{Now this is an old one from the Rapestories site, back when I just cranked it out, but one of the better ones.}

All Shallow Eve

   I love Halloween, it's the one day a year my outsides can match the way I 
feel inside. People expect to see scary shit, and I delight in giving it too 
them. It's not a costume for me, but the real me no one gets to see for 364.25 
days out of the year.

   This year, I was the spirit of halloween. Black cape, foam latex mask like a 
jack-o-lantern, phosphorescent paint on my eyelids, and lips. My long black 
hair made a sort of hood, but then, I had another. It was fun walking up 
hooded, pulling it back, and have the natural one on underneath.

   I went with my girl-friend, Ginny. She was like the exact opposite of me, 
and dressed to match. She was Goldilocks, Red Riding Hood, and all the other 
innocent protagonists of a thousand fairy tales. Her little dress was red, long 
blonde hair done up in pony tails on the side. She had nice big circles on her 
cheeks, and a basket for her candy.

   She took me to this frat party. She had lots of college friends, guys who 
appreciate a barely of age high-schooler. She wasn't nearly as innocent as her 
costume. I don't even know why I hung out with her, she always got all the 
attention. Here, I'd spent all this time, and she was drawing looks with her 
cheap sexy trick.

   Foam latex is a real bitch to work with, but the effect was well worth it. 
It moved with my face, and I'd made a real good mask this time. The dull green 
glow just added to the creepy effect. Nobody even noticed, their eyes all 
focused on Ginny. She was about five seconds from strapping herself to the wet 
bar, and yelling "Come and get it!"

   I traveled over to the bar, and got myself a drink. The one saving grace is 
college boys where old enough to buy liquor. A nice tall dixie cup of Jack 
Daniels would certainly help. Hell, I'd even drink beer if I had too.

   This guy came over smoking a cigarette, and I tried to bumb one. He stuck it 
out of the pack, held it up to his ear, and said, "Huh?" It looked so much like 
a cell phone, I had to laugh. He lit it for me, but I neither saw where the 
zippo came from, nor where it went. It just appeared with a `Tink!', flashed to 
light, then disappeared with a `Snap!'.

   "Where's your costume?" I had to ask. I blew out smoke as I spoke, helping 
the image of my costume.

   He shrugged, "This is it," he grinned down at me, "I'm a serial killer."
I bit, "You don't look like a serial killer..."

   He chuckled, but noticed I was just playing along. "Of course not, if serial 
killers looked like serial killers, the cops would go," he pointed off in some 
random direction, "`Hey look, a serial killer', and pick them up."

   "Must make it hard to get victims, too," I mused.

   "I like your costume, though," he looked me up, and down, "Nice to see 
someone's in the `Spirit' of Halloween." His grin told me the pun was intended.

   I preened, "This old thing? I don't even know why I bothered. Ginny over 
there's getting all the attention."

   He nodded, "I saw you shew up together," he noted, "Frat boys can be so shallow."

   I had to laugh at that, "You're not in this Frat?"

   This time he shook his head, "Fraternal organizations aren't really my 
thing, I'm more of a loner."

   "But you don't mind coming up to talk to me?" I wondered.

   "Whoever said, `don't talk to strangers,' didn't have any friends," he pointed out, "Besides, you had a really cool outfit." I'm glad someone noticed.
"Why did you come tonight, then?" I was curious.

   He shrugged again, "Bored, lonely, see the costumes." His hand swept across 
the party, when I looked back, he had out an altoids tin. It popped open to 
reveal a rich green odor. He plucked from within a perfectly rolled cigarette, 
except the contents weren't brown. He lifted it to his lips, and the tin 
disappeared.

   "You're a magician," I realized.

   He shrugged nonchalantly, "Tricks." With that, he turned, and strode off 
towards the back. I followed, by scent as much as sight. You'd think he'd be 
easy to pick out of the throng. His khaki pants, navy polo shirt, and lack of 
makeup should've stood out like a quarter in the bottom of a toilet. I still 
lost him, but found the back door.

   I slid it open, and was greeted by the blue musk of marijuana smoke. He was 
nowhere to be seen, but I followed the scent back into the bushes. A hand poked 
from the shadows, and the spliff flashed into view as he turned it over. "Want 
a toke?"

   I couldn't resist, and I wasn't disappointed. It was a nice peppery flavor, 
and hit me almost immediately. "Good shit!" I noted as I let the toke out.

   "Sebaceous," he corrected, "My friend grows it." His hands appeared again, 
this time holding his altoids tin. He held it between his pinkies as he twisted 
another up. I smoked the first, and watched the magic happen. The new one was 
less concentric than the one I had. I was tempted to check it for the words 
Pall Mall on the side. His was twisted off on the end he chose to smoke, but 
belled out to a conical shape.

   "What's Sebaceous?" it was a term I'd heard before, maybe in another 
context. I was rapidly loosing the ability to recall something like that.

   "It's a medical term," he jogged my addled memory, "It means `Fatty'."
He plucked the first spliff from my fingers, and used it to light his. I caught 
a brief view of his face in the red glow of their cherries. When he passed it 
back, it had a pair of hemostats clipped to it.

   We just stood there and smoked in the darkness a while. As my pupils 
dilated, and I adjusted to the dark, I noticed there was the terminator of the 
shadow he was in right between us. He could see me, but I couldn't see him 
unless he chose to reveal himself. I moved in beside him, and sank into the 
darkness as well.

   In here, I could see that the trees, and shrubs blocked off all direct light 
from the lamps. He cupped his joint to smother it's light, and I did the same. 
It's warmth filled me, fuzzed out my sensorium. It added to the thick glow of 
the whiskey I'd downed while tracking him through the party. I could still hear 
it, but it was a far away thing. We didn't have to shout over it, nor whisper 
to cover our presence.

  I heard a rustle behind me, and noticed he must've sat down. I sank down 
beside him, and felt much better for it. The alcohol, and THC where taking 
their toll. I felt good, damn good. Too good really for what I'd drank, and 
smoked.

   "What is this stuff?" I wondered blearily.

   "High mids," he quietly ejected a piece of shake he'd partially inhaled, 
"Damn near kind with my own extra ingredient."

   "Huh?" I wondered eloquently, "what?"

   "Yours had some Ketamine in it," he informed me. I could feel it now, 
skulking through the shadows of the other drugs in my system. Somehow, in my 
polypharmic state, I put two, and two together. Sebaceous, hemostats, `Special 
K'. He must've been a medical student, or something. From the momentum of that 
minor epiphany, I realized he might really be a serial killer, or something.

   I knew he could easily murder me, but somehow, that came without fear. It 
filled me with a sense of peace, or maybe it was the drugs. I felt ready to 
face death, what scared me was what he would do first. Ironically, this nobody 
in particular in a crowd of devils, and witches was more evil than the lot of 
them. I knew that as surely as I knew that I was going to die.

   I fell back, and the world took it's time following me down. I could feel 
hands on me, his hands. They slid over my body before moving to unzip the front 
of my black sweatshirt. The cold October night crept in, chilling me, but it 
was a nice chill. His hands where like ice, though, and I could feel my nipples 
pop.

   The frigid fingers found the top of my pants, and pulled them open. It was 
after midnight, technically November. Winter air seeped down, prickling at my 
flesh. I shivered reflexively, and tried to move. It's not like I couldn't. My 
muscles worked, but the reaction was inequal if opposite. It lashed back at me, 
dazed me and made it that much harder to think.

   They traveled dow n, touching me obscenely. I could feel them pulling the 
warmth from me, their cold invading me, corrupting my living flesh. They where 
vampiricc, evil unlike any I'd known. His other hand came over my mouth, 
silencing me as they slipped past my other lips.

   I screamed at the frigid invasion. They felt like a blade of ice stabbing 
into me, killing me with their cold. Their vampiric draining took on a whole 
new order of magnitude as they froze me from the inside. A ripple of icy ache 
spiked up my spine.

   He manipulated me so for a while, warming his hand inside me. Every degree 
he took from me numbed me further. My hot blood came back like liquid nitrogen. 
I could feel it carrying the corrupting cold through me. Soon, I couldn't 
breathe, and he took his hand away from my face.

   I couldn't scream, just shiver, and gasp. Now I wanted to die, get it over 
with. I hoped it would happen before he moved on, deny him the prize of my 
body, but then reconsidered. He'd have no compunctions about necrophiling my 
body. This numb limp molestation was close enough already.

   As if the thought had brought it about, he moved over me like an even deeper 
shadow. That brought him into the light, and I saw that he was nude. He didn't 
seem to feel the cold, in fact, this flushed flesh appeared to soak it up for 
sustenance.

   He had a tattoo on each shoulder, angel on the right, demoness on the left. 
The angel was bound, and had welts across her from the Succubi's whip like 
tail.  Her nails dripped holy ichor from the wounds inflicted on her cherubic 
counterpart. Funny, I never noticed how much taller he was than me.

   As he entered me, all I could see was the rampant evil, and bound beauty 
scrimshawed into the flesh of his chest. It was the first warmth I'd gotten 
from him. His hot poker burned within me, no less corrupting than his cold 
hands. It was like an ember inside me, thawing the numbness he'd just put there.

   I became aroused from it, the heat of his lust coursing through my veins. The
ice melted, and filled me with it's warm wetness. I realized this was his kick. 
He didn't have to rape me, I would've readily submitted to his seduction. He 
raped because he wanted to, seduced because he could. I could almost feel the 
power of him talking himself halfway into some poor girl's pants, then forcing 
himself the rest of the way.

   Without a further word, he dominated me. I submitted to his greater unholy 
power, worshipped beneath him, where I belonged. Now I truly wished to live. It 
would be such a shame, to die after having my eyes opened to true evil. I'd 
only dabbled in it before, read La Vey, and Crowley, tried my cute little 
majiks. Cantrips compared to this adept's aptitude

   Sure, he used drugs, Legerdemain, and other tricks. It was no less impressive for it's mundane source. I certainly couldn't argue with the results. Slowly, painfully, I lifted my arms, and embraced him, his frigid fire, burning ice. My nails sank into his back, and he gasped. I made love up to him as he made hate down to me. I was his.