By Allen McGill
Salina led the way along the pathways between the headstones of the deserted cemetery. The air was clear, brisk with October chill. The trees were bare; the full moon shone coldly off the granite monuments.
“Here,” she said to her companion, pointing to a spot on the ground. She stood still, her lank black hair hanging down her back. The white silk of her gown glowed silver in the moonlight.
Her companion, a bent, simian-like male trudged behind her, lugging heavy buckets. When he reached the spot to which Salina had directed him, he lowered his burden to pry off the lids.
Salina smiled, her lips dark and glossy. She let the gown slip off her shoulders and draped it across a nearby headstone. “Hurry,” she ordered. “It’s nearly midnight. The others will be here soon.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the male growled. When he’d opened one of the buckets, he stepped up onto the other and proceeded to pour the contents over Salina’s neck and shoulders.
Flowing streaks, black in the moonlight, oozed down her body, dripping to pool on the cemetery grass.
Salina writhed, spreading the liquid down the length and breadth of her skin. “Oh,” she moaned, luxuriating in the slick sensuousness. “The things I do to win ‘best costume’ for Halloween. Where’d you get all this stage blood, anyway?”
The simian male stopped pouring. “You wanted stage blood?”