Wamerifc Update 11/17

New since last post

Pied 74: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PS9Lty6L4Z4&list=UUyuV-_kYIHTxnGy8PaZ23_g

Pied 75: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzYKzsKZLeM&list=UUyuV-_kYIHTxnGy8PaZ23_g

Mud 11: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rimeMvULMFg&list=UUyuV-_kYIHTxnGy8PaZ23_g

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The Seven Deadly Sins: Vanity – Chapter Eighteen

“So Ash, what took you so long?” Sabrina Royale’s bird’s-egg-blue eyes blink as I expose her head, which sticks out of the contorted black bundle at a comical tilt. Her beehive hairstyle is likewise skewed, and tinged with various shades of gunge. Her fabulous cheekbones glisten with paste, and she bears a blob of cream on the end of her dainty nose, which causes her to cross her eyes in consternation. However, for all the tortured shrieks the Mayoress issued during her drubbing at Cassie’s hands, it appears the costume has shielded her from the worst of the mess.

Stunned at my discovery, I’m unable to come up with a witty riposte, but the Mayoress has her own answer ready anyhow.

“Your problem is you’re too vain”, she explains, “That’s why you’ve blundered headlong into one false conclusion after another. First hint of a clue, and you’re convinced you’ve got the whole thing sewn up. By the way, that phone call from ‘Grace’s school’ was me, and you fell for it.”

I sigh as look back at my bedraggled friend, who is being helped to her feet by Cassie.

“I have to say”, the Mayoress continues, “when I persuaded Clive to send you here undercover, I expected more of a challenge.”

“It was your idea to involve me?”, I gasp.

“Oh yes.” The Mayoress nods vigorously, causing her to sway in her suspended position. “The prospect of playing against a young, smart detective who used to be ‘one of us’ was a thrill I couldn’t resist.”

Despite the situation, I can’t help puffing out my chest. Assassin or no Assassin, when Sabrina Royale pays you a compliment that’s something to be proud of.

“I’m sure Clive believes he had the idea himself”, the Mayoress muses with a condescending air. “But he’s very suggestible, bless him. I planted the foam cannon where it would be discovered, and that set off his protective instincts. He wanted to send in a full police presence from the start, but I sweet-talked him into this lower-key solution. And so the trap was set.”

“And with Tawney feeding you info on the case, you could stay one step ahead”, I reflect. “Hang on… if Tawney told you he was taking me off the case, how did you know I’d be here today?”

“I knew you were too vain to accept defeat on the case, for one thing”, Sabrina smirks. “But more than that, Clive isn’t my only source of information. It’s amazing the things I’ve found out over the last few days.” The Mayoress’ eyes glint as she swings gently back and forth. “I know that Grace drinks more than her daily recommended limit of wine…”

“How dare you!”, Grace snaps, as she tries to shake off the paste.

“…I know that Cassie was inspired to achieve her intellectual feats by an 18th century mathematician…”

“So you’ve been bugging us!?”, Cassie snarls.

“Of course dear”, the Mayoress looks surprised at our surprise. “Your changing cubicle was wired before you arrived, and it wasn’t difficult to fix up your car, Ash. Oh, and Grace, that book you gave me to sign – I stuck a slimline listening device to the back cover. I heard every word in your flat last night.”

Grace continues to glower while wringing out her lab-coat.

“I’ve got a lot more technical know-how than most people give me credit for”, the Mayoress boasts. “But my biggest asset is my saintliness; I’m above all suspicion. Take the incident with Miss Reaping at Manchester, for example. All I needed to do, after committing the act, was turn the corner and stuff the costume into my handbag. The security goons even tipped their hats as they charged past me. Or the stately home in Bicester? I’m friends with Lord Hawthorne who owns it. Getting access was no problem.”

“I understand the how”, I remark grimly. “I’d like to hear about the why.”

“I already told you – to punish their vanity.” Sabrina’s stately countenance glazes over, staring sadly into a dusty corner of the loft. “Let me tell you a story, Ash. Back when you were a fumble on the backseat of your father’s car, I was at the top of the fashion tree. I headlined at the Paris Fashion Week, my face gazed out of advertising boards tens of storeys high, the New York Times referred to the ‘Royale Wave’ as a benchmark pose.

“And still it wasn’t enough. I needed more gushing reviews, more centrefold spreads, more paparazzi on my tail. I wallpapered my house in magazine cuttings. I started turning up late for shoots because I couldn’t drag myself away from the mirror. I threw a tantrum if I didn’t get pole position on the catwalk.” The Mayoress lets out melancholy sigh. “All that mattered was me and my beautiful self.

“That’s what vanity does to you, Ash. It’s a poison that hollows you out inside while extolling your exterior. First it’s an indulgence, then a preoccupation, then an obsession. It distorts your very perception, so that you don’t see how vain you’ve become. The only thing that can shake you out of it is a jarring shock of humility – a slap in the face from reality. For me it came when Versace dropped me. For these young models, I engineered the shock for them.”

“Really? And you think that poor, young Erica Wither needed a jarring shock of humility?” My fists ball.

“Ah, the Exeter schoolgirl. I was there on a Mayoral exchange”, Sabrina recounts. “Granted, she did look meek and modest, and I admit, as I lurked there in the shadows with my hand on the rope, I had second thoughts about pulling. But then, as she received the crown on her head, I saw the glimmer awaken in her eyes. She had taken her first intoxicating sip from the cup of vanity, and I could picture her one year, five years, ten years down the line. And so I made that decision to pull; the earlier you snuff out a vain streak, the better. In the long run, she’ll thank me for… What is it? What are you all looking at me like that for?”

All three of us – Cassie included – stare aghast at the Mayoress as she relates, with casual matter-of-factness, how she crushed a teenager’s dreams. It dawns on me that Sabrina’s musings on vanity ring true in ways that she herself doesn’t realise. In taking on this self-appointed crusade, in believing she has the right to punish others for their own good, she has become the vainest of them all. But I don’t want to venture any further down this rabbit hole; what I’ve seen is disturbing enough.

“Ok Sabrina, let’s get you down the station”, I sigh.

“You really think you can arrest me?”, Sabrina scoffs. “Whose story is Clive going to believe? The woman he idolises, or you three troublemakers?”

A click at the door makes us all jump. I turn to see Charlotte Wade standing in the doorway, her startled eyes flashing between us.

“Charlotte! Thank goodness you’re here!”, the Mayoress wails from her trussed state. “Look what the Assassin and her assistants have done to me! Quick, fetch the Police! Go!!”

Charlotte, instead of hurrying downstairs, steps into the loft. She raises a hand apprehensively to her frizzy hair, perhaps still fearful of our peroxide-loving, fictional fleas. “Nice try, Mayoress, but I heard it all outside the door. Recorded it too.” To authenticate her claim, she holds up her phone and plays back an excerpt of the Mayoress’ deluded rant.

Panic flashes across Sabrina’s fair features. “But Charlotte, surely you’d never snitch on me! Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

“Everything you’ve done for me!?”, Charlotte exclaims. “What about me standing in the rain holding the car door while you stroll along at a piss-taking pace? What about all the cups of tea I’ve remade because the amount of cream ain’t right for your delicate tastebuds? What about having to shine a dozen pairs of shoes so you can decide at the last minute which ones are worthy of your precious Mayoral feet?!” The besuited administrator works herself into an enraged frenzy. “Do this Charlotte! Do that Charlotte! Do it again Charlotte! And never one fucking word of thanks!”

Charlotte picks up a pair of scissors and advances on the prisoner, snipping them menacingly in the air. Sabrina’s eyes widen.

“Everyone’s looking for you downstairs”, Charlotte remarks through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you make an entrance?” She takes the scissors to the neckline of the Assassin’s costume, and begins cutting along the underside. The fabric flaps open, revealing the shoulders of a very expensive, pale-lemon suit. It’ll be a shame to ruin that.

Sabrina gulps as she looks down at the gently bubbling shampoo. “You wouldn’t dare, you horrid little rat!”, she hisses.

“You think not?” Charlotte grins with each determined snip. She’s now halfway down the Mayoress’ abdomen. With the support unbalanced, the Mayoress begins to tip forward, her face moving closer to the shimmering surface.

“Charlotte, I have a lot of influence in the industry.” Sabrina’s voice wobbles with alarm. “If you don’t stop, I’ll have you handwashing models’ underwear for the rest of your career!”

The threat has no effect on Charlotte, who continues to snip away at a merry place.

Desperate, the Mayoress tries a different tack. “Don’t just stand there Ash! You’re the Police; it’s your duty to protect citizens from harm!”

I stand by with my arms folded. “As you said yourself, Mayoress, I’m a terrible copper”, I reply sweetly.

The gash now beyond her waist, Sabrina tips so far she can almost kiss the uneven, soapy surface. Her vision must now be filled with the vivid, synthetic blue. Her legs clench in what remains of the costume, mustering the forces of friction in a bid to avoid going in. “Charlotte please!”, she whimpers. “I’m sorry if I treated you badly. I’ll give you whatever you want: your own clothing label, your own fragrance, your own magazine. Just name your price!”

Charlotte leans down to the Mayoress’ ear. “This is for the young girl in Exeter.” She closes the scissors in a final, decisive snip. Gravity delivers its verdict, and the Mayoress slides out of the costume, her head disappearing into the cobalt slop before she can say anything more. Her torso plunges in, followed by her skirt. Then her thrashing, tight-encased legs lose their battle, and finally her stiletto-clad feet are gone. The viscous surface swallows its prey with a most vile slurp.

A battle ensues in the belly of the vat. For an instant, the feet pierce through the colvulsing surface, now sans stilettos, the silky tights saturated with goo. Then they are sucked down once more. After a few seconds of anguished thrashing, a larger lump emerges. It is only after the appearance of shoulders that I identify this lump as a head. The beehive hairdo has collapsed into a misshapen mop, weighed down by a thick layer of shiny blue sludge. The Mayoress’ face is coated; her mouth gasps for air, her eyes remain closed. Two trembling hands appear and clutch at the side of the tank. As Sabrina tries to haul herself up, her sodden jacket drags down, revealing her mature but firm cleavage, also layered with gunk.

The vat jolts, causing the Mayoress to lose her grip and slip below the surface. I whip around to see Charlotte at the controls of the winch. The tank descends into the floor, and the main hall becomes visible through the hole. As the Monster of the Blue Lagoon re-surfaces, a preliminary gasp sounds around the auditorium.

“We’d better get down there”, I urge.

Downstairs, we burst through the doors to pandemonium. The audience throbs with confusion and excitement, photographers snap away, Police run round like headless chickens. The shampoo vat has already arrived at its pride of place in the middle of the stage. Sabrina has worked up quite a lather, with bubbles overflowing. As for the Mayoress herself, she desperately claws at the sides of the tank, trying to escape her sticky prison.

“Oh my God, there’s the Assassin!” Lacey points a denouncing finger at me. I really should’ve removed this costume before coming down. Ignoring the shouts and stares, I fight my way through the throng.

“DC Wednesday! What are you doing here? What on Earth is going on!?” A red-faced DS Sambrook grabs at my arm.

“All will be explained Sarge!” I shake him off, and press on through the chaos. I mount the stage, marching triumphantly into the blaze of flashbulbs. In front of me, the Mayoress hauls herself over the rim of the vat and tumbles onto the stage, gooped from her hair down to her hosiery. She stumbles to her feet, but promptly loses her footing, landing on her arse with a squelch. Again she tries; again her feet slip in the puddle of shampoo beneath her, sending her flat on her face.

It is a most undignified spectacle, this defiled beauty flailing in front of the watching world. And yet, the blue blob seems intent on making a getaway. After several more failed attempts to stand, she resorts to slithering across the stage. I really should put her out of her misery, but I’m inclined to draw out her disgrace a little longer. She deserves her ‘jarring shock of humility’.

Snaking a slimy trail behind her, the slithering villainess makes it to my feet. She halts, her eyes rising to meet mine from under the gunky mop that used to be her exquistively coiffeured Barnet. She knows it’s over. She thought it would be fun to play me… but she lost. The visage that once graced poster-boards and magazine covers, now slicked with goo, signals acquiescence to her downfall.

My heart palpitates. This is my moment. This time there will be no mistake. “Sabrina Royale”, my voice booms, “I’m arresting you for… for…” Dammit! Why didn’t I prepare this? “…for being the Catwalk Assassin!”

Posted in Gunge, Stories | 4 Comments

More Wamerific Videos

Pied 72: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZBg85OQhEc&list=UUyuV-_kYIHTxnGy8PaZ23_g

Pied 73: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QsjkAJgT5DA&list=UUyuV-_kYIHTxnGy8PaZ23_g

Slimed 6: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gPnLtEnvsw&list=UUyuV-_kYIHTxnGy8PaZ23_g

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The Seven Deadly Sins: Vanity – Chapter Seventeen

I wish I could describe to you the mayhem that ensues in the darkness, but the truth is I can’t even tell you how much time passes. One thing that is evident, from the cacophony echoing around the stage loft, is that the Assassin has well and truly lost the upper hand. Amid the thumping of furniture, splashing of slop and the bursting of balloons, the digitally-cloaked voice issues all manner of shrieks, howls, moans, groans and whimpers. Cassie, for her own part, keeps her communication to an expedient minimum as she metes out her untold revenge, speaking with actions rather than words. All I can think, as I lay there in the pitch black, is you go girl!

As time passes the electronic vociferations grow stranger still, stuttering and warping, and I can only assume that the gunge has reached the circuitry and caused it to malfunction. Then, with a dying squeal of static, calm falls across the loft. The music from downstairs has since ceased, and all that I can hear are cautious footsteps and rummaging.

“Hello?”, Cassie calls out. “Who are you? Where are you?”

I thump my feet with urgency, and it not long before a pair of slippery, slimy hands come to rest on them. The hands proceed up my legs, and then to my abdomen, probing my contours and curves with exactitude. “Ash?”, Cassie deduces.

“Mmm-mmm!!”, I strain against the gag.

With renewed urgency, the hands ascend my body, tug back the soggy hood, and yank the tape away from my mouth. An initial flash of pain is followed by relief as I gasp at the welcome cool air. I hope that the tape hasn’t chapped my skin too badly. The hands rummage inside the costume and untie my wrist bindings with enviable ease.

“Cassie!”, I cough. “What happened? Can you get some lights switched on?”

My request is duly executed, though not by Cassie. The overhead fluorescent tubes clink on, flooding the room with harsh white light. Squinting to adjust my eyes, I watch Cassie as she proceeds to free my ankles, weary yet dogged. The girl has wiped herself of the excess goo, but remains heavily slicked. Her cardigan is missing, and her white top has become a patchwork of colourful splotches and sodden see-through regions. I feel guilty for what she has been through, especially since I had her marked down as the Assassin. Perhaps if I had been smarter, and more trusting, she could have avoided this sacrifice. Fortunately, the situation at hand allows me to postpone any apology.

“Someone’s coming”, I hiss, staggering to my feet. I cast a glance around the loft, but our adversary is nowhere to be seen. “Where did Grace go?”

“Grace?”, Cassie begins, “Who’s…?”

A soft tap at the door gives me my answer. “Ash?”, my flatmate’s voice – her real voice – issues from behind the door. “How’s everything going in there?”

“You bloody well know!”, I mutter under my breath. My blood froths like a volcano. Devious bitch! Trying to stroll back in and play the innocent!

“Ash?”, Grace persists. “I came to tell you, the Mayoress might be in danger! She hasn’t turned up for the afternoon session. The police are going frantic down there. Ash? Can I come in?”

Seething, I snatch up two unused pies and storm over to the door. “Oh you can come in alright! Be my guest!”

After some fumbling with the handle, the door creaks open. Grace has changed back to her white lab-coat, betraying no sign of the messy struggle that just played out. I have to hand it to her for cleaning up so quickly, but I’m not fooled.

“Ash, hi…Oh!”

Grace raises an eyebrow as her eyes lock with my wrathful glare, but before she can react further, I spring forward like a Venus fly trap, clapping her head between the pair of pies. With a satisfying smoosh, the deep piles of white cream plough into her afro curls. Stunned, Grace puts up little resistance as I bend her into a headlock.

“Seeing as you like pie so much, why not have some yourself!?”, I thunder, while grinding the pie into the bitch’s face with my free hand. As I finally let the pie tin clatter to the ground, Grace’s face is revealed to be completely white, but this doesn’t stop me picking up another pie and repeating the process. I like to be thorough in my work.

“Pleugh!! Ash! What the…!?”, Grace splutters, her head now a huge mass of cream.

“You fooled me for a long time, Grace, but I got you bang to rights!”, I purr as I haul her over the loft jumble.

“Ash…”, Cassie pipes up.

“Fear not, Cassie! I’m going to get revenge on your behalf!” I manhandle the miscreant to the edge of the paddling pool. “Clearly you didn’t get messy enough the first time, Grace. So you can go in again!”

Grace manages to get a hand to wipe her eyes. “Ash, please!”, she wails, seeing the paste looming before her. “Not in there – no!!”

It briefly crosses my mind that I shouldn’t be indulging in police brutality, but my anger overrules any professional restraint. I can always say that Grace put up a struggle, and Cassie isn’t likely to say anything. This is personal; this is revenge. I can still taste the shampoo from when she dunked my head in the tank. With a triumphant war cry, I propel Grace forward with a shove to her back. She belly-flops into the paste, sending a surge of the translucent goo over the edges of the pool.

Smugness glowing in my cheeks, I stand over my former friend as she flounders in the slop. Her jeans are dark and shiny, and her lab-coat is grey with saturation. As for her hair, the paste has mixed with the cream to form a thick, lank mixture. It’s a suitably sticky end to the Catwalk Assassin’s reign of terror. Strolling around the pool, I wait until Grace levers herself up on her elbows, then apply my foot to her back, forcing her down for another faceful.

“Ash, what are you doing?”, cries a confused Cassie.

“Arresting the Assassin!”, I proclaim, fumbling inside my costume. Somewhere in here is the pair of handcuffs I brought.

“She’s not the Assassin”, Cassie contends.

“It pains me to say it, but yes she is”, I insist.

Cassie shakes her head with a wry smile. “The Assassin’s over there.”

With a nod of her head my assistant gestures the shampoo vat. Her sightless gaze traces upwards, and my own eyes follow. A black bundle hangs above the open tank, dripping with paste and splattered with cream, trussed by several loops of rope that snake around a beam in the roof. The misshapen parcel bears little hint of a human form, but as I stare, I realise that this is the phantom who imprisoned me in the wardrobe, and sent Cassie on the cruel obstacle course.

The Catwalk Assassin – scourge of the fashion world, sensation of the media, the rogue who struck fear into models and confounded five police forces – hangs before me, swinging gently like an encased fly carcass in a cobweb.

“I got a bit carried away”, Cassie says sheepishly.

“Don’t worry Cassie, so did I.” Ruefully, I look back at my best friend, now feebly supporting herself on all fours in the goo, completely innocent of the crimes I charged her with. Ooops.

“Grace”, I mumble. “I doubt this will mean much to you at this point, but sorry.” I extend a conciliatory hand. Grace is too busy spitting out paste and wiping her eyes to accept my pull-me-up, and I’m too impatient to wait for her. I abandon her and step tentatively towards the hogtied Assassin. My heart is in my throat, and my stomach not far behind it. I’m quivering all over with excitement.

After examining the bundle closely, I identify which end is the head. From inside the tangled costume, a faint groaning reassures me that the prisoner is at least alive. I extend a trembling a hand towards the hood.

My fingers falter as they make the contact with the sodden cloth. Who is it, Ash? I need to work out the identity of the villain before I unmask them. Dare I say, I’ve made a right hash of this case, lurching from one red herring to the next, but for my own satisfaction, I need to get it right in the end. This case has cost me dearly; Grace will likely never forgive me, and Tawney is going to peck out my entrails for breakf…

Tawney. Remember Ash, the Assassin called him Clive.

Oh. My. God.

It all falls into place.

Of course the suspect is on first name terms with the Super; she’s known him most of her life, she gets regular phone calls from him, she bends him round her little finger. And the suspect has unparallelled access behind the scenes at every fashion event going. She knows this Town Hall like the back of her hand.

Most galling of all, the suspect has sat in front of me jotting down notes for the past couple of days, and I never thought to register which hand she used. I was even presented with a second opportunity to spot it – left-handers smudge their writing. And I was treated to the little-known fact that the suspect once trained as an engineer, but I let that nugget slip past me too.

As for motive, who knows what grudges the suspect has chalked up over her long and distinguished career? Who can guess what psychoses a life of fame and glamour has wrought?

“You’re nicked, Mayoress”, I say quietly, as I pull off the hood.

Posted in Gunge, Pies, Stories | 2 Comments

A Halloween Gunging

A Halloween Gunging
By
Sunflower -Sama

I took a deep breath, as I peered toward the setting sun, a chilly wind blew across the land, the breeze shook the orange colored leafs and tossed up a few of there fallen mates. The laughter of school children could be heard, a small smile played across my lips as I looked up and observed the last faint rays of sun, shining down from its place in the heavens.

“Its almost time.” I said as I shivered a little as I pulled my pastel pink jacket a little closer around my railroad thin frame. The wind tossed a few strains of my coco brown hair around and caused a sudden shiver to pass over my body. It was clear to me, that the warmth of summer had passed away and now the cooling breath of Autumn was upon me. Or was it the first foretaste of winter. It was hard to tell this late in the year.

Sucking in some of cool air, I turned toward my right to where my little homestead stood. It was in all honesty my great-grandmothers old house. A humble little dwelling constructed from locally fired brick with a roof of imported slate, floated down by river barge from Melody Town.

Releasing my drawn in breath, I stepped off the cobblestone road and onto the brick paved walkway that connected my front door to the road. Before I could blink a eye, I found myself reaching down and wrapping my fingers around the old, tarnished brass door handle. The wooden door gave way with a loud groan.

“Finally.” I said stepping across the threshold of my front door and into my living room. The air inside my living room was nice and warm and very inviting. Though I knew I had little or no time to sit and enjoy the feeling. For tonight was the night of Halloween, a night of bewitchment. It was also the night of the major social even of the season, ‘The Halloween Fete’ that was being hosted in the brick paved town square.

The next hour and a half was spent in preparation and chores for the up coming events of the evening. The Dish’s left over from breakfast had to be washed, dried and put safety away. I then had to bath to rid myself of that odd medicine smell that clings to all of us who find work in that chosen vocation, and above all I had to brush and comb my hair out.

The minutes seemed to quickly fly by, and before long the old grandfather lock in the living in the corner of the living room, chimed the time to seven o’ clock in the evening. I was almost done curling my hair when the deep throated melody reached my ears. A small, little smile graced the bow of my lips as I counted off each chime.

“Almost finished.” I said walking out of the bathroom and heading down the hallway toward the old master bedroom that had become my new bedroom. Once within the confines of the bedroom, I removed my bathrobe and walked over to my closet and started to dig through the dozen or so dress’s, skirts, blouses and other odd and end articles of clothing that I had brought or collected over the years.

A minute or two passed before I happen to come across what I was looking for, without a second thought being given, I reached up and pulled out a low cute, snow white bodice, that would show a fair bit and maybe even provided a little lift.

Halloween was after all the only night out the whole year a girl could wear a reveling costume that flattered her and not run the risk of having her good name tarnished or soiled in any shape or form. And to be blunt this festival was all about hooking up with a cute guy or gal depending on one’s personal preference. And having a flattering and creative costume was the key to ones success.

With all the pieces to my outfit present and accounted for, I quickly started to dress myself. Once I had finished dressing myself, I took a chance and peered into the floor length mirror. Call it vanity if you will, but I could not help but smile as I ran my hand down my side, smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress.

“Well, little red riding hood.” I said under my breath, as I modeled my dress for myself. “I think its time for you to go out and bag yourself a big bad wolf this evening.” And so with that being said, I flipped the light switch to the off position and started toward the door. As I passed the kitchen table up a wicker basket.

A minute or two passed before I could feel my feet touching down upon the brown cobblestone squares that paved the small section of rod that ran by my house. The moon it seemed had finally over taken the sun in the course of my getting dressed, for the landscape was now veiled in the cloak of night.

Through surrounded by darkness, my road was not totally void of light. For the many gas powered streetlamps scattered along the path provided small pools of golden light. Further illumination was being provided by the light spilling out of the few shops that lined the route to the square. Each window had been decorated in a Halloween theme, with witch’s riding broomsticks and smiling, bucktooth Jack-o Lanterns being the two most popular choice among the proprietors of the shop.

Ten minutes into my track, I had to pause in order to allow myself to soak in the sights and the sounds of the holiday. The laughter of children filled the brisk autumn air, and the ringing of doorbells and the knocking of brush knocks echoed loudly across the cobblestones, quickly following the sounds was the seasonal greeting of ‘Trick or Treat.

Allowing myself a smile, I once more started my journey, and soon enough, I found myself standing in the brick paved town square where the majority of the major social event was being held. Sudden shiver passed over me as I stepped into the square. Lighting was scare and a air of mystery filled the air.

My eyes where quickly drawn toward a large phone booth looking box, located in the center of the plaza. A well worn three legged stool was located within the confines of the four walls. My eyes seemed to zoom in one the stool before shifting upwards, before coming to rest upon a large clear container that held a brownish sludge looking mixture.

I swallowed hard as I peered toward the brownish sludge, poised it seemed to cover anybody unlucky enough to be seated below. My gaze was broken by a loud cackling and there standing by the booth was a young women, who appeared to be around my age.
She wore a lose fitting midnight black dress, and a wicked little grin played across her face as she stirred a large black cauldron that was sitting a few feet away from the door of the booth.

“Round about the cauldron go; in the poison’d entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone day and night has thirty one swelter’d venom sleeping got, boiled through first I’ the charmed pot” The young women chanted as she stirred the bubbling pot that seemed to hiss and groan. Her wicked little grin turned into a full blown smile as she caught sight of me standing before her.

“Come here my pretty, and listen well to my warning, for tonight all of the villagers here have gathered, to cast los, for who among them shall be doused in the brew you see in yonder hold.” He said pointing toward the container full of that dark brown mixture. Another loud cackle followed as she gave me a sideway look.

“The appointed time is near, so please do be careful where you tread.” She said returning to her brewing and stirring. All the while she wore a evil grin, something that reminded me of a cat eyeing a feeding song bird.

A sudden blush crept across my face, as I turned toward the gathering crowds. Every person seemed, save for me wore a feathered mask, adding a noticeable flare of village decadence to the whole scene. Still blushing, I walked into the gathered crowds, nobody really seemed to pay me much mind, as the ladies of the crowed seemed more content to carve away the hours in fruitless flirting with land owning farmers, who formed the bulk of Bourgeoisie class of the village, or the upper crust if you preferred.

Quickly, I worked my way over to the small refreshment table, where drinks and Hors d’ oeuvre’s where being served. Still wearing a little bite of blush I eyed a large crystal bowl, filled to the brim with dark crimson fruit punch. Minding my manners, I walked over to the bowl and picked up the serving ladle, quickly without giving it much thought, I poured some of the punch into one of the paper cups and took small shall draft to calm my beating heart.

“Fillet if a fenny snake, in the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of a bat and tongue of dog, adder’s fork and blindworm sting, lizards leg and owlet’s wing. For a charm of powerful trouble, like a hell-broth boiled a bubbled.” Cackled the witch from her position next to the booth. With a wicked little grin upon her smug face, she turned toward the full, autumn moon that shown like a beacon of light in the cloudless evening sky.

I must confess a chill ran down my spine as all turned toward the witch, all the senseless flirting stopped and a hushed silence fell upon the crowed as she all eyes where casted upon her. The witch, loving the attention stopped her stirring and peered toward the rising moon.

“Tis almost time!” The women said as she peered toward the rising moon, a small smile was playing across the bow of her lips. “Now ‘round about my children gather, to listen to my decree. A guinea is the price one will pay, to put thy rivals name into the box, or your own if you feel so inclined to do so.” She said as she took deep breath and said.

“And in a hour, all the names shall be collected, and who so ever shall be chosen, will be placed under my tank of doom and gloom. So.” She said. She then took a deep breath and said.
A little smile crossed my face, as my mind dispelled the silly notion that I would be the one choosen to sit under the goo. I mean nobody in there right mind would pay twenty and one shillings for the chance to see me covered in sludge. That was a hours wage in fields or in the office. Surly one of the village’s Bella’s would be the one to sit upon the stool.

And so with my fears having been put to rest, I set about enjoying party. Though a feeling of growing dreaded did indeed seem to cloud my mind as I observed the women of the village, flashing evil grin in my direction as the pointed and nodded there heads toward me, before returning to there whispering behind there raised hands.

My curiosity was also peeked, when I peered toward the table that the votes where being taken at. The faint scratching of the pens could be heard, as well as the ringing sounds of coins being tossed into the collection box. More than once, I happen to see somebody peering in my general direction before dropping there coins into the old wooden box, and inking a name into the small, thin strips of parchment.

Quickly, I took a deep breath and started toward the nearest exit. Judging by the size of the crowd that had already gathered around the clear, flour walled plastic booth. The voting had come to a end, and the votes where now in the process of being counted. Sure there was still a pretty good chance that one of the Bella’s of Sea Breeze would be chosen, or one of the tavern queens and all. But the threat was still there, there was still a good chance that little ol’ I had been picked.

And I for one was not about to let myself get covered in that fifth, no way in hell, was I bout to subject myself to being hauled up on stage, and sat down upon that little wooden stool and within a mater of seconds covered in what ever in the name of the god was in that holding storage.

I was just about to make my grand escape, when I noticed the route of my passage was blocked by three women. The first one was dressed in a more adult rated ’Alice’ the main heroine of Lewis’s ’Alice and Wonderland’. The second seemed to be Cosplaying as anime character who’s name escaped me and the third and final one ws dressed as a sexy nurse.

“Leaving so soon?” The nurse said to me as reached up and started to play with a strain of her golden blonde hair.

“And just there where about to draw the name too, I mean its not like you have anything to lose from a little slime.” The Alice said to me, as she started to circle around me, in a manner that brought to mind a stalking lioness moving in for the kill.

“Indeed, seems somebody is trying to be a poor sport.” The one who was Cosplaying as the anime character said to me as she peered toward me with her baby blue eyes.

“Indeed, I mean, who’s going to be so selfish and self centered as to op out of a proud village tradition. We’re all taking a chance you know.” Chimed in Alice again.

A dark crimson color spread over my cheeks as I peered toward the tree. I was just about to utter a response to there questions, okay more like there verbal assaults, when the voice of the witch rang out across the grounds. It must be time, because for the first time ll evening she had broken character.

“Okay ladies, gentlemen, princess’s, knights and ghoulish beings. Its time for are drawing.” She said with a broad smile. “I’m also pleased to say, that all money collected tonight will go toward the paving of the outer roads. Housewives, you can start rejoicing, for soon those old pig trails, shall be paved in nice, clean cobblestones.

The crow responded with a token applause.

“And now, without further delay.” She said moving toward the small black ballad box. Without a seconds delay she reached into its confines and pulled out a small folded piece of parchment. Another quick second passed before she unfolded the piece of paper, “Would Sunflower E. Woodlift. Please join me on stage?”

My heart jumped into my throat as I peered toward the raised wooden platform. Taking a deep breath, I started to move toward the clear plastic booth. It seemed the forces of nature had chosen me.

“Here..” I called, it had only taken a good three or four minutes for me to cross the cobblestones and wade through the gathered crowds and climb the wooden steps, my heart rate seemed to double with every step I took.

“Oh its little red riding hood from before?” The witch said as she held the clear door open for me. “We’ll honey step right in, I think you’ll be pleased to know that several local business pulled together.” She then turned toward the crowd and in a loud booming tone of voice cried out.

“And beside getting drenched in my gooey goo, the little lady will also be receiving a fifteen quid gift certificate for ‘Hind’s Steakhouse’” She paused as she locked me in and then said the last bit. “Proudly serving the Sea Breeze Community since 1948.” And that last bit being said, she stepped back and took into her hand a long piece of nylon rope.

Quickly I crossed myself as I peered up. A chill ran down my spine and the heat was starting to rise in my cheeks. I could only shutter and squeeze my eyes shut as I heard the women yell.

“Okay folks give me a count down.”

Time then seemed to come to a total stand still as the trap door above my head let way and a cascade of mush was poured down upon my head, coating my hair and clinging to the folds of the dress, before sinking into my top.

The whole of my world disappeared under a blinding torrent of sludge, I could feel the weight pressing down upon my hair, and much to my horror, I could feel it sliding down my blouse and over my breast, then it hit me, the scent of the sloop, it smelled like something akin to day old grease.

The whole my world turned upside down as I heard a dozen or so voices raising in cheer and laughter as the horrible mixture poured down my back and pooled in my lab before running down my legs and finally settling at the bottom of my feet.

The whole of my body became stiff as a board as the last few ounces of slop, dripped down upon my head. The mess was starting to roll down my back, and by a odd and wicked chance of fate it was starting to soak into my panties, bringing my discomfort to a whole new level.
“Wow, what an amazing sport!” The young witch called out as she pointed to me. “Lets give her a round of applause.” She said grinning from ear to ear as she walked over and booth and with one quick flick of the wrist, she unlocked the plastic door.

Releasing a long held breath, I forced myself to raise up from the seat of the stool. Still blushing, I took a few baby steps out of the booth. Quickly I turned upon my heel and offered the crowed a little wave. The responded to my kind jester by shouting there approval. And so with there shouts of approval, ringing in my ears, I step off the stage. And into the pages of Village History.

The End.

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