Dark Of Night

By Allen McGill

Lucrezia stalked between the headstones. Her figure cast long, dark shadows onto the granite monuments as she passed between them in the glare of the full moon. She was intense in her hurried search, intent on finding the most advantageous spot.

“Here,” she announced, pointing at a spot with a long, talon-like fingernail. Her black hair was stark against the white shroud.  A simian-like male trudged from side to side behind her, lugging heavy buckets. He lowered his burden to the ground with a grunt, bent to pry off a lid. His fingers, long and hairy, were strong, but thick and clumsy.

Lucrezia’s dark lips curved into a snarl. “Hurry!” she ordered. “It’s nearly midnight. The others will be here soon.” She eased the shimmering garment off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She tossed it atop a nearby marble slab.

The male eyed her with lust, emitting a low, hoarse grumble. He tore the cover off one of the buckets, stepped up onto the other and began to pour the contents across Lucrezia’s shoulders.

Lucrezia writhed and moaned, spreading the fluid over her face and breasts and belly and thighs. Black in the moonlight, the liquid shone with a slick gloss, slowly running down her legs to pool on the grass at her feet.

“Wonderful,” Lucrezia said in a voice husky with passion. “It’s worth it every year, the things I do to win best Halloween costume. Where did you get all this fake blood, anyway?”

The simian stopped pouring. “You wanted fake blood?”