Jeff O’Brien

Welcome to the Unknown

Delivering pizza on Halloween Night. Well, that wasn’t really the way Roddy would have wanted to spend the cherished holiday. His spirits remained high, however, for he was making a killing on tips and just made a pit stop at the corner store to stock up with three fresh packs of butts.

It was extra dark out with some wind and a slight rainfall to at least set the mood as he drove through the city streets liberally indulging in his surplus of cigarettes. A few late trick-or-treaters had braved the elements with their parents, scurrying about with sacks and pumpkin-shaped pails full of childhood delights. Costumed adults were out too, enduring the precipitation and drunkenly stumbling about to the bars and the local festivities. And wouldn’t you know, as usual, plenty of females displayed plenty of cleavage and ass cheeks despite the wet chill. Roddy would have preferred to be among them, but Halloween was always a busy night in the pizza industry, and tips were his livelihood. Tonight, he’d make the best of things. Maybe something good would happen. Time to light another smoke and turn up the music.

The sounds of death metal blasted from his car stereo. Barely decipherable lyrics filled his mind with pleasant thoughts of decapitation, disembowelment, and cannibalism. During a particular verse that Roddy loved, a verse about devouring a virgin’s entrails, the music lowered as his GPS spoke through his dashboard to inform him his destination was twenty feet ahead to the right.

Before hopping out of his car Roddy gave himself a quick inspection in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t one for conventional fashion; his wardrobe consisted of black t-shirts bearing the logos of metal bands and horror movies. He shaved maybe twice a week, and his hair hung over his eyes in a chin-length flop. But ever the hopeless romantic, he hoped that waiting behind every door he knocked on would be the love of his life – a girl with matching taste in music, movies, and clothing.

Roddy determined that he looked as good as he could hope for and stepped out of his car with the insulated pizza case in hand. He stopped and marveled as he took in the sight of the house; he’d never noticed this one before. Not quite a mansion, but the place was a gothic beauty with wrought iron fencing around the expertly decorated front lawn. Plastic skeletons and ghouls stared him down, welcoming him as he opened the gate and proceeded up the stone stairs to the porch. He was slightly miffed that the owner of the house hadn’t turned any lights on for him, inside or out, but appreciated the genuine eerie affect this delivery had on him.

Almost a minute after he had rung the bell, right when he was about to either ring again or give up, a light came on in the hallway and the door creaked open.

There’s much to be said for a woman who answers the door while smoking a cigarette, thought Roddy.

However, he retracted the sentiment within moments of thinking it. He realized that while working as a pizza delivery guy he’d been greeted at the front doors of many women who were smoking cigarettes. Most left much to be desired. This one in particular just stood out for some reason, and it wasn’t just the cigarette. Maybe it was the way she was smoking it. There was something in her attitude that made the butt hang naturally from her cherry-red lips as if it were a part of her. And it was goddamn sexy.

Still standing at the doorway, looking her up and down, Roddy felt a bond to this beautiful female – certainly a first when delivering pizza. Perhaps there was some clairvoyant skill that had lain dormant in him all his life that suddenly unlocked itself to let him know that there was something special about her. Something deep and mystical. Or was it just that she looked eerily familiar.

Much of her burning cigarette remained to be smoked. Had she lit the cigarette after he rang the bell over a minute ago? Did she actually prep and use the smoke as a prop to greet him with hints of seduction? And goddammit, she reminded him of someone. He’d seen her before.

Elvira!

Of course she was not really Elvira. But her heaving, milky breasts that tested the durability of the black bodice of her gothy dress gown could have been Elvira’s. The same could be said for her hair and makeup: a voluminous, silky-smooth ebony mane contrasting a pale but radiant visage. None of this, however, had the air of a Halloween costume. The image was definitely the person.

The woman was well on in years, possibly in her mid-fifties, or even sixty. But, aside from the minute lines etched on her face, she’d aged gracefully and maintained a high percentage of what Roddy assumed had always been an abundance of sex appeal – more than most women half her age. Below the massive breasts her small waist curved out into plump hips; there was no sag. Her skin was tight and densely filled.

“Come in, young man,” she said, her voice raspy like a phone sex operator, probably from years of smoking. “You can leave the pizza on the coffee table and have a seat on the couch, my dear. I’ll be back in a minute.”

My dear?

“Sure thing. All right if I smoke too?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, handsome. Now go get comfy.”

Roddy lit another butt and did as he was instructed and found himself on a couch he’d hoped wouldn’t be as comfortable as it was. The cushions formed to his body, welcoming him warmly much like his unexpected host. He had more deliveries to make, but it seemed that whatever was about to happen would be worth losing his job over. There were plenty of pizza delivery places in town.

Looking around the room Roddy took great interest in its decorations. He’d walked right into a palace of horror. Framed movie posters of old, obscure fright flicks showed the age and wear to boast authenticity. This lady had some really impeccable taste in cinema. The Gore Gore Girls, Two Thousand Maniacs!,and Color Me Blood Redwere just a few of the wondrous film posters that hung from the walls. Everything else around him was macabre as well: lamp shades posted on top of skulls, a black leather easy chair in the corner with skull-faces on each armrest, and most peculiar – a door, likely to a closet, in the shape of a coffin lid complete with an upside down cross carved into it.

After a minute or two of enjoying the sights, particularly the coffin-shaped door which he felt oddly drawn to, the oddly familiar — and all around odd — woman returned in a change of clothing. Her long black, tight-fitting gown was now a black, tight-fitting dress cut high, just below the crotch, and fishnet stockings that stretched across her shapely thighs and calves. She sat on the easy chair and crossed her legs, showing that her lower parts were just as fine as what she had up above.

“Certainly not a fun night to be out delivering pizza,” she said while giving him a visual examination that was anything but discrete.

“Halloween isn’t a good night to do anything other than have a good time. But money is money.”

“As I look you over I imagine you’re the type who just might share a lot of common interests with me. A Dying Fetus t-shirt. Long black hair. Sexy leather jacket. If I didn’t know any better, I’d peg you for a lover horror movies and death metal.”

“You’re absolutely correct. But nobody’s pegging me. Even you.”

“Oh, young man. Witty with the sass to match. You certainly know how to make this kitten purr.”

“I’m a gentleman beyond my years. Anyways, you like Dying Fetus? You like death metal?”

“I may be getting up there in age, young man, but keep in mind, heavy metal has been a thing longer than you’ve probably been alive.”

“Oh, no.” Roddy gulped, swallowing his awkward misspeak. “I wasn’t implying that you’re-”

“Old?” The woman stopped and bellowed a dramatic laugh. “I know I’m old, toots. I’d prefer to think of myself as classic. But I think I’ve held up well.”

“I’ll say.” Why am I so comfortable with this lady? I’m never this confident with a chick.

“Thank you, my dear. If I can still get the praises of a young stud like yourself, I think I can toot my own horn a little bit. Or yours.”

Did she really just drop that awful of a sexual innuendo on me? I should be turned off but damn, this old broad has really got a spell on me.

The more she spoke, the more Roddy found familiarity. It wasn’t just the Elvira likeness. He swore he’d both seen and heard this woman before. Not recently, however. She was elusive, hidden somewhere deep in the recesses of his memory.

“Speaking of which, you’ve probably figured out that I didn’t really invite you in here just for the pizza.”

“Is that so?” Am I like, really-really being seduced by this insanely hot cougar? I guess my next deliveries can be late, or not happen at all. This is a fantasy I’ve only dreamed of. Banging the queen of all goth chicks! And on Halloween Night, no less! But seriously, where the fuck do I recognize her from? “What for then?”

“Don’t be coy with me, Roddy.”

“You know my name.” It was a statement, not a question. He knew she knew it. But how?

“I know a lot of things, dear.”

“I can’t help but think I know you from somewhere, miss.”

“It’s quite possible you do, Roddy. Welcome to the unknown.”

“Welcome to the unknown,” repeated Roddy. “That’s…” Welcome to the Unknown was a popular phrase spoken by a TV horror movie host Roddy had watched a few times on public access as a child. “The Dark Hour with Mistress Osirah!”

It was her. It had to be. Only much older, but certainly no worse for the wear.

“That’s right, honey,” laughed the woman. “Glad to know someone still remembers me.”

“I watched you when I was a kid!” What could he think of to say next? If he was about to fuck this finely aged chick, the last thing he wanted to do was start fanboying all over her. “I never knew you lived in the same town as me. Meeting you is a true honor.”

Fuck. I fanboyed.

“Thank you, sweetie. But I hope you want to do more than just meet me.”

“Umm…”

“Quit the coy act, boy.” Mistress Osirah lit another cigarette and breathed out her essence with the exhale. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Well, wow… uhh, sure. But, seriously, how do you know my name?”

“How about you don’t ask any more questions, and just do as I say?”

“Fine.” It felt as if his answer was spoken for him, not that it would have been any different had he said it of his own will. “I can do that.”

“Come over here and taste me.” The Mistress uncrossed her legs and parted them wide, displaying the assets of a much younger. “That’d be a good start.”

Through the wide openings of the fishnets Roddy could see she was cleanly shaven with a candy-pink slit and smooth, pale white skin that glowed in the dimly lit room.

Roddy was up off the couch and on his knees in front of the splayed mistress in seconds. With a couple of deep breaths, he took in her sweet woman scent, and put his tongue on her warm opening, gently lapping away through the netting of her stockings as she grew wetter and wetter.

“Rise,” the mistress commanded.

Roddy obeyed and bolted upward. Osirah pulled the front of her dress down, her tits popping out with slingshot force.

“Don’t just look, Roddy. You can play.”

And play Roddy did, caressing and gently kneading her breasts.

The mistress gently undid Roddy’s belt and yanked his stiffening manhood out. “I think you know where to put that, sweetie,” she hissed.

Upon entry into this woman who now had control of Roddy’s every muscle and movement, the air around his head grew slippery, euphoric.

“You okay, young man?” panted Osirah while Roddy thrust rhythmically.

“Fine,” Roddy mumbled. “Just a little woozy.”

“Don’t worry about that,” laughed the mistress.

Roddy did his best to compose himself without breaking from the act, but was distracted by the coffin-shaped closet door that slowly came open.

“I thought we were alone.” Roddy kept pumping his hips, but grew weaker.

“We are, dear. Don’t worry about a thing. Just keep going.”

Though his mind and body had become weak, the feeling in his crotch had not. At that moment Roddy was good for nothing else beyond fucking, and he was okay with it.

“I’m getting close,” he groaned.

“Good. Fill me.”

Her voice remained the same, but her face… purely demonic in design. Skeletal, dark, ashy. Eyes of sick yellow.

Roddy, however, showed no fear and completed the act.

Once he had fully emptied himself into his new master, he slumped to the floor like a sack of meat.

The mistress remained in her leather easy chair before him, splayed out wide, dripping Roddy’s load. Her human face had returned, and was smiling with sheer delight.

Still fully conscious, but feeling pretty much high as fuck, Roddy looked around from his spot on the floor to find himself no longer in a macabrely decorated living room. The walls were naked and the darkest of black. Yet somehow, Roddy and the Mistress were no longer indoors. The night sky hung above them, devoid of stars. Massive, shadowy trees encircled the walls. And the hardwood floor was now bright marble, a checkering of crimson and ebony.

“Come now,” said the mistress, and rose to her feet.

From out of the open coffin-shaped door came a group of frail but comely women, all completely naked except for black, faceless masks. There could have been four or five; Roddy was just too plain fucked up to count. He felt himself rise with the aid of their hands, though he felt nothing pull him up.

Through the deathly doorway came a dark light, pure black. His mistress’s minions escorted him beyond.

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