Its Halloween Pastel-Hime!

It was a dark, moonless, Halloween night. With a cold wind blowing and the sound of doorbells ringing and the sound of children laughing. Each front porch was decorated with smiling orange pumpkin’s all a-glowing. Groups of children filled the cobblestone streets, there brown bags filled with treats, there hollow cries of ‘Trick or Treat’ told all that little monsters where on the prowl.

And on a certain street, in a certain part of town, a witch dressed in all black was about to start the prowl. Her long white hair hanging lose, her woolen cloak pulled tight to guard from the chill, and her little mousie ears hidden behind the brim of a silken pointed hat.

With a playful smile on her face, she started to walk down the street, the heel of her shoe clicked upon the brown paving stones. She waved as she passed groups of little ghoul, monsters, superhero’s and cartoon characters. All waved back before ringing the doorbell of the next house on there list.

Candy was nice, but it was the last thing on the witch’s mind tonight. For tonight she wanted to do something daring. She wanted all to know, she was more than just a sweet little mousie. So she convened of a plan.

Her plan was simple as it was daring, under this moonless sky, she planned to sneak into ’Glenwood Cemetery’ and take for herself one of the wild pumpkins that grew in the sandy soil of the creek that gave the graveyard its name. She knew with such a prize, she’ll quickly become the talk of the town.

Smiling under the brim of her hood, she started to quicken her pace and soon she arrived at the old iron gate. Beyond the bars of the gate, she could see the rolling lines of moss covered tombstones and concrete angels that dotted the landscape. A fog was starting to roll in from the marshy area east of the graveyard. The crooking sound of frogs filled the air and in the withered branches of a tree a old barn owl perched, its yellow eyes looking all around.

The gray, old owl peered toward Pastel with its big yellow eyes, and gave a warning hoot before flapping its wings and sailing into the iron colored sky. A sudden gust of wind rose up from the far distended pine covered hills. The sudden gust of wind pushed hard upon the old, rust covered gate and made slowly swing open. Reveling a path of broken and moss covered paving stones for the mousie to follow.

Pastel took a deep breath as she gathered up her courage as her feet left the smooth, clean paving stones of the street for the rough, broken, vine covered path. The fog rolled around Pastel’s feet and behind her the old gate closed behind her. Once the gate closed, the old link of chain that had been laying on the ground lifted up and started to wrap itself around the poles and the old rusty padlock clipped shut. Locking Pastel in.

Pastel did not notice the gate closing behind her. Instead she kept her mind focused on the task at hand. And despite the chill that hung in the air and the breath turning to smoke in front of her. She pushed on, the heel of her shoes scrapping down upon the stone paved path. Soon she was passing around a old stone fountain, The water was black and the base covered with lime green mold and around edges. Cattails where growling in the area where the water spilled off and the elements had broken the concrete and the paving stones. A bronze plague at the bottom held the inscription. ‘Built to honor the living, built to sooth the dearly departed. Enchanted with wisdom to punish the wicked’.
Pastel of course kept walking, skirting around the fountain, picking her way down the road till finally about a quarter of a mile in, the brown stones gave way to earth and rows of stone became ragged lines. Marker’s have sunken into the earth, titling at angels, old flowers that had not been collected, trees that had withered, and the hooting of a lone owl was the lay of the land that greeted her.

Pastel knew that beyond this nightmare landscape, there the fable pumpkin patch of legend lay. A dense fog was starting to roll in now, covering the ground and shrouding the land. The branches on the wither tree’s swayed with the wind and a faint whispering of a unseen voice seemed to pass from one grave to the next.

Pastel tried to pay the whispering voices no attention, though they made the hair stand up on her arms and caused a chill to pass down her spine. More than once she swore she felt the vines around her feet try to snatch her down. The low hanging branches seemed to almost reach down and touch her shoulders, the late autumn wind held traces of ice and snow and it swirled around her exposed ankles and thighs. And then from a clump of trees a orb of light appeared.

The orange and yellow ball of light, bounced from spot to spot, soon another orb appeared, ice blue this one appeared, it mimicked  the movements of the second one, then from the darken landscape another one appeared, ruby red at the center with flames of blue.

Pastel titled her head to the side as she started to pick her way toward the flaming balls of light. The ground started to become soft, soggy and damp. The stench of waterlogged vegetation filled the air. Muttering under her breath, Pastel slowly pushed through the marsh, inching her way toward the bright orbs of light that seemed to be calling her.

Little did she know, that behind her, other orbs of light where gathering. yellow, green, orange, blue, grey and even a soft glowing White all seem be forming a line and following closely behind her as she picked her way over fallen branches and skirted around puddles and pools.

A quarter of a hour passed in this fashion. Pastel cleared the marsh and soon found herself standing in fable pumpkin patch of legend. Large, handsome pumpkin’s twice the size of a man’s head lay nestled down under the cover of the thick vines and broad ivy colored leafs. The decaying remains of a old wooden fence stood near by. It was at the base of the old decaying fence post, Pastel spotted her prize. A perfectly gourd, its color a deep, almost blood red orange, not to heavy and not to big. Perfect for the petite teen to carry out on her own.

“I have found you at last my dear.” She cooed as started to move toward the pumpkin. She was almost there when she felt something take hold of her shoulders. Before she could blink a bright ball of light shot up from the ground and wrapped itself around Pastel’s wrist. Soon the balls of light where moving toward each other, forcing pastel wrist to move with the light. A heartbeat later, she was cuffed.

Pastel had little time to respond before she felt herself being pulled by a unseen forward toward a old, moss covered stone bench. As she was being pulled toward the bench, a pair of ghostly gray and white hands appeared. One hand flew toward the old weeping willow tree, the other picked up a old wooden hairbrush that rested upon one the of half sunken graves.

A sense of panic dawned over Pastel as she felt the coolness of the old stone being transferred to her tummy. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she felt her legs being spread apart by some unseen force and the helm of her dress being lifted up and pinned to the small of her back, her panties where then lowered. Pastel screamed as she felt the silken fabric sliding down her legs before being removed, though her cry of distress only turned into a loud cackle of a witch! The cackle filled the bottomland, the hollow’s and echoed through the spares pines and fur trees.

The panties hovered there for a few minutes before vanishing into thin air. Pastel had little time to ponder this as soon the hand holding the switch started to strike her bottom with vigor. The switch cut through the air and sliced through the tender flesh, sending burning wave of sting rolling into the bottom. The thin little branch left a angry red mark in its wake. One strike after the other after the other the switch popped her bottom, causing the tender molds to shake, each pass produced a girlish squeal that quickly became a deep throated cackle of a demented witch effected with moon sickness. The laugh, caused the blood of those passing by the graveyard to freeze and children in houses across the creek coward under there covers as the sound seeped in through windows and walls.

Seconds passed, and the bottom soon became crisscrossed with angry red lines, Pastel felt her eyes started to mist and her cheeks flushed with heat. The whole of her bottom felt on fire and coolness of the stone was quickly vanishing. She felt herself being pressed into the stone. Finally the switched stopped falling and Pastel though her whole thing done. Everything had happen so fast and she was still trying to wrap her brain around what had happen. Part of her even refused to believe the whole thing had happen, but the burn and the sting in her bottom was proof enough..

Then the brush came into the play, the ebony backside, flatten the round the bottom cheeks, sending cracking waves of sting down upon them. Like the hammer of the village’s smithy it pounded upon her bottom, striking it like a iron worker would strike a glowing piece of iron. While the brush did its work, the switch started to strike at her untouched thighs. Each stroke left a long, red line across her thighs.

The duel attack, broke the last remaining reserve of strength Pastel had, tears streamed down her red hot cheeks and her wails for mercy only became the loud cackling and shouting of a witch sailing across the moonless sky on her broom. Then it stopped, the spanking came to a end, the ghostly hands holding Pastel ransom broke there bind, and the brush and the switch fell down at her feet. And Pastel was left to whimper and whine and rub the sting from her bottom. For now the sun was rising over the pine and furs and the dawn was breaking cool and crisp. Halloween was over now and the feast of All’s Soul’s was to celebrated at the noon hour in the hollow hall’s of the towns Catholic Church. All pranksters, mischief makers, tricksters, candy beggars, witch’s, ghost and goblin’s where at last taking there rest from there favorite night. And that included both the living and the dead.

And so it ends, dear readers, be you pranksters, mischief makers, tricksters, candy beggars, witch’s, ghost and goblin’s on this Halloween our story.