I lifted the lid of the slowly bubbling pot roast, savored the aroma, gave it a stir to check that it hadn't scorched on the bottom, and replaced the cover. Another two hours at the lowest heat, and the meat would be mouth-wateringly tender.
I laid the spoon on a dish, replaced the casserole dish in the oven, and was about to set the table when I noticed that our automatic light had come on in the front yard. It was just about dark enough for the light to be obvious, and make the non-illuminated parts of the yard pitch black in comparison.
Our home is down a graded gravel track, a good half-mile from the metalled highway, so we don't get many visitors, especially after dark. And certainly not at this time of year, not now the snow has started to fall.
I moved to the front door, and switched on the exterior light. Standing on the porch was a menacing-looking figure dressed in bloody rags, its arms outstretched in front of it, and a bloodied ax embedded in its skull.
I laughed to myself - I'd completely forgotten Halloween!
I opened the door to the zombie.
"Howdy, Mr Zombie!"
"Howdy, Ma'am, trick or treat, please!"
"Come on in out of the cold, Mr Zombie! I'll have to think. I don't eat candy, and I haven't baked any cookies, so I haven't got any of the normal treats to give you. Would you consider an apple a treat?"
He shuffled in and shut the door behind him to keep the chilly autumn air out.
"Sorry, Ma'am, I've been picking and canning apples for the last three weeks, and I'm heartily sick of them, so no thank you."
"I do like a polite zombie! Some dried fruit? I've got raisins and currants in my baking cupboard?"
"No, thank you, Ma'am, they don't agree with my digestion. You REALLY wouldn't like a zombie with wind, I'm afraid."
"Oh dear! I don't seem to have a treat for you! I'm so sorry - please don't play too nasty a trick on me!"
I put on my brightest, friendliest smile as I said that. Surely even zombies had nicer sides?
He undid the strap holding the ax, and took it off his head. He brandished it menacingly, but the foam merely wobbled. I tried hard not to giggle.
"Oh no, Sir, please don't turn me into a zombie as well. Are you quite sure that you can't think of a treat you would like instead?"
He thought for a moment.
"Got any Oreos?"
"Sorry, them neither."
"I'd hate to have to hurt a nice kind lady like you just because you forgot the treats. How about a blowjob? That would be a real treat!"
I pretended to consider. Without the foam ax in his head, the zombie wasn't at all bad looking. If I was into monsters, he was probably my type of monster.
"But won't I turn into a zombie if I touch you?"
"Oh no, Ma'am. That's an urban myth. Zombies have to kill humans to make them undead, just touching them doesn't do it."
"Okay, you got yourself a deal. One blowjob coming up. Hope you like it!"
I dropped to my knees in front of him and unzipped the fly of the threadbare, stained and torn pants he was wearing. I could probably have touched his penis through the big rip in the thigh, but it seemed only polite to make this a formal blowjob.
I liked the look of the dick I exposed; it too seemed pleased to meet me. It was swelling nicely as I eased it out of the fly.
"Golly, Mr Zombie, this part of you is certainly undead!"
It took only a couple of licks around the head to make his dick fully erect; with my fingertips I traced the pulsing veins in the skin, and gently cupped his balls. It was a real nice size, and as I opened my lips to bring it into my mouth, I felt myself trembling a little bit in anticipation.
He moaned softly, then remembered his role, and tried to make his moaning more menacing. I tried to placate him.
"Why, Mr Zombie, I do declare! This is going to be a treat for me as well!"
I licked and sucked his dick as if it was candy-coated, and all too soon he was quivering and warning me that he was about to cum. I leaned into him as far as I could, and felt the zombie jizz hit the back of my throat, and then fill my mouth as he continued to squirt. After five or six bursts, he was done, and I released his dick and opened my mouth to show him his semen, before I swallowed it down. It tasted delicious, and I licked my lips to show my appreciation. Not that he noticed.
He was breathing real hard, and seemed unsteady on his feet.
I stood up and hugged him. He kissed me on the lips with gratitude; he must have tasted his own cum in my mouth, but made no objection. Some of my previous boyfriends had been much less polite!
"Thank you, Ma'am, that was sure a real treat for me! May I come back and visit next Halloween?"
"You sure can, Mr Zombie! Have a good year!"
I returned to the kitchen and heard his footsteps go away. He was still shuffling his feet as if they had but little connection to his zombie brain, but for a different reason now!
I had just finished chopping up the root vegetables and laying them out in a roasting tin before adding a dash of oil and some seasoning.
Autumn is a great time of year to enjoy the fruits of the new harvest as they come in; we'd spent a long day sorting out the crop for storage, and this meal would use up many of the ones we'd identified as too damaged to store well in our root cellar.
The secret of successful root cellaring is exactly the same as for canning - if it's at all bruised, cut or otherwise damaged, don't even try to store it. It will always go bad and affect the good ones surrounding it.
Mind you, even rejects from storing are normally good to eat straightaway. What do they say - 'waste not, want not'?
Slow roast rutabaga, turnip, onion, potato, squash and carrot, baked in the oven for an hour with a bit of garlic, salt and oil is one of the most satisfying and comfortable vegetable dishes I know. Coupled with the succulent pot roast that was now just simmering on the back of the range, tonight would be a night to remember.
There was a loud knock on the door. Startled, I nearly dropped the tin of vegetables. I shouted that I was on my way, and placed the tin in the middle of the oven. Removing my apron and wiping my hands on a towel, I opened the inner door, and discovered a witch on my porch.
I knew immediately that she was a witch.
She wore a black pointy hat on her black greasy tangled hair, was carrying a broom, and had a green face with a hooked nose and lots of warts. Her dark cloak was wrapped around her, and the only things missing from the Disney image were the black cat and the toad on her shoulder.
"Hello Mrs Witch, happy Halloween!"
"It's MS Witch to you, sonny, and you'd better have a nice treat for me or I'll turn you into a frog."
"Oh! Sorry! Do please come in out of the cold."
"Hmmphh! Took your time answering the door, didn't you? What if it had been snowing again?"
She parked the broomstick against the wall, and walked into my kitchen as if she owned the place.
"Get me a glass of that Californian Zinfandel you've got breathing by the stove!"
How the heck did she know that was there? Was she a mind reader?
"Yes ma'am, Ms Witch!"
I poured both of us a glass; I reckoned that I would need one as well. She took hers, and sniffed it suspiciously.
"You drink first. You humans are all the same, just can't be trusted."
I sipped my wine. It was good.
There was a muffled curse as the witch failed to get the glass to her lips. Placing it on the table, she lifted off her hat and black wig, and then removed the green facemask. A pretty woman of about my age was revealed.
"Don't you dare say anything, mister, not unless you want to live the rest of your life under a stone!"
I sealed my lips with a finger.
She toasted me with her glass.
"Got any pretzels?"
When I got back from the store cupboard, she had also taken off her cloak.
"Put them in a dish! I'm not eating them out of the packet!"
Turning back from the shelf where my wife keeps the dishes, I stared at her front in surprise; she was wearing a tee-shirt that wasn't big enough for her, without a bra. Her nipples were straining at the fabric, and my eyes just wouldn't keep off of them.
I placed the dish of pretzels on the table, and she grabbed a few to munch.
You can guess what happened next.
I sprung a boner.