The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Costume Party; a “Hypnotic Shoppe” story

MC, adult, nc, hm, furry, AB, transformation

DISCLAIMER: This material is for adults only; it contains explicit sexual imagery and content of an adult nature. If you are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age in your area, do NOT continue.

SYNOPSIS:

Something’s gone wrong at the private Halloween party at the funeral home on the hill. Very special costumes are having erotic and terrifying results, and the Hypnotic Shoppe gang have gone to the rescue!

Costume Party 5

Soaked by thick fog, the tall thin boy in the black Manchu shirt/jacket, and Kelly, the redheaded Criminal Justice student, peered into basement windows, hoping for signs of activity. The blackened windows revealed only mischievous intent, and whetted the curiosity of Kelly. Manchu leaned against the wall of the old whitewashed mansion, watching Kelly grind the dying October grass into the knees of her bluejeans, enjoying the view.

A hulking shadow appeared at the far end of the building, barely illuminated by the masked moon. Slow, deliberate, cocky, the humanesque figure appeared. His voice was a lilting baritone, melodic and compelling. He sounded vaguely familiar.

“Hi there. Sorry I didn’t keep up earlier. Now it’s your turn to be sorry, heh heh heh.”

Kelly leaped up, staring at the foggy outline of a muscular man.

“Berger?” She felt absolute terror leaching the heat from her spleen, and marrow. She wasn’t sure why, but she was sure she needed to run.

“Meet my new friends.” The rich and dangerous voice finished speaking just as two more shadows bolted around the corner, running at an unbelievable pace.

Manchu’s feet knew what to do before even he did. Beside him was Kelly, who took his cue. The wet grass made swishing noises as the two ran into the fog to the back of the building. Their hearts pounded in their ears, deafening them to how close their assailants were. The cold wet fog stung on their cheeks and matted Kelly’s hair. She thought she heard laughter behind her, but no footsteps. The aura of dread and fear still emanated from somewhere close behind her, so her legs still strained at full speed. Her training for the police force, and her years in track at school gave her an affinity for the pounding in her chest, the coursing rush of hot blood through her neck, and behind her eyes. Kelly loved to run.

In the fog ahead, just as the thick blanket of cloud loosened its grip on the after-midnight illumination, the outline of a barn appeared. Several steps ahead, Kelly slid the wooden board over, and swung the huge, heavy barn door out and right. It groaned, but widened enough for Manchu to streak through the opening. Kelly had it shut a half second before a large body slammed against the aging timber, shaking the entire building.

“Pin it!” A large sweaty man, blackened with soot, waved a dark iron set of tongs. Put that wooden pin through the board!”

Kelly and Manchu looked around, like unbelieving children given an impossible task. They simultaneously realized the wooden pin, and the locking board, were on the outside.

The large dirty man smelled of coal and tortured steel when he got close enough. He lumbered quick for his size, and though he seemed mild, and nice, his great arms and seven foot height made him ominous and foreboding. Manchu backed against the door.

The being on the other side shrieked loud and hysterically, and everyone jumped away from the door, kicking up straw and dust. The four or five fuel lamps burned with a smoky impure light.

Kelly held her hand out to the blacksmith with the acceptance of a soldier that finds another soldier in the same foxhole, against a common enemy. The big man looked at her with disapproval, but a moment of absorbing her resolved aura, and her emerald eyes, and he softened to a half smile. He shook her hand. Manchu spoke.

Look, I’m going to run out there, about twenty paces, and come hauling back see? When they watch me or chase me, you get the crappy door lock board! We gotta get the Hell out of here and tell the police!”

Kelly’s eyes turned from solid and lovely to watery and pleading.

“Sir, can you help us get downtown? They’re watching our cars now I’m sure. You wouldn’t have a phone would you?”

The large man smiled, and with a nod, walked away quickly toward his glowing forge in the rear. Manchu had slid a rake through two door handles, which gave the illusion of safety, but could not withstand any attempt to break in. Kelly smiled at Manchu.

“Wow, you’re pretty cool, I should have gone to that rave with you I guess.”

Manchu looked at his feet, his chest sinking.

“Maybe, um, when we get out of here,” he stammered.

“Ok.” Kelly leaned forward enough to kiss his forehead, which normally was higher than she stood by a few inches, but had leaned down to kissing height.

Manchu looked up with the cocky smile she’d become accustomed to. His body inflated with ego till he stood at his full height and twice his strength. Both glanced quickly as they heard the blacksmith approach, and saw he dragged large heavy leather and strapping, blankets, obviously to block the door. The two young Goths looked back at each other, and before he knew it, Manchu had exploded out the door, the rake rattling against the dirt-packed floor. Kelly pulled the wooden door, grasping wildly for its edge and yanking with all the might her light but muscular body could muster.

She felt the splinters pierce her hand but continued to lean backward, the slowly swinging barn door sped up its closing. The huge sweaty man pressed against Kelly’s back, and with his right hand, hooked the edge of the door, he pulled the door toward Kelly, while pressing himself and Kelly toward the large wooden doors. The three met with a shudder of beams and dust. Kelly didn’t think about the man against her as much as the splinters in her hand. She clutched her hand to her chest, then began inspecting the wound.

A blur passed Kelly’s eyes. She looked up from her wounded hand.

“Whaa”, she began.

A hard cold metal bar pressed into Kelly’s mouth and rattled against her ivory teeth. There was a quick cinching sound of straps pulled tight, and a pulling of her hair caught in the leather straps of the bit and head harness. Kelly’s hands went to her mouth, her eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted an inch into her bangs. She groaned a muffled noise as her hands gripped the sides of the device. The blacksmith spoke.

“There, there, there. Easy girl. Easy. Relax girl, only takes a second.”

Kelly backed against the door, her legs burning and pulling with cramps. He spine was making cracking and popping noises like after a day at a track meet. She knew if she opened the door the stalking danger of the Once-Berger would claim her.

“There, I said I’d get you two to safety. Don’t worry, they won’t eat you like my other ponies.”

Kelly’s heart pounded so loud she could barely hear the man. Her shoulders popped painfully, and her elbows turned to overcooked noodles, dropping her arms to her sides against her will. Pain shot up her hips and small of her back. She was staring the man in the eye, frozen in fear.

“Good girl, lean forward girl or it’ll hurt more, good, good,” he grabbed her t shirt, and with one quick tug he ripped the shirt from the collar to its hem. Kelly tried to back away but was already against the door. She lifted her front legs to hit the attacker, and noticed her elbows now bent the wrong way, and her arms were much longer. The man’s arms were powerful as he placed his left hand behind Kelly’s neck, and pulled. She staggered and fell forward, throwing her front legs out to break the fall. The heels of her hands felt the straw and floor smack against them, but her fingers were welded together. She felt however a welcome release from behind, or rather on top. She had grown too large for the restraining bra, and her groomer had released her from it. It dropped down to the dirty ground. She looked down at it, and as she put her nose to it, her ribs popped in sequence from her collar bone to lowest.

“There, Red. There, girl. See it stopped hurting. Just relax, breathe deep, it’s almost done.”

She smelled on the bra, a cologne she remembered was hers, fruity and light. She picked up the sweat and fear, the cigarette smoke from the bar she had visited, and the soap she washed with in the shower. The straw now covering it was fresh, had been cut in the last few weeks, and had been mingled with rich greens. She tried to remember what she was doing a moment ago, but she was so hungry it blocked all thought. She felt bizarre release, and fresh air caress her legs. She tensed her sphincter and butt muscles and felt long flowing hair brush the backs of her knees. She tensed her lower spine, and her tail stretched into the air. She lifted her head, smelling her tail and standing stunned at the sight, though she couldn’t grasp why she was amazed. She heard the groomer and settled her frantic thoughts.

“Good Red. There, there, now. Let me get your blanket and saddle ready for your rider now. You’d like to go for a run, wouldn’t you?”

Red thought, trying to grasp the who, the what, the past, the need. A blanket was lain across the smooth short red hair of her back and haunches. It was warm, and soft. She saw the human lift a small saddle up, with one hand.

“Want to go for a run?”

Red remembered, she loved to run.

Detective Prout frowned.

“Sergeant, he stole it. Plain and simple. That was without question the most ludicrous story I have ever heard. This man is wasting my time. Lock him up, and take that thing somewhere to hold till the owner is found.”

The tall boy in the Manchu coat now sat in a hard plastic chair in a small white interrogation room of the local police precinct house. The fluorescent light made the lime green plastic chairs seem surreal. His tears and sweat had drenched his coat-shirt, and he was now wearing only a tight black t-shirt, and black leather pants. Sergeant Michael Narro scratched his thick, wavy red hair.

“Sir, that just don’t add up. He didn’t come here because we collared him, he came here straight, and judging by his mount, they ran at a full gallop maybe ten miles. No sir, that just don’t add up to me.” Sergeant Narrow was a mounted police officer in Cody Wyoming for six years before selling his farmland and moving where the pay was better.

“Please,” Manchu spoke with the resigned attitude of a man that knew he was lost. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, or if you don’t go check out the party at the cemetery, or if you even think I stole anything, just please, please, don’t hurt Kelly.”

The detective threw his hands into the air, standing so fast his chair fell over and bounced on the white tiles.

“Let’s go back to the vampires. Real ones you say,” Manchu cut off the older man.

“Hell, I don’t know. They sure looked real. They scared the unholy water out of me, I can tell you that.”

The thin, older man continued. “Right, right. So you got back in the barn, stole this horse to come and tell us about the rave, right?”

Manchu’s eyes opened wide, his face darkened, and his tightening fists caused his knuckles to crack.

“I didn’t steal Kelly, you pork chop looking, powdered donut eating,,,” His rant was cut short by the sergeant’s gentle hand on the young man’s tense shoulder.

“Sir, I never did hear him say it was a rave, just a costume party. Now sir, maybe instead of causing a fuss over this, I could take a few men, load the horse into our trailer, and go check out the estate. If everything’s ok, that’s an end to it.”

The weary detective on third shift nodded.

“ But I just tried the phone numbers there, and got no answer, so we’ll be going right now. Ready son?” The large rancher-turned-officer smiled warmly.

The weary goth nodded.

The red-haired quarter horse backed away nervously as Sergeant Narro approached. Manchu waved his hands frantically.

“Kelly! Kelly! It’s ok, he’s a friend, it’s ok,, it’s,,” He began to cry. It wasn’t ok. His feel-good drugs wore off the moment growling men, smelling like rancid foul meat, chased him into a barn, smelling like cow manure and hot straw, and he saw his new love interest in mid-transformation. Her body was long, but thin, and her body hair was so light it was difficult to see. If she had been able to stand erect, her bony naked body would have been seven or eight feet tall. She had her head turned around toward her rear, and the dirty barn door Manchu had just barred shut.

Her eyes were pleading. The sound of the hair growing over her body resembled hundreds of crickets whispering. Her skin twitched and muscles spasmed, though she seemed unable to feel it much. Her ever growing bushy tail covered her privates, when it wasn’t swishing and twitching nervously. Her jaw cracked so loud it could be heard a hundred feet away, like a large dry branch being snapped. She yelped, a mixture of feminine shriek and deep throated bray. She shook her head several times, obviously hurt by the stretching of her face, the filling out of her jaw line, the extra weight of her head in general.

When she looked back at Manchu, she appeared to be a horse in almost every way, her thickness, her coat, her shape. Her eyes however were clearly intelligent, still human, and still in shock and dismay.

The barn owner, standing in front of her at this point, then waved a handful of sugar cubes in front of her lips. She held fast her gaze on Manchu for several seconds, while the large blacksmith stroked Kelly’s mane, and talked soothingly.

Her eyes glanced quickly to the sweaty, dirty palm filled with hardened cubes of sweet glucose. The new mare’s nose twitched against them for a moment and then with her lips, Kelly picked up one and ate it. Never looking up, she devoured them all, while the large man reassured her. She finished the cubes and licked her lips as the man then fitted the straps and completed her riding gear. Kelly’s head raised, her eyes large, dark and rounded, her gaze unfixed and contented. Kelly had been absorbed and subsumed, and a new red mare stood in her place.

Manchu expressed these thoughts and feelings in private to Michael Narro, as the sergeant brushed the mare’s right side. The mare leaned into the brushing, obviously enjoying it. She walked by herself into the horse trailer, with the bright shiny sticker of the police badge on the side. With one little whinny, and a bray, she nodded her head as the doors closed behind her. She’d never ridden in a trailer before, and scratched the floor with her sore hooves. She’d rather be running.

She loved to run.

The basement of the Victorian manor home that had become Pleasant Hill Funeral Home, was now a gothic, tortured, demented nightmare.

Normally cold and damp, it was now nearly totally dark, save for a small fire in the far east corner, where the furnace and water heater was. Fifteen people had come to the party dressed as creatures of the night- vampires, ghouls, undead cheerleaders and football players mingled happily at the crystal punch bowl with werewolves, princesses, adult babies and knights in armor. But something happened, the costumed guests at Angela Flock’s All Hallows Eve party had changed, transformed into their costumes’ characters, physically, and for the most part, mentally. For some, like a maiden, a ‘80s big haired groupie, or a football player, there might seem to be little difference, but the fifteen undead creatures had no such luck.

Their bodies and faces quickly warped, and in under a minute they completed agonizing and hideous changes. Teeth grew or fell from bleeding gums, eyes melted from their sockets, withered, dried up, and hung down their cheeks. Skin decayed on their arms, legs, genitals, and their brains. The pain ended as the nerve ends ceased to report, but the memory of pain continued, causing the unfortunate partiers to feel only cold, loss, shriveled withering, and a slight knowledge of what they now were and never would be again. Their moans and shrieks were genuine, spine chilling, and terrifying.

Though vampires had lengthened teeth and increased strength, and could effect some mental control over prey, for the most part, only physical changes that were natural had occurred. Vampires weren’t spreading wide leathery wings in flight, and the bite of one, or a ghoul or werewolf, didn’t transform someone. It took a piece of a costume to complete a change from normal office document mule, to real life mule. One change that seemed to occur though was the evil undead’s newfound thirst for blood, and their body’s ability to find nourishment from the hot red hemoglobin.

There had been many sacrificed to the basement. First in exchange for leaving on the lights and heat, then for promise of safety and alliance, and finally for the canned foods kept in the cellar, which no longer gave life to the walking dead, but did keep alive their foodsource. Trading sacrifices for canned beans was a win-win situation for the forces of evil.

Bodyparts, gnawed on and decomposing, lay in corners and spread across the floor. Blood had dried on the cement basement floor making it sticky. The whole room smelled of death, like roadkills on their second day. Groaning from the ghastly and the half-eaten filled the dark dank pit. It was too cool for many bugs but mice were scurrying, invisible in the darkness. In the far east corner, two vampires and an intelligent ghoul, had two bodies tied to a wall. The creatures had left, but in the near absolute dark, how could anyone be sure.

The first was that of a young man named Fred, but who thought he was a Scottish celtic warrior named Ceth. Telephone cable and thin metal wire held him upright, bound at his neck, shoulders, elbows, hips, thighs, and knees. The wire cut in places, causing some bleeding, but not seriously. His body had been stripped of all clothing, except for his celtic ring on his left ring finger- the only finger not yet chewed off. His head leaned up, turning slightly to the left, to look at the woman beside him, with his left, and only, eye.

Similarly strapped to the wet stone wall, arms out however like she was crucified, was a short, athletic blonde woman in her late twenties. She had long naturally blonde hair that hung down, hiding her face, her naked torso, and stopped just below her groin. She was pretty, and still physically intact. She wore only a small black leather collar that her master had bestowed on her, from which hung the bright pastel nipple pacifier on a pink ribbon that her Momma had given her, some unremembered number of years ago. Her body was its natural shape however, not altered by the strange transforming effects of the costumes. Years of dance practice, gymnastics, yoga and proper diet had earned her a coveted trophy. Her special teas and strange “chiklets” had preserved her physique. The mind of the sacrificial slave however, had been left unprotected since her protective charms had been removed. Bare to the unrelenting and insistent power in the costume pieces, many of her true thou

ghts had slowly been lead by the mystical pied piper costumes, till they were locked away, sleeping in subconscious suspension. Devoid of her true ideas and thoughts, these empty mental rooms were willing receptacles for any filth deposited inside. She had been fooled by a slave mistress, and against her Master’s wishes, switched for the true sacrifice. She had no memory of her college courses, her business, with the dance studio above, or who her parents were. She clutched to what few old memories she retained, while unwittingly incorporating new ones. She hung immobile, casting a glance sideways at the fellow foodsource, resigned to her fate- the fate of a pleasure slave, the fate of an infant in a grown body, matured by slavers and taught her new trade. A pleasure slave granted a name by her Master. A name whispered in long ago evenings, as her Momma stroked her hair and breastfed her. Her name was Crystal.

“If we can just get my arm free I could reach my axe”, groaned the beaten celt.

“I’m too weak, great warlord. They have drained me of blood. My head pounds with pain.” Crystal shrugged her shoulders, feeling the electric cables tighten across her shoulders and ribs, her midriff and elbows. Rain outside had begun to seep through the walls, and a thin line of water ran down just behind Crystal’s right shoulder, warmed slightly as it passed behind the hollow of her spine, and splashed against the small of her back. Cold water ran down both sides of her butt cheeks and hips, as well as straight down the center. She had given up trying to move away- she didn’t mind the rain, so why mind this, she figured. She looked back up in the direction of the warrior’s voice.

“Listen beautiful slavegirl, our lives depend on your breaking one of those cables, which are easier than the metal which binds me. Is there nothing that you live for?”

She that was called Crystal dove off the edge of her conscious mind into the shallow pool of memory, making sense of what she could.

“This slave remembers, I am Crystal, pleasure slave to my great Master Teecha, daughter of a slave that this one only recalls as Momma, or maybe Wayne, though that must be wrong.” She found random threads in her mental attic and tried to knit them into facts, but even time was an abstract concept to her.

“Think, concubine! What drives you to carry on?”

The answers washed into her brain like daylight through a graveyard at dawn.

“Oh! There’s my mantra! I’ve had it since I was a baby. Let’s see”, she thought out loud, slowly reeling in dusty memories which may or may not have been right, but were all very real to her now.

“Um,, I’m to forget and relax, and suck and obey, wait.” Older, thicker memories slowly floated down her mental thoughtstream like large oaktrees down a creek.

“Find Angela, this one has to find Angie, someone named Angie,, and be a good girl, and Buzz, sweet Buzz”, she continued.

“Your lover?” the warrior pried.

“Um,, I think,, yes, yes I think so. Buzz was, I have to return to him, I must!” Crystal wept tears down her dirty face, Joyous tears flowed for a loving memory she brought back from the grave, to life again. A memory of young, tall Buzz, in armor, his muscular body youthful and his face clean. How they had loved each other, how she had spent all those nights as a young girl, wishing he would come to her in the bean field, and take her. She would not have been pleasing to a man such as he, she was inexperienced then, and afraid of her desires, and afraid to please a man. But now she was the best and favored pleasure slave of Master Teecha, and if she could get free, she vowed she would return home to her village. She would help her Momma with the bean field again, and the horses, and the knitting. She would wait for her childhood crush to show her affection, and slowly reel him in, with long walks down by the fishing lake, and hours of giggling and talking about his advent

ures, and maybe a few of hers. Then would she ease his weary muscles with the secrets of massage she had learned. Then would she wash his hair and clean his feet, rubbing perfumed rags of massaging oils along his tan and rippling body. She would repel, act afraid and apologize to him for forgetting herself. She would stand as he held her, reassuring that she’d done nothing wrong. Then as he kissed her, she would slowly melt in his rough arms, and begin moving her body in the subtle motions of the sexual dance which she had become so proficient. She would connect every inch of his skin to her own, his hills filling her valleys, her own mounds crushed by his steel chest, his gripping hands, She would lay beside him as he snored, sated and satisfied. When he woke, she would ask him if he wanted her to leave, if he was mad. She knew that at that moment he would buy her into his heart forever, and she would be his forever. She reveled in the pleasant memories that she had actual

ly never had, and decided upon action.

Several minutes of intense pulling on her right shoulder and arm caused the electric cables to stretch and loosen. She had also cut herself deeply, drawing blood in the crook of her elbow. Pain strobed at her elbow, like a throbbing sexual member, causing her pulse to quicken, breath to come in rapid sucking action, and a strange arousal to overcome her. A few minutes later, and another cut, across her left upper thigh, and the pleasure slave fell to the floor.

A cold wind blew lightly through the black room, breathing the smell of death. Crystal leaned up onto her arms and knees, shaking her head to clear the pounding. At her head was the large and very deadly True Value axe the great celtic warrior wielded. She stood.

‘Get him his blade, free him, run home, Buzz, find Angie,’, she chanted inside. She leaned against the large chopping weapon.

‘Drag this, this, there”, she thought as his fingers now tickled the wooden glossy handle.

‘Find my way,,’ her thoughts were mingling, muddying, an inner voice helping make sense of it all as she stared into the dark and repeated her thoughts.

‘Run home, forward, be a good girl, more, find Angie, stand here.’ She heard several feet behind her, on the wall, the sound of wire twanging and snapping as the celt was nearly free. The slave had walked a few paces into the blackness. She hesitatingly stepped forward, her bare feet sticking to the cement.

‘Buzz,, and do what I’m told,, suck and obey,, obey,, raise my arms out at my sides.’ The warrior’s body slapped to the ground, the head of the axe making a loud clank. In the distance a strange shouting of voices could be heard. Crystal had her arms up at her sides like a good girl would, when the feeling of small mosquitoes began tickling them. Her glazed over mind kept chanting in circles.

‘Run home, Buzz, Breed for them,, feed them from my body, so weak, hard to stand,,’ her knees buckled, but she was held up by the two tall, withered vampires, sucking her last blood drops from her arms.

The sound of True Value axe cleaving a skull, and the rapid acceleration of that body toward the ground, caused a shock to Crystal’s body on her right. She couldn’t think what that meant, only that she had to stand still and feed them, arms drooping at her sides.

“Die you gory freak of nature, die!” The celtic warrior’s voice was broken, scared, but his nature was not to quit. He would die with his axe swinging, taken down by the other fourteen undead. He could hear the slight shifting of their deadened limbs, smell their closeness, targeting without vision as he had done in many cave battles. His sidestep brought him in contact with soft, smooth, warm skin; the skin of the naked slave. He draped her right arm over his shoulder.

“Cling to me, slavegirl, and beware my right arm’s swinging!” Crystal nuzzled into the celt’s underarm, curling up tightly beside him breathing in his musky scent in the dark.

“Ffffffoooooool, now die,,,” a dark voice hissed. The groans were so loud now and from all sides, Crystal wished her life to end before another moan could bellow. She prayed inside to be taken, or killed quickly, or for Buzz.

Wood splintered with a quick, sharp crack, and several bodies holding torches filled the cold chamber with flickering light, and smoke. It was then she saw them- a dozen bent and twisted ghoulish forms, only inches from her own frozen stiff body.

The celt swung, felling one, while the others dragged and leaped toward the doorway. Crystal closed her eyes as the sounds of hacking, dismembering, and screaming, filled her ears. She could not feel the warrior anymore, as he leapt into the fray. The pleasure slave curled up onto the floor, covering her ears, and yelling for it all to stop. The sounds of the crowd became cheers, and she opened one eye, and stopped her own screams.

In front of her, holding his wounded arm, with a bloody stake in his hand, was Master Teecha. His bald head and large body commanded all the room. She laughed, but wasn’t sure why. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and chin.

Beside him was several knights in armor, glinting in the flicker. They were yelling “Huzzah!” and clasping each other. Back the other side of the slave’s owner stood another tall and imposing figure, still holding the lifeless body of a toothless, bloody ghoul, back broken. The woman was almost as tall as Teecha, but twice his weight. Crystal began to sob, and couldn’t stop.

“Mmm, mmmmmm, Momma?” Choked sobs could not be contained.

“Baby! Oh my baby,,” Crystal was hugged in a tight hug and showered with kisses, her sweaty blonde locks combed back, and whispers of “it’s ok now”, showering her.

Soon the room was full of lanterns and torches, and many of the room’s warriors had left. Crystal heard Master Teecha’s voice by the doorway.

“You promised that you would let us live if we helped, and I have done so, but it is hard to give up all my possessions, puny knight.” The tall, skinny, sword-wielding knight looked unafraid. Beside him was a muscular blonde woman in a bloody jeans jacket, holding a police baton. The doorway was blocked with dark clad, gothy young people, holding chair legs, and shards of wooden tables- all sharpened to pierce a vampire’s heart.

“Where is she?? TELL ME!” Buzz was less the bass player and more the prince of his realm. Momma hugged Crystal, and spoke gently into her dirty face.

“Baby, these weird people have some things for you, some presents, and they want to talk to you, is that ok? Because if it isn’t,” She was cut off.

“Yes Momma, this one,, um, I, I guess so.” The regal prince-like young man stepped in front of her Master, his sweaty face gleaming in the firelight. Teecha was led away by the Goths. The armored man kneeled by Crystal’s left side.

“Wendy? Do you know your name?” He had a great look of concern.

“Sir, this one is very sorry, she is called Crystal.” The man looked worried, but spoke with a calm voice.

“Ok, well, I’m called Buzz.” At that moment, the frightened blonde’s eyes widened, and she began to sob again. Her arms slowly reached forward, until Buzz, realizing she was reaching for him, reciprocated with a strong torso and caring arms. Momma stood slowly, happy at the fact her daughter yet lived, and yet sad that she would soon be marrying and moving away from her again. The short dark haired girl named Amy, that claimed to be a friend of her daughter’s, helped Momma out the door, to the sounds of her daughter’s tears of joy and relief.

“Oh my Beloved!” Eyes blinded by tears, Crystal felt Buzz’s face like a blind woman reading Braille. Her breasts rubbing against his chest and arm, she locked her trained lips to his, kissing him quickly and lightly. His hands pulled her away, and she looked into his eyes with bewilderment. The room was nearly empty now, save these two souls and a lantern.

“Look it’s not that I don’t want to ravage you, but first,” he held out a fist full of small anklets, wristlets, and amulets. Some had glimmering colored stones, others small silver charms that dangled from their delicate chains. She knelt dutifully on her knees, bowing and still as he undid the leather collar on her neck, and flung it into the wall. She never let her gaze break from his. She who was called Crystal looked down at the gifts Buzz held, and felt tired. Tired and dizzy and confused.

“First put these on, ok?”

MONTHS LATER

“Well, that sounds like a good place to leave off for tonight,” The calm baritone voice of the heavyset, graying man stated. He closed his expensive dayplanner, never losing contact with the eleven men and women seated in a circle in the small carpeted college classroom.

“You have all made tremendous progress since that night, one year ago. The trauma you all experienced, both mental and physical, has altered you, sure, but you’ve worked hard at embracing your true selves, and moving on with your lives in a positive way. Next week is our first Halloween since the costume party, and I know some of you will have problems handling it, so I want you to take this handout with the names and phone numbers of the other crisis group members, and remember our pact,” he waited. The room inhaled, and a strong singular voice echoed off the chalkboard, whiteboard, and windowed walls.

“I am an individual, I am strong. I am no less important than the stars. I will communicate with my crisis brothers and sisters. I am not alone.”

“Very good. See you next week.” The portly therapist stood, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. Wendy, in a purple peasant shirt, short-sleeved, and white denim jeans, spoke loudly to catch the counselor as he turned to leave.

“Victor? What if we need to call you,, would that be okay?” With her arms down, clutching her hemp bookbag, she looked unusually vulnerable.

“Now Wendy. First call your crisis partner, then if you still have issues, call me.” He nodded to his right with his head. The man just to the shop owner’s left was tall, thickly muscular, his Brooks suit custom made to fit over his huge chest, massive arms and thigh, and thick neck. His wavy black hair and glittering blue eyes made him impossible to ignore, and undeniably attractive.

“Fred may have dashing good looks now, but he’s missing an eye, three fingers on his left hand and still has nightmares of the torture in that, Gerrie used most of her husband’s wealthy family’s inheritance to fix her deformed body.”

Wendy nodded, noting how well the doctors had done, in surgically turning a withered and warped, skin-rotted ghoul, into a fairly attractive middle-aged woman. Only a slight paralysis in the left side of her face belied her hideous past.

“And Angela, the friend you sit with,” pointing to the catatonic college girl in her chair, her golden hair braided behind her, hands in her lap.

“Yes, Doctor Krauss, I know, but she’s gotten so much better I think. Her boyfriend, Buzz, the one I mention in therapy, still won’t attend the meetings, but he works with her all the time.”

“Do you still feel passionately for him?” Victor Krauss made mental noted of Wendy’s eye movements, stance and vocal tone.

“No. I was almost over that before I met that man from Blueblood. After all I went through with him last month, I feel like my sense of self got a swift kick and it’s working properly now!” Wendy giggled.

“Do you still harbor feelings for Doctor Nelson from the English department here in the University?” The aged counselor recorded in his mind, how the young store owner and dance instructor visibly slumped, her eyebrows wrinkled, and noted her rapid erratic breathing.

“Teecha,” Wendy whispered. “Um, no, I don’t really think about him.” Wendy had half-lied, since though she did not try to think of him, she often found herself adrift in unbidden daydreams. Actual past sexual acts of her not-actual past life wafted through her head on calm occasions, or when something recalled one of her semi-fabricated memories. She had seen a woman in the Blueblood sex lounge, hanging from leather straps, which bound her arms upward toward the ceiling. Similar straps had been used by Teecha on more than one occasion, and though memories of countless different instances of correction were catalogued in Wendy’s grey matter, she knew that most of them had to be false, if not all. She also then noticed she’d been staring at the wall for several seconds.

“Well, we shall have to work on some of that next week perhaps, Wendy. A good evening to you.”

As Doctor Krauss moved off to Wendy’s left, she saw in the back of the room, a tall thin boy in a black leather jacket helping Angela put on her coat. She listened carefully as they spoke, and walked out the classroom.

“You know how to do it Angela, finish buttoning it.”

“Yes Master.”

“There are no masters, Angela! Aren’t you getting that from your therapy? How was it today?

“This one learned she needs to filter out more created memories, and lean on my crisis partners.”

“Way cool Angela!” That’s great, really great.”

‘Their voices were too soft to be heard as they walked down the stairs at the end of the hall, and with their absence, Wendy stood alone in the large carpeted classroom, with only the buzzing of fluorescent lights accompanying her. Still and relaxed, she stood with her coat half on, tears flowing for several seconds before she wiped them away with her sleeve and briskly rushed from the room.