In Laymon's Terms

Herman hesitated. Then he murmured, “All right.”

At the touch of his lips, Charlie gasped and stiffened. The blood smeared and swirled. Her nipple began to stretch. Trembling, she moaned. She found Herman’s shoulders and held onto them and shuddered.

His mouth went away from her breast.

“How’s that?” he asked.

And she saw his lips move when he asked. Phantom lips, stained by her blood.

“The other,” she said.

“But it’s not cut.”

“I don’t care.”

By the time he finished, she was gasping for breath and she could hardly stay on her feet. She clung to his shoulders.

“I want to see you,” she gasped. “I want to see what you look like.”

“We’ve been through all that, Charlie.”

“I know, I know. You’re naked...wouldn’t be decent. That’s...not hardly a problem anymore, is it? I mean, you let those guys strip me. Now it’s only fair...And anyhow, I love you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Of course. But I’ve gotta see you. I’ve never seen you.”

“I suppose we could go home and get some makeup.”

“No, now. I’ve gotta see you right now.”

“Ah. But I don’t see how...”

“The knife,” she gasped.

“Huh?”

“Where’d it end up?” She let go of his shoulders and turned around. She glanced at Tom, still sprawled on his back. The mark on his head had become a livid lump. His eyes were still shut. She scanned the floor of the forest beyond his head, then blurted, “There it is.” She ran, crouched, and picked up the knife.

Then she hurried back to Tom.

He opened his eyes as she knelt on the ground above his head.

He opened them very wide.

“Over here, Herman,” she said. “Quick.”

“Hey,” Tom said, his voice groggy.

“Hey yourself,” she told him.

His belly sank and widened when Herman sat on it.

He raised his head off the ground as if he hoped to see who was there. His fat red face dripped sweat...and maybe a few tears. He began to make a high-pitched whimpery sound.

“That’s good,” Charlie said. “You just sit there, honey. I’ll do all the work.”

Tom squealed when she tore open his throat with the knife.

Blood shot high.

Charlie tossed away the knife. She started to splash Herman with the blood. Then she leaned into the gusher herself, grabbed Herman by his red-splattered shoulders and pulled him toward her. She wrapped her arms around him.

Blood hosed his face.

Coated it.

Dripped.

She kissed his slippery lips.

He was slippery all over—massive and gentle and very slippery—as they tumbled off Tom’s body and rolled on the grass and wrestled and kissed and made love in the sunlit clearing.

Soon, the blood began to make them itchy. They licked each other clean.

Then they lay side by side on the grass.

After a while, Charlie said, “I hate it that I can’t see you. I used to think it was great, but now...God, how come you have to be invisible? It isn’t fair. I can’t look at you.”

“It has its advantages,” Herman pointed out.

“I guess so, but...I know we can try make-up on you, and stuff. Paint you.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not the same, though. I want to really see you. How will I ever get to see what you’d look like if you were...like real?”

“I am real, Charlie.”

“I know, but...I mean, actual flesh and blood. With skin. What would you look like if you had skin just like...Hey! I’ve got it!”

She gave him a pat, then pushed herself up and crawled toward the knife.

“Wait, now, Charlie.”

“No, this’ll be cool.”

“It’ll be hot. Not to mention messy.”

“Oh, don’t be a spoil sport. It’ll be great.”

Herman groaned. “Besides, I’m bigger than Tom. It’ll never fit.”

“Hey, there’s two of them, only one of you. There’ll be plenty, maybe even some left over for a hat.”

Originally Published in October Dreams, 2000

AST TIME I ever went out trick or treating, it was with my best friend Jimmy and his sisters, Peggy and Donna. Peggy, Jimmy’s kid sister, had a couple of her little friends along, Alice and Olive. There was also Olive’s older brother, Nick. Donna, Jimmy’s older sister, was in charge.

We all wore costumes except Donna.

Being sixteen, Donna thought of herself as too old for dressing up so she went as herself in a plaid chamois shirt, blue jeans and sneakers.

Peggy wore a Peter Pan outfit. When I saw her in the green elf outfit and feathered cap, I said, “Peter Pan!” She corrected me. “Not Peter Pan, Peggy Pan.”

One of her little friends, I don’t remember whether it was Olive or Alice, sported a tutu and a tiara and carried a wand with a star at one end. The other girl wore a store-bought E.T. costume. Or maybe she was Yoda. I’m not sure which.

Nick, I remember. All of fourteen, he was a year older than Jimmy and me. He was supposed to be a Jedi warrior. He wore black coveralls, a black cape and black galoshes. No mask, no helmet. We only knew he was a Jedi warrior because he told us so. And because he carried a “light saber,” pretty much a hollow plastic tube attached to a flashlight.