Your challenge for this month is to write a Moonlight story on the theme of Things That Go Bump in the Night, whatever that phrase evokes in your fertile imaginations. Please share your Halloween story treats with us by posting your story in your office and putting a link to it, with the title and rating, as a reply on this thread. We will keep the opening post updated. (If you don't have an office, please pm me and I'll set one up for you.)
This Challenge will run through October 31st. As usual, your Challenge entries should be new stories, inspired by the Challenge prompt.
Lace rustled as he carried her into the hotel room. He felt electric, on fire with his expectancy. She had flagrantly held her virginity, told him he had earned her everlasting love and she would settle up the deal with her virginal blood.
Their gilded hour had found them kneeling before the priest, consecrated hands blessing their union after they vowed 'till death do you part'.
Drawing a nervy hand over his 9pm stubble, Mick stood before the small bathroom's mirror. "Next year, for our anniversary, we'll celebrate in finer digs!" he vowed as he assessed the Mick St John in the mirror.
He measured himself callow, too eager, lacking what he had seen as having 'the right stuff' for all the opportunities his buddies had undertaken. Ray had come home physically broken and mentally scattered and even he had a home, a loving wife and a child. Why had he stumbled so many times?
There he was a married man with a woman who seemed to make all the 'magic' happen. She'd been his good luck charm; he met her and got bigger gigs. He 'got wet' and fell into a deal on a low mileage Buick, the kind Doctors drove, long and sleek. His life had turned so many corners since meeting Coraline; well he didn't even figure himself to be one of the guys from West Adams. Would it slip between his fingers like so much sand? His jaw hardened as he blinked only to see the beads of sweat on his upper lip, feel the heat spreading in his groin. Nervous perspiration caused his hands to slip on the porcelain sink so he grabbed for the scratchy white hand towel, anxiously wiping his clammy palms.
He only had one shot at being Marlon Brando or Bill Holden, could he take his bride and fulfill her honeymoon night anticipations? His eyes closed slowly, 'What the hell had I thought?" the words swirled within his soul, "I hope she's lit." His eyes opened to show all 6'2" of Mick St. John painted with an anxious flush. "Get out there lover boy, turn her world around."
His hand shook as he tore the waxy paper from the water glass. With a sniff and a blink of his hazel eyes he poured a swig of Listerine into the cheap glass. With a swish and a spit he stood for a beat then headed back to his bride.
Her eyes adored him; there she was cool as silk. His smile, that crooked one, snapped her eyes directly to his. "I just need a few moments, to ah, freshen up." There was that softly cultured voice of hers. With a wink and a nod she flew past him.
Right now he couldn't bear to strip down to his skivvies. He slid out of the suit coat and loosened his tie, he argued – should he let her undress him? With the sound of Coraline running water he snapped the tie out of its knot. If only he could snap his guts out of the same bond. He sat on the bed and untied his one good pair of dress shoes and peeled off his socks. With a deep breath his hands settled beside him on the fresh sheets.
He was out it, so out of it he barely noticed his bride flicked off the lights. Without turning to see her in the glow of the virginal white sheets Mick chuckled, "Is my bride modest?" He felt the bed move under her feathery weight, he hardened at the heavenly scent of her, his mouth watered for her rubine lips….. His mind never anticipated things that go bump in the night.
fini