Happy Halloween!!!

Hey all! Hope everyone’s in the fun Halloween spirit today! Our little trick or treaters are all grown up now. One’s out of the house, and the other one will be taking over candy duty tonight. My plan is to get on the grill and cook some hot dogs, set out some Halloween cupcakes, and, later on, enjoy some residual Halloween candy!

Anyway, this year I wanted to share with you a Halloween-themed short story I wrote a few years back. This was published by my main man Mr. Caleb James (a cool customer and fellow literary samurai) over at his website Drunken Pen Writing. Sadly, Caleb had to shut down and retool his site. So this content doesn't exist the same way it used to. But you can definitely read about it here, at my website, where it’s all treats and no tricks!

Yeah. Sorry. I know that was terrible. But I am a father, and dad jokes are kind of ’a thing.’ 

How about I make it up to you with a free, fun short story?

Chek it our below. :)

“Aw hun,” Randal said. “It’s just not the right time. I promise you we’ll do it when it’s right.”

Alistair tuned away, a very non-cat like expression on his otherwise feline face. If he had to listen to Randal much longer, he swore to himself he would puke (then again that could just be a hairball, or the mouse he’d eaten this morning). Either way, Lucy was head over heels for the sonovabitch. Love blinded the young ones like that. Alistair also suspected Lucy’d never had an orgasm prior to meeting Randal. So there was also that to consider.

Alistair’s hissing and clawing at the bastard every time he came around wasn’t giving Lucy the hint, any more than the pointed conversations they’d had on the topic. A witch should always trust the instincts of her familiar. If there was a sorcery handbook that would be rule number one. Alistair shook his head. The ones new to their powers were always the worst.

Randal walked by, hand in and hand with Lucy, heading toward the bedroom. Alistair hissed at him one more time for good measure.

“Alistair!” Lucy said, scolding him. She turned to Randal. “I swear I don’t know what’s wrong with him!”

“I’m great with animals,” Randal said. “He’ll come around. Won’t you kitty?” Randal reached out to scratch Alistair’s chin. Alistair swiped at Randal’s hand. Randal’s reflexes kicked in and Alistair’s claws barely missed raking flesh.

“Whoa!” Randal said, chuckling. Alistair bared his teeth. The bastard actually had the nerve to laugh at him.

You wouldn’t have been laughing twenty years ago the cat thought, cursing his age.

Lucy shot Alistair a we’ll discuss this later look as she led Randal down the hall. Alistair watched her, drunk on love and giddy with excitement as she pulled Randal along behind her.

Alistair hadn’t been a man in several hundred years, but any fool could see Lucy was a pretty girl. Brunette, skin like heavy cream, glasses, petite body even though she didn’t believe in working out, tight little butt and the perky boobs only the very young or the very rich possess. She could certainly do better than Randal.

In their haste they left the bedroom door open. Alistair leapt nimble from the kitchen counter and padded down the hall. He couldn’t catch Randal with his claws, but maybe he could at least just piss on his clothes a little? They were far enough into it that they didn't notice the black cat slip into the room.

Alistair sauntered over to Randal’s pants, which lay neatly folded next to his shirt, socks (?!) and tie.

What kind of asshole takes the time to fold his clothes before a passionate  tryst with a beautiful girl? Alistair wondered. The cat shrugged before he started scratching, looking for a good position to urinate. Randal’s wallet slid from his pocket.

Alistair raised an eyebrow. He glanced up at the bed- Randal was spending some time down south, going to town with Lucy’s legs flopping over his shoulders. They’d be there for a while, Alistair reckoned. A peek into this guy’s wallet couldn’t hurt. Right?

Alistair sat back on his haunches and used his front paws to pull the wallet’s contents. Couple of credit cards, a driver’s license, a sandwich place coupon with 3 out of four holes punched (only 1 away from a free sub!), and a business card. Alistair read the card.

Randal Stevens-Second Chance Motors.

Randal was a used car salesman. Well that figured. Alistair frowned. The business card said Randal Stevens. But hadn’t Randal told Lucy his last name was Jones? Alistair took it as a sign to keep digging. He continued his search until he found a photograph.

Oh, hello? Alistair thought. What's this?

A picture of Randal and a woman, rings on both their fingers.

Jackpot.

Alistair put everything back in the wallet just as he’d found it (except the sandwich place card, which he pocketed) and raced back into the living room.

Alistair’s ears perked up. From the sound of things, Lucy had only reached the alto part of her concerto, which meant  a good twenty or so minutes of lovemaking remained. Alistair hopped up onto Lucy’s computer desk. He pawed to activate the mouse and Lucy’s screen saver popped up. Alistair chuckled to himself. He loved that picture of the two of them. He'd gotten as close as he could to a shit-eating grin without giving away his true nature. The rest of the coven howled every time they came over to the apartment and saw it.

Alistair got comfortable and directed the machine to take him onto social media. Instead of “Randal Jones,” Alistair did a search for “Randal Stevens.”

"Holy shit," Alistair said. There he was. Randal . . . and his wife.

“Can’t believe this bastard's married,” Alistair muttered.  But really he could. Why wouldn’t he be? Married two years, according to the date on his site. He leaned in closer to the screen and saw that Randal’s wife was a real estate agent. They had no children.

Alistair checked out the wife. A dark-skinned beauty-island pretty, as they used to say. She was Jamaican. Or Trinidadian, maybe? Alistair had spent some time on a pirate ship down that way, back when he was a man. No-definitely Jamaican. No way a Trini girl would allow some lame-ass white boy used car salesman to step out on her like that.

Alistair’s eyes turned to slits. The nerve of this schmuck, doing this to his Lucy. No one treated Alistair’s witches like that and got away with it. No one. Then an idea hit.

Alistair erased his search history and locked the screen. The creaking of the bed and the pitch of Lucy’s moans meant there was no time to lose. Alistair bolted from the office chair, leaving it spinning, and headed toward the kitchen. The cat bounded onto the countertop, muttering an incantation as he went. An additional cabinet, hidden right next to the one where the cumin, coriander, and smoked paprika were stored, shimmered into view.

Randal required tea after sex, and he took it only from a certain cup. Alistair snorted-a cheater and a compulsive. Man-Lucy really knew how to pick em.’

Alistair opened the spell cabinet. The cat’s quick yellow eyes darted back and forth over the contents, noting the ingredients he needed.

Lucy screamed out in pleasure. She was done, and Randal never allowed more than five minutes of pillow talk before dressing, having his tea, and leaving. With no time to waste, Alistair balanced on one paw while the other three snatched ingredients from the cabinet-willow root, mandrake, tears of the lily. Almost as an afterthought, Alistair also grabbed the heartsbane.

Alistair slid over to the mortar and pestle. His paws became a blur as he took a pinch of each spell component, tossed it into the mortar and ground it all to a fine, moss-green dust. He added a dash of the heartsbane in, only at the very last. When the mystical herb touched the other spell components there was a flash of green light. Then the cat dumped the powder from the mortar into Randal’s teacup, where it promptly turned a translucent shade of white.

Alistair scooped up the spell ingredients and set each tin back in its rightful place. As he eased the cabinet door shut, he heard footsteps in the hall. Alistair slumped against the cabinet and breathed a sigh of relief.  

Then a nasty shock roiled through the cat’s body.

Dammit! He thought. The spell cabinet! How the hell could he have forgotten that?

Alistair’s cat-lips moved, muttering the words required to make Lucy’s spell cabinet disappear. Alistair looked up, his heart in his throat. The cabinet faded from sight just as Lucy and Randal rounded the corner, leaving nothing but yellowing wallpaper in its wake.

“I’m so happy you could sneak away to see me,” Lucy said, hair disheveled, slim white legs peeking out from under half-open robe, and her grinning like a school girl. She held Randal’s hand and led him to a seat at the kitchen table. Lucy, her eyes never leaving him, grabbed his teacup and filled it with water. She put it in the microwave and set the contraption to humming.

With the water heating, Lucy moved across the claustrophobic kitchen and tried to straddle Randal. “Sure you can’t stay over?” Lucy asked. “You’re more than welcome,” she purred.

 Randal, with his perfect shirt and tie and slacks and not a hair out of place, blocked her from sitting on him. He eyed the robe, the cloth barely covering her slender butt. “Sorry hun-it’s just that I don’t want anything accidentally dripping onto my pants.” He smiled. “You know how I am.”

Lucy giggled. “Of course. I’m Sorry.” She settled for sitting next to him. “So-what about you staying over, then?” Alistair noted the hopeful look on her face.

Randal sighed. “We’ve talked about this, Lucy. You know my job is very demanding. I need my rest, hun-and I can only get that in the comfort of my own home.”

Lucy pouted. The microwave timer sounded. Lucy removed the cup of hot water. She pulled a box of tea bags from the visible, non-spell cabinet and dropped one into Randal’s cup.

Alistair sat motionless, watching Randal like a hawk. This was it-the moment of truth.

Randal caught him staring. “Hey,” Randal said. “I think your cat’s finally warming up to me. And here I thought he was just a hateful, mangy old thing.”

“I hope he’s warming up to you,” Lucy said. She turned to look at Alistair and mouthed an I’m sorry before she turned back to Randal. “I’d love it if the two most important men in my life could get along,” she said.

Alistair pretended to clean his front paw, using it to disguise the gagging gesture he made. Was she serious? From the look of nausea on Randal’s face, they were finally in agreement on something. Randal took a long swallow of his tea. 

Alistair turned away and smiled, pleased with himself that he’d thought to include the heartsbane. It would ensure that, if by some miracle, Randal really was true to his Lucy then no harm would come to him. Couldn’t have the guy dying for no reason, could he? Alistair loved his young witch with a vengeance.

But he wasn’t a monster, after all.

-END-