jointhecrowesnest

[jointhecrowesnest]

Mischief Night 1

October thirtieth, affectionately referred to as Mischief Night in the small town of Caleb, New Jersey, creates a shift in the teenage population. What are, generally, polite and thoughtful young people morph into a group of vandalizing thugs, causing light mayhem in their wake. Oak trees, complete with toilet paper cascading down their branches and weaving through the newly reddened leaves, line the streets. Egg whites drip off freshly redecorated houses and cars, creating a plop, plop soundtrack that brings smiles to the faces of the young and disdain to the hearts of their parents. The eggs seem to bounce off the ground in perfect rhythm, building to a crescendo that inevitably explodes with the thud of a pumpkin smashing against the pavement.

In Caleb Central High School, Mischief Night also happened to be a colloquialism for the night of the big Halloween party at the Duckert mansion. Not really a mansion, the white tri-level with golden trim and an absurd number of bay windows was the epitome of gaudy. Crystal chandeliers hung in nearly every room of the ground floor, creating a constant glint in the eye of everyone inside. A glint that could only be dimmed by an abundance of alcohol. And on Mischief Night, the alcohol was surely in abundance.

This is what led to young Emily Gorsch looking for some mischief of her own. This is why she now finds herself in Brenda Duckert’s bed, underneath a strange man she met mere minutes before. Fueled by White Russians, she pulls her man-in-makeup closer to her, hoping to finally catch up to her classmates. She wasn’t the kind of girl who had people trying to get into her pants, nor was she the type that would’ve let someone in this easy. At least, not usually. But tonight was different. A booze-soaked brain mixed with the perfect guy and she was ready to be taken to bed. She wasn’t sure what it was about this guy. He wasn’t a smooth-talker; he wasn’t really a talker at all. She wasn’t even sure he said a word to her. Maybe it was his costume, a zombie-vampire amalgam, that caught her eye. A pale face, sharp and pointed, that ended with an oversized mouth and seemingly no bottom jaw. Blood dripped from his dangling tongue underneath a row of blackened, razor teeth. That is one hell of a makeup job, she thought, and that Victorian style suit doesn’t hurt either. 

The alcohol sloshes around in her brain, forcing her hormones to rage and overtake her with a sense of urgency that can no longer be ignored. This is the night, she thinks, it has to be tonight. It’s just too bad for her hormones that this zompyre, as she has taken to calling him in her head, keeps cutting her off at the pass. She tries to kiss him, he pulls away. She tries to slide his suit off, he pushes her arms to the bed. He seems complacent in running his nails across her chest. He digs in, cutting into her flesh with his claws, ripping her top off in the process. This causes her to cringe, but she tries to steady herself. He seems to be enjoying it, she reassures herself, but it’s to no avail. Even in her drunken state, she feels self-conscience. She’s never had a good body, in her opinion. She thinks she’s too lanky and her lack of curves give the impression of a pre-pubescent boy.

So much so that, in the locker room, Brenda Duckert and company had a fun little nickname for her, “Carpenter’s Dream.” Flat as a board and in desperate need of a screw. She had such a hard time shaking that image of herself, especially as she currently burned with desperation for a screw. But what sweet revenge it would be to lose that self-image in Brenda’s bed.

Still, her accomplice for the evening would not give in to her desires. After twenty minutes of nails running along her body, painting her pale flesh a violent shade of crimson, she was getting desperate. Frustrated, she unclasped her own bra, exposing her underdeveloped beasts. The looked especially pale when bathed in the bluish moonlight that poured through the window.  She screwed her eyes shut to mask the embarrassment she felt. She wondered how he felt about her chest. Were they too small? Was that the reason she was having such a difficult time getting him to go all the way? She was too afraid of what the answer might be to breach the topic. But no matter.  Her question was answered seconds later via his teeth being sank deep into her chest. She felt a trickle of blood drip down her left breast and cling for life to the peak of her nipple. She was surprised to find she actually enjoyed it. She awaited more, but found herself being disappointed once more. 

The zompyre must have been quite displeased with what he saw and felt because when she opened her eyes, she discovered that she was alone, laying on top of a pile of coats resting on the bed.  Well, almost alone. 

A pair of all-too familiar yellow eyes glowed through the window, fixated upon her nearly naked body. Damon? The weird transfer student that just started at her school in their senior year? He wouldn’t talk unless it was absolutely necessary and mostly just stared. At everybody, but perhaps a bit more at Emily than the rest. His eyes were the strangest shade Emily had ever seen. Yellow and glowing, quite cat-like.

She shrieked and pulled someone’s coat over her. It smelt strongly of menthol cigarettes and caused her to gag on the stench but she decided that dealing with it was a better option to showing off her goodies. She walked towards the window, and inch of leather dragging on the floor in front of her. She peered through the glass. The eyes were nowhere to be found. Of course. The bedroom was on the second floor. Nobody could have been at eye level. There wasn’t even a tree in the yard. Besides, she thought, who would want to see her anyway? It’s not like there was much to look at. Not compared to any of the girls dressed in sexy costumes downstairs. She could admit that she had a cute face, but who could tell when she was painted like Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

The bedroom door swung open with a bang and Emily’s heart dropped into her stomach.  She tried her best to hide her naked body as the most beautiful of Brenda’s friends stumbled through the door wearing the most impractical of nurse uniforms, her curves nearly popping out of its barely-there fabric. “Hi Natalie,” Emily said, trying to sound halfway casual.

“Elimy?” Natalie was obviously very drunk, much more so than Emily. “You nekkid?” Her eyes grew wide and a smile crept across her face.

“Umm… kinda”

“Should I get nekkid, too?” She started pawing at the clasps on her costume, much too inebriated to make her hands work properly. 

“No, please no.” Emily grabbed her by the hands and looked her in the eyes. They were an intense aqua and burning with… something. She wasn’t sure. Tequila, probably. But something else. “You look far too good and I feel bad about myself already.”

Natalie’s smile faded into concern. 

“Why feel bad?”

“I got abandoned by the guy I was in here with,” Emily admitted. She wasn’t sure why, since she was part of Brenda’s crew, but something about Natalie was very soothing.

“Dafuck?” Natalie slapped her in the upper chest. It stung. That’s when Emily remembered the bite. She glanced down and noticed he scratched an ‘X’ over her heart before sinking his teeth into her. “You were hump’n’dumped?”

“I didn’t even have the satisfaction of being humped. Just dumped.” Emily didn’t know why she was telling Natalie everything. At least she was so drunk, she probably wouldn’t remember. “He probably realized what I actually looked like and got the ick.”

“You stop,” Natalie commanded as she but her hands on either side of Emily’s painted face. “You are beautiful.”

“I am?”

“So incredibly beautiful.” Natalie stared deep into Emily’s eyes and bit her lower lip and Emily knew instantly that she wasn’t lying. “I’m so sorry.”

Emily was about to ask why but never got the chance as Natalie turned on her heels and sprinted through the open door and down the hallway. She didn’t have to wonder why as the sounds of Natalie retching sounded through the entire second floor of the Duckert home.

Emily slipped back in to her costume and descended the stairs to make the rounds to say goodbye to anyone who would be interested. The results, as it turned out, were substandard. This was quite alright with her as it saved her from any embarrassment she may have received from anyone who saw her lead the zompyre up the stairs. Now that everyone was inebriated, nobody cared about her leaving, let alone the man that abandoned her in the bedroom.