Michael L. Lewis “Trick ‘or’ Treat”

About the Author:

Michael L Lewis born Feb, 26 1974 raised in the beautiful Blueridge mountains of Southern West Virginia. Having grown up on cattle farms in the wide open country of Tazewell Va, he is no stranger to hard work and perseverance. Loves horseback riding, hunting and fishing. A father of five wonderful children and is currently enrolled in the Childrens Institute having the childrens Author ‘Shirley Raye Redmond’ as his tutor. Recently has a poetry book ‘Death Awaits The Ressurection’ published on Lulu.com and is also working on a Western Horror Novel as well as short stories for magazine articles.

“Trick ‘or’ Treat”

Michael Lewis

The rain had just stopped for the night as fog began to rise from the dark asphalt. I have just begun the last round of trick or treating before returning home to calculate my bounty.My Mom, and Aunt wait for me a block or so away until I finish up. I always cut down by the maple view cemetary- where a dozen or so homes reside, this is where I usually pocket some of the best candy, and a few bucks to boot. Although the cemetary freaks me out as I walk alone in the dark. I didn’t let that stop me from getting what I wanted. But this night would turn out to be quite different. As I made my way down pass the old willow trees, and directly across from a small playground built for the neighborhood. I notice a little boy about my age sitting upon the merry go round in a shadow of complete darkness. I would not have seen him had it not been for his reflective costume he was wearing. I proceed to ring the doorbell of the last house not taking my eye off of the boy who had an eerie look about him. He was just sitting there looking down to his empty halloween bag with an expression of dismay. At first I thought he must’ve been a victim of a candy robber, namely the high school bullies who think it fun to rob small children of their lute. I decide to walk over to him as it seemed that no one was answering the door here anyway. He doesn’t pay me any attention as if I’m not even visible to him. He continues looking down into the empty bag mumbling over,and over. “Trick or Treat, trick or treat.” Maybe he is lost?” I thought to myself looking around for someone to help me out. I didn’t want to just leave him here all alone. The storm returned sending bolts of lightning streaking overhead. That’s when I noticed that the boy was also bare footed, and cacked with mud. “You been walking about in the cemetary?” I ask him, but to no avail; He just kept repeating the words Trick or Treat, trick or treat. I was starting to get a little frustrated when I heard my Mom, and Aunt yelling for me. “I’ll be right back.” I tell him and go for them. Upon our return, and after I told my Mom what all was going on-the little boy was gone. In the exact spot to where he was sitting a floral reef had been placed like the ones you would find on someones grave. “How could this be?” I say to a whisper. That’s when my aunt began to tell me about a little boy who had been struck by a drunk driver and killed last halloween right in front of his home. Which upon looking at it now, I could see the (For Sale sighn)posted out front in the yard. His parents divorced, and moved out a couple months later, my aunt tells me. I began to feel lost, then scarred, and then a great sadness for the boy. I never walked by that way again as a child. Now that I am grown, and still feel sadness for the child. I go to where he sat that night and place a bag of candy for him. The park is now a row of pic-nic tables, and a few shrubs for looks. No one places a reef there anymore, and a new family has moved into the two story home. I would have never believed in ghost if I hadn’t seen it first hand, but I never would see my little friend again to this day.

Stephanie Sendak “The Smell of Sex”

About the Author:

I live in Miami and this is the first time I’ve sent my poem for publication.

“The Smell of Sex”

By Stephanie Sendak

His lips trembled as I sucked

The hard length of him

As my man gasps his pleasure his penis

Invade my throat

I hold back a little to take in some air

I smell his funk and my juices flow

A dick in the mouth

A finger in the pussy

A squeeze of the breast

All temptations

I swallow him once more taking my time

I clutch at his ass, bulging at the pleasure of my touch

I want him so much that urges to bite his sex overwhelms me

I want to eat him

To be part of me forever

Instead I spit on his veined cock wiping it off with my face and hair

I rose to straddle him, my wet cunt dipping easily down his shaft

It was my turn to be pleasured but on my own terms

I rode his slickness

Up and down

My breasts slaps together

My quim burning from anticipation

He bucks under me

I slam down

I scream when it is over

Panting until the tremors subside

Celis T. Rono “Sleeping Dead Re-Edited”

This version has been re-edited.

 

 

 

“Sleeping Dead”

by Celis T. Rono

 

There was a reason why my grandmother was so adamant about not disturbing the sleeping dead in the forest.  I shake my head even now at the strong-willed girl of eighteen too mature to listen to her elders.  In fact, I shake my head at many things I did at that age.

In the forest lay sleeping forms that could not be awakened by even the loudest of screams or the fiercest of kicks.  My brother once had the temerity to throw a rock at an unmoving man in an immaculate tunic then ran away for fear of the figure awakening.  I stayed to watch and see what would happen, but nothing did.

A particularly handsome man with dark hair, strong nose, and full lips had intrigued me ever since I was a child.  He looked to be asleep, leaning against the cradle of an old leathery redcran tree.  I used to sit on his lap as a child and touch his black eyelashes.  As a young woman, I caressed his cold face from his cheek to his jaw wondering about the color his eyes.  He never moved.  His chest didn’t even rise to breathe in air.  Out of the twenty bodies strewn all over the forest, I was particularly drawn to this man.  I visited him everyday and even bestowed upon him a name, James.

“What happened to those people, Granny?” I asked once again, hoping my grandmother would finally reveal something useful to me.  She was the wisest in the kingdom, and some contend that she practiced the dark arts.  “They’ve lain on the forest ground for years.  Why don’t they decay?  Animals won’t even come near them.  And if they’re alive, how can we waken them?”

My grandmother shook her head.  “You’re much too curious, my child.  You’ve been asking me these questions since you were a child.”

“Then maybe it’s time you start telling me the truth,” I said annoyed.  “No one wants to talk about them.”

“You’re a pesky child, but alright, I’ll tell you what I know if you help me with my spindle.  It seemed to have hit a snag,” she sighed, brading thin fabrics together for the gowns of her granddaughters.  She was one of the richest women in the land yet she dared use her hand in lowly tasks.

“Anything, Granny.  I’ll do anything you ask,” I said, noticing for the first time how withered and gnarled my grandmother was, and it pained me.  Any type of loss disturbed me. “Rumor is these people were punished hundreds of years ago for offending the Great Lady of the forest.  They were too prideful and vain.  One particular man, the handsomest of them all, turned his back on the Great Lady’s advances and he can never thaw into a living man again.  She hated him the most,” said my grandmother.  “That’s all I know, child.  Now leave me to work in peace.”