Dick Lasso's Tomb of Timeless Tales

Why Girls Softball Should Be Illegal.

     The brisk winds of fall had finally arrived in Maine this year and unusually late seeing that it was already around the end of October.  This was only pleasing to me, as I enjoy nothing more than the sensation of New England’s invigorating air gently sweeping past my mahogany ringlets as I walk to school. I took a peek at my feet on the cobblestone sidewalk and smiled to myself as I noticed the rusty brown leaves flouncing while I took each step. Unlike most of my peers, I was eager to be back in school, it isn’t that I don’t fancy summer, but continuous swimming and reading can get a bit monotonous after 2 months. I also find that the colder and darker seasons of the year lend more to introspection and quietness, which I can’t help but prefer over the oppressively hot days of tanning oil and obnoxious bikini adorned sluts. Plus, it was time I got to be with my friends again, but there was something even more appealing this year that encouraged my eagerness to return back to the classroom—the annual senior Halloween party.

     New England makes a pretty big deal out of All Hallows Eve; you got Salem and all that with the witches running around, it’s no surprise. Washington High is well known for its spectacular senior costume party that, this year, I will be invited to attend. I will admit that the time and money spent on this event is ridiculously overblown and the people who run it are not the brightest but hell, it’s a good party and this year I’m proud to say I have a date to take with me.

     I met Griffin at the latest Horror Fest and that’s when we fell in love. I had never dreamt of finding somebody in existence that had the same peculiar proclivities as I did, much less did I think they would enjoy my company, as most people found my strange tastes overwhelming, to put it lightly. This is specifically why both Griffin and I delighted ourselves in fashioning what we believed to be the most gruesome and hideous couple costumes in the history of Halloween. They were an attempt to annoy and frighten all the pretentious old money princesses that spent a car’s worth of money on annoying dresses that looked similar to how I imagine the offspring of a cupcake and my cat’s butthole would appear. As the date came closer, we decided on a zombie bride for my own costume and a creepy clown for his. Typical, I know, but they didn’t fail to live up to our expectations, which were pretty high up there seeing as we are quite the practiced connoisseurs of horror and are not so easily frightened.

     The eve of the party had finally arrived after I had already grown sick of school and the people I had to put up with until the end of the year. We were told it was to be held in the small town’s convention center, which, after the wear and tear of time, had a creepy mansion feel to it that satisfied me. Even better, it was smack in the center of the historic district, which put forward the buildings more authentic features. The historic district really exhibits its horrific brilliance towards this time of year when the raw, cool New England weather and the endless raven cries are a dark omen of things to come.

     Griffin didn’t want me to see the costume that he was apparently proud of before the party so he told me to wait outside the convention center for him at 7:30. It had already become pretty chilly as I waited next to the front and while people began arriving in large groups I became impatient. It didn’t help that each time someone glided through the pumpkin festooned doors a draft of the warm cinnamon scented party wafted along tempting me to go inside until the air quickly became frigid and uninviting again. Needless to say, I stuck to my word and waited outside half-successfully convincing myself that it would all be worth it when Griffin got here decked out in his costume, which was pretty frightening, or so he described it.  Finally, I was able to discern, through the rich darkness of the evening, a beat up grey Honda carelessly driving into the parking lot and I felt a cascade of sudden exhilaration consume my body.

     As who I hoped was Griffin stepped up to the building, I was utterly taken aback by what my eyes saw.  The creature standing ahead of me was entirely inhuman and in all respects horrifying. His mere presence made my blood run even colder than the still atmosphere surrounding my paralyzed body. After he complimented my costume in his youthful, comforting voice, I blatantly lied and said his was frightening, but not as much as I had anticipated. Feeling outdone, I didn’t want to tell him how I felt even though I was perfectly aware he would scare the living shit out of every little pussy at that party. Of course, it didn’t help that I had a weak spot for clowns. I guess it’s that fact that something meant to be so innocent and uplifting has such a sinister and demonic reputation. It’s the dichotomy between good and evil in a clown that makes it so damn creepy. Even I, the weird, fearless horror buff can’t stand them and this costume was living up to my expectations a tad too effectively.

     The most noticeable decorations of the night were the millions of curious eyes filled with terror gazing at Griffin and I, rapidly making judgments as whispers erupted amongst the swarms of goblins, fairies, trolls, princesses, etc. An uncontrollable feeling of accomplishment surged through me and I could tell Griffin was experiencing the same. We looked fucking scary and I had to admit to myself that Griffin was mainly to blame for this. Even I was impressed.

     As the party progressed, we became somewhat immune to the glares and standoffish attitudes and were able to enjoy the spectacle around us. It was my quintessential heaven. The old stonework and architecture of the ceiling was covered in thick webs as well as the dimly lit candle chandeliers. The band playing typical but nonetheless perfect Halloween classics was covered in a veil of orange and black sparkles while the food table behind them served everything from candied apples to ‘vampire blood’. As I continued scoping out the area I noticed a family of zombie figurines casually dining in the corner of the hall right in front of the bathroom. Right next to them was an old wooden door that looked promising, and it was then that I realized there might be a small graveyard behind the building.

     Almost half of this area of town is covered in graveyards because of how picturesque and diverse the scenery is year around. I suppose only idiots wants to spend a lot of money to rot in a nice place, but I thank these rich geriatrics because I do really like cemeteries, especially these creepy traditional kind that date back to the mid 1700s. After telling Griffin my hunch about the cemetery, we made our way to the backdoor. He said he had to use the men’s room so I ventured out on my own and was pleased to see that my hunch was correct. There was indeed a graveyard and it looked like a movie scene complete with the fog coming from the windows of the party. As I followed the fading path further in, the sound of stillness and the typical soundtrack of the night drowned the sounds of laughter and music from the party slowly fading into the past. Something about graves appeased me, the opposite effect as it usually has on the conventional human soul. As I advanced forward I remembered it had been almost ten minutes since I last saw Griffin and so I plopped down on a stone bench covered in dead ivy to wait. As I scrutinized it closer, I noticed a small cursive engraving with what seemed to be a couples name on it. I pondered how foolish people were to spend money left and right on lame things like engravings when a shadow appeared from the direction of the party. The outline looked familiar, like Griffin’s costume.

     The thick darkness hindered my vision enough so that I couldn’t tell colors apart very well but as the figure approached, my tenseness was relieved to see a clown costume appearing from what was just a spot in the twilight. Never had I envisioned myself finding relief in seeing a clown. I said a casual greeting and asked him if the chaperons gave him any trouble while he was on his way here. He shrugged and incoherently mumbled in that typical aloof manner of his.

     He sat down next to me and we embraced the calm beauty of the night together in the purest silence. In a slow instance, Griffin brushed my tattered cloak aside with his gloved hand and began to feel my bare thigh seductively. Without further ado, he began to lick and bite my neck furiously while ripping down my underwear only to thrust one, two and then three of his fingers into my pulsating vagina. His head began moving to the lower half of my body and while we began to move as one. I yelped in pleasure when his tongue, straight through the opening in his mask, propelled itself forcefully in one swift movement right into my anus.

     The cool air surrounding us soon wasn’t enough to keep our bodies from sweating profusely and in the best of places. He removed every item of my clothing passionately thrusting his body back in forth against mine. He ripped down his pants in one swift movement and his bizarrely limp but blood red penis entered my vital body in a moment that was beyond describable. The fatty layers of my clitoris erupted in colors of cherry red and hot pink with the horny fury of Rick Perry in an all boys boarding school without supervision. My legs started kicking and thrusting in all directions while I yelped inarticulately in pleasure. As I was approaching my orgasmic climax, I burst in tears of unimaginable delight as blood started to furiously pump out of my pussy. I watched as the clown removed his penis from within me in a violent rupture listening to and feeling the rush of liquids surge from inside. He shoved it sadistically into my mouth, without holding anything back. I savored the fresh blood like a newborn vampire as the flaccid penis flew back and forth into my ready, blood oiled lips.

     Suddenly the penis detached from his body and he grabbed my shoulders violently to keep me from flailing wildly at the gruesome sight. He grabbed my hands, preventing them from removing the limp ridged meat from my saliva-flooded mouth. Struggling to breath in air, I floundered back and forth relentlessly until it fell right into my bare lap and having a free mouth, screamed bloody murder. He managed to punch me directly in my right eye with his bony fists and my consciousness began to escape me. The last occurrence I recall was the sound of heavy breathing spitting moist air onto my face which then faded into nothing but silence.

     The next morning I awoke clothed in a t-shirt and shorts in my own bed. Lifting my head from the pillow was like being hit in the head with a hammer. My eye was still throbbing from the night before and my lips were chapped. As I observed my body, I noticed bruises surrounding the area near my crotch and remnants of crusted blood remained along my abdomen and inner thighs. Twisting my neck was almost impossible and the pain for a while kept me from registering the fact that I had made it back to my house. I tried with a great mental effort to remember the events of the past evening but failed to recall much. Realizing that I was home safe and couldn’t possibly have driven myself last night, I darted towards my window and apprehensively removed the curtain to see if my car was in the driveway—it was. Evidently, the events of last night were not those of a dream because my beaten body was tangible proof of that. But, why did Griffin behave so violently and why did his penis fall off?

     I spent a solid 20 minutes trying to digest my memory and clarify what was my imagination and what was not. Afraid to call Griffin and possibly risk embarrassing myself, I went downstairs and had a coffee.

     In the kitchen, I saw dirty dishes lying around that my parents must have used before leaving for work. I turned on the coffee maker and looked outside temporarily preoccupied by the beauty of the dewy early morning, but a slight turn of my neck reminded me that my body had been in a vegetative state last night and so returned me to my previous paranoid disposition. A slight motion seemed to occur in the corner of my eye and I managed a painful but quick turn around to find that it was just my cat Phyllis ready to be fed. In frustration at my lack of physical mobility, I poured myself a mug of steaming coffee and lethargically sat at the table in the nook by my kitchen. Completely unsure of what to do about my situation, I found ways to entertain myself. This eventually led me to pick up the morning newspaper, which I never do, and what I saw compelled me so stare at the front page in outright, disgusted shock. Griffin’s intensely dark eyes seemed to be staring at me from the thin-flecked paper.

“Body of Washington High teenager Griffin M. found bare stranded in historic district’s west graveyard, missing male genitalia. Main suspect is female softball coach Ada Mann who was found by her partner Nancy Lancy sleeping in her bed with said genitalia and his clothing from the night before.”