“Trick or treat!” the girls called out, in practiced unison. It sounded maybe a little half-hearted, not as musical as it should have, if only because Chelsea felt a bit old for this. But she’d promised her little sis she’d take her trick-or-treating this year and show her all the good spots. And Abbi’s enthusiastic sing-song made up in part for her older sister’s reserve.
Only five minutes before the two had been talking together as they walked in the dark, their passage stirring shadows and maple leaves. Chelsea noticed that few other kids were still out prowling—at least not on this block, where they now approached the last home on the cul de sac street. It seemed a lot of the street lights were out in this part of town. Jack O’ Lantern candles burned low; some of the old fashioned kind had been snuffed out by the wind.
“I think this might be where Ms. Corliss, my fourth period English teacher lives, said Chelsea to Abbi, her younger sister. “But, like, I’m not totally sure,” she lied. In fact she’d visited the house two or three times a week since the first week of school, keeping her venture a secret from family and friends.
She’d heard the rumors since junior high, and again freshman year: “Ms. Corliss likes girls.” At first she considered them senseless taunts—the usual sassy rubbish high school girls and boys passed around about teachers, especially single female teachers. But when she landed by chance in Ms. Corliss’s class first semester of sophomore year, she was intrigued. Her feelings surprised her. From the second day of class on she began to visit the attractive and buxom brunette’s classroom after last period, ostensibly to ask the English teacher about their reading and writing assignments. This quickly grew to sharing about other books they both had read. Chelsea was a reader, but decidedly more enthusiastic about books out of class than those assigned in class.
It turned out the rumors were true. Their visits soon led to more than academic flirtation. Chelsea found herself undeniably attracted to the Ms. Corliss. At first it was just butterflies, and that light-headedness that struck any time she even just anticipated visiting the teacher after class. But giving in just a little to butterflies quickly led to something more powerful, and more than a little intoxicating to a young girl who worked so hard at being worldly, but had little experience in love and lust. Hugs led to kissing, kissing to French kissing, French kissing to making out and feeling up, and feeling up eventually to fingers buried in each others’ panties.
All of that was dangerous in a classroom, so the teacher had slipped the girl a note with her home address on it. It turned out they lived in the same part of town, close enough that Chelsea could break away on her bicycle for trysts, unknown to her parents. Ms. Corliss had suggested she refer to her visits as tutoring sessions, but the girl, mindful of the rumors, decided to keep that explanation in her back pocket. She preferred sneaking.
Chelsea told herself she did it because it was an easier way to make grades than breaking her ass overtime studying and writing. And besides, the older woman was warm and friendly, and talked to her like a peer, not a little girl. But all that still didn’t quite explain why she kept turning down trips to the mall or movies with her friends in favor of covert visits to Ms. Corliss’ home. Honestly, could she be sure that the sex was helping her grades? Her mid-term grade was good, but then she knew she could always do well in English, if she applied herself.
Anyway, she didn’t mind the sex; she still kept assuring herself she wasn’t really getting hooked on the older woman’s lesbian attentions. But every day it seemed she found herself a little less convincing. Her pussy didn’t find it convincing at all. Pussy kept pestering her for pussy trips.
And now on this night, of all nights, she found herself walking up to the familiar door again, and this time, strongly against her better judgment, with sister Abbi in tow. This was really dumb, Chelsea thought. Why am i doing this? I’m so dumb!
“Holy mutthump, she has a big old house!” the younger girl exclaimed. I bet she gives awesome treats!”
Nudged from self-rebuke by her sister’s exclamation, Chelsea couldn’t help but grin. She had been meaning to ask where that expression that Abbi and her young friends had been bantering about so much lately came from. But now, with an adult about to open the door in front of them, was not the time. So she just smirked. “Yeah, I hear she does gives great treats.”
Chelsea’s inward thoughts were fully brought up short when the door cracked open before them. Now looming in a single shaft of light that beamed faintly from inside the house, peering down into their held-out goodie bags, was a witch: impossibly tall, pointy-booted, black-cloaked, face hidden well under the shadow of the classic brimmed hat. She bent slowly and dropped an extra large Hershey bar with almonds and a theatre-sized box of Lemonheads into each bag.
“Wow!” said Abbi enthusiastically, impressed with the take. “Thank you!”
At that, the witch looked up, appraising them carefully for the first time. Her brow furrowed, then lifted with recognition. As she stood tall again the girls could finally see her face in the reflected light of the single large carved pumpkin still glowing on the front porch.
“Chelsea!” a somewhat non-witchy voice rang out from a growing smile. “Why, this is a surprise. And I see you’re a princess. How lovely, and fitting.” Her dark eyes worked the girl up and down in open appraisal, from silver shoes in powder-blue stockings to jeweled tiara embracing the cascade of golden locks.
“Hi Ms. Corliss,” Chelsea replied, and smiled demurely. Like a princess.
The witch’s gaze turned to the younger, mousy-haired girl at Chelsea’s side. “And who do we have here?”
“Abbi. My little sis,” Chelsea answered.
“I’m a Ewok. From Star Wars. But a girl one,” Abbi volunteered.
“I see,” the witch chuckled. It was not really a cackle, but that was what Abbi had been expecting, so it seemed kind of like one. “And a cute Ewok indeed. I do love the ears.”
The witch smiled, her look softening as she looked from girl to girl. “My, it’s very cold out there tonight,” she said, “and it’s getting a bit late. And you’re the first trick-or-treaters I’ve had in the last half hour. Why don’t you two girls come in for just a bit? Have some hot chocolate and pumpkin cookies? Warm up a little.”
Chelsea looked uncertain, and Abbi didn’t know what to think, but in a moment they found themselves shepherded inside. The house was pleasantly warm, and smelled of baking, pumpkin, and hot apple cider. Some Hallowe’en cartoon special was on the television. Maybe it was Rugrats, Chelsea was too nervous to tell for sure. Whatever it was, Abbi seemed content to settle into it for the moment. She dropped into a big overstuffed chair, slurped a steaming cup of hot coca stacked with mini marshmallows, and eyed the plate of still-warm pumpkin cookies before her on the coffee table, all furnished in the blink of an eye, as if by magic.
The witch, now seeing the Ewok was content, motioned Chelsea down the hall. To the master bedroom. To the room where they fucked. Breathless, heart racing, with a last hasty glance to check on her baby sister, she followed, her hand feeling ever smaller in the larger one that grasped it.