yourself?”

The light of the screen played over Glenda’s eyes. Mark sighed. She was so pretty.

Glenda turned from the screen, caught Mark watching her, then shifted back to the movie—hesitated, then met his gaze, eyes questioning.

“You ok?”

Trying to hide his face, he looked away at the TV.

“Just curious. Why be a witch if you don’t get to have fun with it?”

“Balance. The power comes from setting things right.”

“Can’t just curse someone because it’s fun?”

Mark felt like she looked right through him. “If they want it, it’s not really a curse, is it?”

“I suppose not, but you could do it then?”

“Of course. Can do anything if the other person wants it.”

“Anything?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Anything. You can even make them like it.”

Mark, flushing, rummaged in the bowl to find another apple caramel. His hands fumbled as he unwrapped it and pushed the candy into his mouth, savoring the taste and trying to avoid Glenda’s gaze.

Glenda’s stare pinned Mark in place, making him feel unsteady. He forced his attention to the movie, heart pounding. A small voice urged him to speak up, but he chewed silently, noticing a lingering aftertaste he hadn’t expected.

The parson was addressing a packed chapel, standing in a pulpit that towered over the congregation. The crowd yawned and fidgeted while he decried everything from wantonness to adultery to drink. As he admonished the congregation for drinking, the camera cut to a shot of the hip flask in his coat pocket.

“Typical,” Glenda said.

Then, the congregation went silent. The twin doors of the chapel opened, and the witch crept inside, a chill wind blowing her hair forward. She walked with difficult steps on a bent cane. No one challenged her as she climbed to the pulpit. For the first time, the movie showed her face.

Twisted and cruel, she was missing an eye and seemed to have lost all her teeth. She didn’t speak but walked to the parson and put a wrinkled finger to his lips. With a crooked smile, she turned and walked out of the chapel.

As she vanished, the congregation turned back to the parson, and he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, and with growing horror, he put a hand over his mouth, then his throat. The witch had taken his voice.

“There you go,” Glenda said and smiled.

Her face lit up, and Mark felt both affection and a darker ache looking at her. He began to speak but stopped.

Her expression still delighted, she looked at him. “What?”

He shook his head, silent.

“Tell me,” she said.

He looked at the floor. “Just embarrassing.”

“Oh, even better. Tell me.”

Screwing up his courage, he met her gaze. “I don’t know. Just had the image of you doing that to me.”

Her smile became mischievous. “Wanting me to take your voice away?”

He nodded, and his voice was husky. “Yes.”

She leaned over and crooked a finger. “Come here, Mark.”

He did as she said. As they leaned close, he marveled at how feminine, almost delicate, her face was. She put a hand over his, and it seemed tiny and pale with her glossy black nails and slender fingers, but the weight of her hand and her presence drained his strength. He couldn’t move; she’d pinned him in place.

Lifting a single finger, she looked him directly in the eyes and placed her finger on his lips. It sent a charge throughout his body, and he closed his eyes.

“I have your voice, Mark,” she teased. “I get to keep it for a while.”

Her face was close, and he thought she might kiss him, wishing she would.

“Listen, Mark,” she said. “When you get your voice back, it can only tell me the truth. You asked me to take it. Now, I get to do whatever I want with it.”

Mark nodded. He made an experimental sound. His voice box responded, and he was sure he could speak, but he didn’t want to, enjoying Glenda’s dominant presence filling the air. Her proximity and the way she talked down to him. He wanted it to be true.

She lifted her finger again, holding it so that it brushed his lips. He tried to press against her finger, but she pulled back, her eyes becoming scolding.

“I get to decide, not you.”

Mark went still and waited.

“That’s it,’ she said.

Her eyes searched his, her expression delighted and a little mean. He felt himself being teased and embarrassed, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. His arousal had become painful, and he went still and waited for her to tell him what to do.

Lifting her chin a fraction so she seemed to look down on him, she touched his lips.

“Now, you can speak again,” she said.

Mark nodded.

Her expression showed a wicked thrill, and she shook her head. “A powerful witch just cast a spell on you. You should be grateful I gave your voice back.”

“Thank you, Glenda,” Mark said, his voice hoarse.

“Good,” she said. “Now, you’ve had a crush on me for a long time, haven’t you?”

The answer flowed. It was as though he saw it escape before he could catch it. “Yes.”

“How long?”

Mark looked to one side, trying to remember. Being near her had tied him in knots for almost a year. Working back through his memory, he wasn’t sure, and he worried about what might happen if he didn’t tell her the truth.

“I think-“ he said. “It was. We all went together to that sports bar, and you got bored.”

She nodded.

“You had just moved to town. I already liked you and hated seeing you sit alone. You said that you didn’t like sports and wondered if I could entertain you.”

Remembering, she smiled and nodded.

“I couldn’t think of anything, then you said that if I couldn’t speak, I should let you paint my fingernails.”

She chuckled. “I only had black with me.”

“And I couldn’t think of what to say, and before I knew it, you were holding my hand,” he said and sighed, “And I just sat there while you had this smile on your face, kind of mean but also so contented as you put polish on my fingernails. I wanted you so much.”

“Ever since then?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. Frozen, he struggled to speak.

“Did you really take my voice? It felt like I could speak.”

“But, you didn’t.”

“I thought I could.”

“But, you didn’t.”

Enigmatic, her smile teased, and they stared at each other. Desperate for her to say something, he couldn’t stand it.

“Could you take more control?”

“Oh, that’s dangerous. It’s not something you can turn on and off, and I might take advantage.”

“But, you could?”

“Yes. You’d have to want it very much, though. As I said, if it’s going to come back times three, I need it to be something good.”

“Would you take my voice for real?”

“We did that already. It felt real, didn’t it?”

He nodded. “But, it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t?”

He couldn’t decide whether she was messing with him or whether it was true, but as he thought about it, his tongue began to feel thick, and the taste of the candy seemed to grow stronger. He licked the roof of his mouth.

“Could you-“, his voice caught, and his face felt red hot. “Could you control everything?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Everything?”

When she said the word, his head swam, and it echoed. Her voice in his head, repeating like his brain was an echo chamber.

“Yes.”

“That’s so hot, Mark, but you need to be sure.”

Looking away, she peered into the candy bowl. Dipping a hand into it, she pulled out one of the last apple caramels.

“Last one,” she said, “Think about it, and once you’ve finished, ask again. If you still want it.”

She touched his cheek, and he unwrapped the candy, popping it into his mouth.

Feeling like he was in a dream, he turned back to the movie, Glenda’s presence seeming to grow beside him.

The villagers found the witch’s cave but not the witch. For Mark, they’d become images without meaning, and he focused on chewing and tasting.

Like the others, he remembered the apple and caramel, and when the last of it dissolved, the aftertaste remained. He tried to place it. It was different from when he was a kid.

“Is the candy what you remembered?” she asked.

“Aftertaste,” he heard himself say, his voice flat.

“Yes, I worried you’d taste the added herbs, but you were the only one who ate them.”

His head swimming, he looked to Glenda. She watched, her beautiful face filling his head and making it difficult to think.

“Have you decided?” he heard echo in his head.

“Anything you want,” Mark replied, “Please.”

Her hands twined around each other. His eyes struggled to keep up. A brief light, then nothing. He tried to move, but nothing happened, like he’d been disconnected from his body.

On the screen, he saw the parson. Shouting without a voice, he led a crowd with flaming torches. Struggling against solidifying honey, Mark struggled to turn his head. His mouth moved. Wait, he wanted to say. No sound. Bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

She raised an eyebrow as though she heard.

“You decided,” her quiet voice echoed in his ears, then in his head, silencing his thoughts.

Trying to form thoughts, all he managed was feeling fear and desire.

Feeling the couch beneath him, it felt foreign and wrong. Thralls crawl on all fours, his mind told him. His body moved, head bowing so that his eyes could only see the hem of Glenda’s skirt with fishnet stockings beneath. Carpet rubbed against his knees and hands.

Beautiful, impossibly beautiful, he needed her. His body moved towards her; he needed her presence and her approval. A tiny mote of rebellion was doused by arousal and shame; he was weak and needy, and only Glenda would ever satisfy him.

A hand touched and petted his head. Her hand was graceful and feminine. He sighed with pleasure.

Waited too long, his mind said. Should have asked the first night. Should have begged. Yes, please. Always wanted her. Needed her control. His mind spoke in her voice.

She stood. He followed, his eyes transfixed by her feet, stockings, and the dizzying swish of her skirt. Carpet rubbed against his knees and hands as she turned up a gloomy hallway. He followed and crossed through a passageway. Her bedroom. Four columns supported a bed, and her clothes fell, forming a pool of cloth. Come up, his mind said.

Lifting himself, he half-crawled, half-climbed up onto the bed, then rolled onto his back.

Hands twirled, and tendrils of light tangled between her fingers. Then, she pushed, released, and a tangle of light flowed towards him and enveloped his body before vanishing. A flash made him blink, and a deep ache filled his body. He jumped when she slid against him. Her voice whispered in his ears and mind. Thralls should be ready. Always eager. Always needy.

Painful arousal. Erect and twitching, he heard her purr and slide a hand that shook his entire body. Yes, the body is always needy, always hungry.

Above him and floating, she moved with grace. She slid over him and took him inside. Pleasure radiated from him, and she took it, then took more, and then took double, her body riding and grinding against his.

Never felt such a need. At the brink where everything unwound and all tension released, his body twitched, spasmed, and thrust back at her. Yes, his mind echoed. It spurred his body further, and as the coiled tension tightened into a painful knot, she cried out. He tried to follow, but there was a wall. She passed through, tension unwinding into blinding pleasure, leaving him behind, his knot growing tighter. She cried out again, then a third time. Times three, all hers, her voice said.

Her body fell along his, warm, languid, and sweaty. Good, his mind said. Pleasure times three, it said. A thrall who invited the curse. Good, it repeated, growing ever softer until his mind went blank.

An image of a desk and a computer drifted through his head. Cubicle? Far away, never again.

Warm against him, he felt her presence. His tension remained. Frustration jolted his body as he pushed against a wall he couldn’t cross. Never again, a whisper repeated. Always ready. Always hungry.

Fatigue descended over his body like a web. Still needy. Still desperate. His body gave in, and he lost track of her presence against him.

Sometime later, sunlight found the gap in the blinds and shone a beam directly across Mark’s eyes. Squinting, he shielded his face and opened his eyes.

Glenda’s red hair lay in a mass against his chest, her body pressed against his. Six inches shorter, she curled against him like a beautiful doll, and as he saw his hand on her back, he wondered at how powerful and overwhelming her presence felt; she could topple him with a finger.

She held a possessive arm across his chest, fingers playing at his pectoral. Swallowing, he adjusted, and his body ached, and as it did, his erection hardened.

Stirring, Glenda lifted her head and scanned the bed. Her eyes went to Mark, and a devilish, sleepy smile spread across her face. As it did, her hand slid down his belly. Her fingers closed around his shaft. Mark closed his eyes, the frustration blooming as she began to stroke.

“Perfect. Still ready,” she sighed and continued to stroke. “Quite a night.”

He nodded. “Scary. Hot.”

Eyes bright, she agreed. “Hmmm. Delicious. Wish you could have seen yourself melt.”

The pace of her stroking increased, and he tried to resist. But his body took over, and his hips began to thrust.

“I imagine,” he said, his voice choked. “Would go again though.”

“Presumptuous,” she said. “How do you know I would?”

Her hand hesitated, and he pushed his head against the pillow and gritted his teeth. Resuming her rhythm, she touched his chest. “Mark.”

“Yes, please,” he said, and he heard the pleading in his tone.

“Look at me.”

He lifted his head. She pursed her lips like she meant to kiss him. Mark mirrored the gesture.

In a languid motion, she reached and touched a fingertip to his lips.

His body disconnected, and a quiet cry of protest began and ended as his choice vanished.

“Forever, Mark. Not again,” her voice echoed in his head.