The Conference - A Halloween Story free porn video

All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2020 by The Technician.

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A deep, rumbling voice thundered through the great hall, “Beings of Heaven and Hell and all places in between,” it called out. The blood red mound of quivering jelly at the front of the room bubbled and shook with each word, but no mouth as such was ever visible.

“We have agreed to this extraordinary meeting,” the deep voice continued, “to address the reality that we monsters and magical beings may soon become extinct.” He paused and then said, “Look at us!” After another pause, he repeated even more loudly, “Look at us!! We are but a fraction of the great horde we once were. And many of us who are left are diminished.”

His voice became slightly-higher pitched as he said, “Look at me! I once could cover entire villages... even great cities! Now, I do not even fill this room in which we meet. I don’t even overflow the stage! What has happened to us?!”

A very old man dressed in a purple robe with gold stars and strange symbols on it and a tall, pointed hat rose to speak. He was already standing. He physically rose and stood in the air above the throng of strange beings. “I can answer that,” he said loudly.

There was a roar of murmurs from the ghoulish crowd. When that quieted down, he floated to the front and stood next to The Blob. “The problem,” he said firmly, “is simply... belief. Humanity has stopped believing in us.”

It is impossible for some monsters to speak quietly, so the sudden discussion between various members of the assembly was thunderous. After a few moments, the Blob shook and quivered and an extremely loud voice roared through the hall yelling, “Quiet!”

The room was suddenly silent. “That’s better,” the deep voice said calmly. “Let us hear what the most honorable Merlin has to say.”

“No,” Merlin said softly, “let us first hear from a few of the mighty beings among us.” He pointed to a rather pale, almost transparent man dressed more or less as a pirate. “Édouard,” Merlin began, “you stand tall and strong when many in this room can barely lift themselves off the floor. Tell us your secret.”

The pirate ghost bowed slightly to him and said, “As you say, Merlin, it is all a matter of belief... and maybe fear... but fear creates belief... so are they not the same thing?”

He swaggered to the front and turned to address the gathering. “I stay healthy,” he said with a smile, “by scaring the bejesus out of tourists in New Orleans once or twice a month.” He laughed as he continued, “When they scream and pee their pants they BELIEVE in me! I can feel the strength of their belief flowing into me. And I can feed on that belief for months or even years afterwards.”

He looked around the room. His pale figure seemed to take on a glow. “The fear of those crowds gives me a real boost,” he continued, “but my real feast of power comes from Madam LaBrew’s– that’s a bar– and their resident Ghost Walk tour guide, Melinda.”

He sniffed loudly and continued, “Melinda doesn’t really believe in me...” He paused and then said slowly and almost harshly, “... but she believes in the money she can make if people think I’m real... so it’s the same thing. She calls me by name as she points out the various scary places in the French Quarter. As she goes through her spiel, she makes the tourists in the group really believe in me, even if I don’t pop in and scare the hell out of them.”

He looked around at the group which was now listening intently. “But there is more to it than that,” he said, again smiling broadly. “My relationship with Melinda is a relationship with benefits. She has these ‘dreams’ every week or so where she goes into a trance and lays down on her bed naked with all of the lights out and just some candles on the dresser. Oftentimes, if she goes into the trance while she’s in her shower, she will rub her entire body with oil. Or maybe rubbing her luscious body with oil in the shower puts her into the trance. I do not know. But in any case, she regularly goes into her trance and she lays down on her bed where she starts rubbing her breasts and playing with her nipples. After a little while, she starts to get moving and bouncing on the bed and then, after a little more rubbing and tweaking, she starts crying out ‘Captain Édouard, I need you. Captain Édouard, I want you. Captain Édouard!.. fuck me!’”

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “You all know that I’m not a Captain, but she likes thinking that I am.” He took a quick breath and continued, “After she says that, she puts her right hand down between her legs and starts rubbing herself real hard while holding her left hand up above her head like she is tied to the bed. That’s when I step in. I pull her right arm up over her head. It stays there. Both of her arms do... and her legs stay spread wide as if she has been tied tightly to the bed. That’s when I start fucking the living brains out of her.”

He smiled even more broadly as he looked around the room at the various beings who were listening intently to what he was saying. “When it is finally over,” he continued, “she always ends up saying,‘God, I have a vivid imagination,’ but let me tell you, for all the while I am pounding her pussy, she BELIEVES in me. And that sex-fueled belief is more powerful than anything I have managed with fear.”

“There,” Merlin said as Édouard sat down on an invisible chair, “that is the power of belief.”

“Or the power of sex,” a dark figure said from the corner of the room. “It’s not exactly a scientific study.”

He stepped out into the light. His robes were similar to Merlin’s, but all black. The deep black of his robes and hat accentuated the pale white of his skin. “I am as old and powerful as you, Merlin,” he continued, pointing his arm at the ancient magician. “But I think our strength comes from the power of our magic.”

“Or perhaps from the power of the pen,” Merlin shot back. “Because of the man from Stratford, everyone knows about Prospero.”

“But they do not know that I still live because of the power of my personal magic,” the dark figure yelled back. “It is the power of magic that gives us life and power. Magic gives us life! Magic gives us strength!”

“Yes, Prospero!” a small, hairy dwarf-like demon cackled out. “Magic gives us life. I literally exist because of the power of magic.”

He scrambled to the front and turned to face the crowd. He leaned forward on his knuckles almost like an ape as he said, “There are many Tokiloshe in my homeland. The mighty Zulu warriors who fear nothing else, fear us.” He stood up to his full one meter of height and continued, “A mighty Sangom created me to attack a man who had become his enemy. I tormented the man in his dreams to the point that eventually he became so enraged at my actions that he tried to directly attack the Shaman with a spear.”

He looked around, his beady eyes gleaming as he said loudly and firmly, “One should not attempt to attack a Zulu. The once great British Empire learned that many times.” He paused again and continued in a softer voice, “People also think that we rape virgins, especially women traveling alone at night and that we bite off the toes of sleeping people.” He chuckled and then said, “I assure you, I have never bitten off anyone’s toes.”

“And I have never actually raped any virgins,” a strange-looking man said in a very smooth voice. It was difficult to make out the man’s features because he seemed to be totally covered in a thick, black oil. “I am Orang Minyak,” he continued. “For those of you who do not speak Malay, that means ‘Oily Man.’ I am telepathic. I go into young girls dreams and give them what they secretly desire. For most, that is meeting a beautifully handsome man. In their dreams, I am that man, and I caress their nubile bodies as they lie in the soft grass by the river. I drive them higher and higher and higher until they can no longer resist me and then I plunge into them. For many, it is the first orgasm of their lives. For others, who already know their own hands and perhaps a toy or two, it is the most intense orgasm that they have ever experienced.” He paused and then said more softly, “Sometimes, the young girl directs the dream. Often times, that means non-consensual or kinky sex... sometimes extremely kinky sex. But whether I direct the dream or the young woman does, a virgin that wakes from such a lurid and lucid dream is sure that she is no longer a virgin...” He laughed loudly as he added, “... sometimes she isn’t.”

“But is it the sex or is it the belief in you that the sex creates?” Merlin said firmly.

“Or is it money?” a new voice asked. A man stepped out of the shadows. He looked very much like the Orang Minyak except he was not covered in oil. Despite that, it was still very difficult to clearly discern his facial features. “I have a deal with a medicine woman in Madagascar who sells magical red ribbons,” he said flatly.

His voice turned harsh as he continued, “There is no magic in those ribbons. It is just a scam to make her money. The only magic is the deal I have with the Shaman woman. By the terms of our agreement, I leave any woman alone who is wearing the red ribbon, but if I find a virgin who is not wearing one of the red ribbons, I can deflower her.”

He sneered and laughed evilly. “That isn’t too hard,” he said roughly. “Everyone in every village for miles around knows what the red ribbons mean. If a young woman from the area refuses to wear the ribbon it is because they secretly want to be deflowered. It is an open invitation to me. I don’t have to force anything. I just show up and whisper in their ears and they lie back and spread their legs. Sometimes they want me, but they want me to take them from behind and leave them intact.”

He smiled smugly and paused for a moment before continuing, “I agree to anal sex for the first three... or four... or maybe five times, but eventually I will leave them lying spent on their bloody bedsheets.”

“OK, OK, OK,” the red blob quivered out, “it seems that sex and power and money and belief all have something to do with it. But Merlin is right, we must learn the secrets of the healthy ones among us.”

“I don’t know if it is sex or belief... or the power of a curse,” a woman’s voice neighed out. A beautiful, pale woman with a voluptuous body walked to the front. Her thin, white, robe accented more than concealed the curves of her body. Her dark areolae were clearly visible as her stiff nipples pushed the thin fabric away from her breasts. Only one thing marred her beauty. She had the head of a mule which was clearly visible through the white gauze veil which she wore.

“They call me la mujer mula, the mule woman,” she said, her voice wavering as she started to cry. “It is a terrible curse for me to have such a beautiful body and such a hideous head. That’s why so many people find me in church praying that God would change one or the other. I would rather be a true mule than this.”

She took a ragged breath and then said between her sobs, “The women who see me in the churches always cry out in fear and loathing. Then their prayers change. They become prayers of thanks that they, at least, can attract a man.”

She sobbed deeply, “I have to wait for a man to stumble drunkenly out of the cantina late at night.” She sobbed again. This time it was an even deeper, body-wracking sob. “And I always have to leave before morning,” she gasped, “lest they see my ugliness.”

“But you are healthy,” Merlin said. “You are strong. Why do you think that is?”

“I think it is the power of the curse that made me what I am,” she said. “I seduced the lover of a powerful witch and she made me this for all time.”

“What about belief?” Merlin asked. “Those women in the churches, they believe in you. The drunken men at the bars, they do also. Do they not taunt each other with, ‘You were so drunk last night that you took home la mujer mula.’?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, sniffling a little, “but I still think it is the power of the witch’s curse that keeps me alive and healthy.

“For me it might also be the curse,” a strange beast said as it trotted up to join the mule woman. “I broke the taboos of our tribe in Peru. I had sex with my sister. We were both of age, but the gods still cursed me and turned me into a Jararcha.” He pointed at his body as best he could with his front hooves. His head was human, but his body was that of a llama.

“But do the people still believe in you?” Merlin asked.

“Oh, yes,” the Jararcha laughed, “every time a boy looks longingly at his sister or a man looks inappropriately at his grown daughter, they remember. And if they don’t, someone will warn them that if they do not get themselves under control, the gods will curse them as they cursed me.”

“This is becoming more and more confusing,” the red blob said. His whole body was quivering as he added, “Sex and power and money and belief and curses all have something to do with it. ... Does anyone else wish to speak?”

A pale, thin, almost invisible being slid up to the front. “I am not one of the strong ones,” he said in a voice not much above a whisper. “But I can tell you what it is that is killing me. It is non-belief.”

He took a deep breath. It sounded almost like the last breath of a very sick man. Then he said, “I used to gain much strength by hiding under a child’s bed and scaring them when the room got dark and they were alone.” He sobbed. It was a strange, empty-sounding sob. “But ever since those cartoon monster movies came out the children aren’t afraid of me. They don’t even think I’m real. They think I am just in their imagination or something or that they can turn me off if they so wish.”

His sobbing became almost continuous as he forced out, “They no longer believe in me.”

He sobbed again and slid back into the crowd. Once he had disappeared among the throng of monsters and magical beings, a stout, obviously strong horse trotted up to the front. It stood for a moment and then morphed into an extremely beautiful woman standing naked before the throng. Her eyes seemed huge, and filled with longing. Her lips were dark pink, like the mouth of the horse had been. Her nipples and areolae matched her lips. Her long, smooth hair, which flowed down her back, was a mottled black, the same color as the horse had been. The thatch of hair covering her mound almost looked like a section of the short, thick coat that had covered the horse’s sides. She seemed to exude sexuality. In fact, her sexual attraction was so strong that many of the male beings breathed a soft sigh as they looked at her.

“I am a Kelpie,” the woman began. Her voice was soft and warm. “In my horse form,” she continued, “I roam the hinterlands of Scotland looking for weary travelers. I pause and let them mount me thinking I will give them respite from their toilsome journey. Instead, once they touch me, they are stuck and I drag them into the nearest water and drown them.”

She ran her hands lightly down her body, “In this form,” she said in a very sultry voice, “I appear to lonely men everywhere.” She laughed a light, silvery, laugh. “Very few men can resist me,” she said, still almost laughing. Then she continued, “I also allow them to mount me, but once they are astride me, they, too are stuck. If there is water nearby, I fly to it and drown them. If not, I hold them within me slowly draining the life force from their body. By morning they are but shriveled husks of what they once were.”

“So we add stealing life from others to our list,” the Blob muttered. “Anything else?”

An old hag in tattered rags and a very beautiful, slender woman in a floor length, brightly patterned skirt walked forward together. Once they reached the front, the old hag slowly transformed into a beautiful, young, naked woman and said, “I am a Succubus. We, too, drain the life force from the men we seduce. I whisper to them from the shadows where no one can see me or hear me. I rub against them in crowds where only they can feel me. I let them take me to their beds or into the woods where we can hide from their wives or lovers. They think they are seducing me as they run their hands up and down my body. They think they are leading me into passion as they massage my breasts and suckle at my nipples. They think they are overwhelming my body with their advances until I finally give in and let them mount me.”

Her eyes and face and voice became very cold. “Then it all changes,” she said almost joyfully. “I love to see the terror in their eyes as they thrust into this beautiful body and suddenly are trapped within...” She morphed back into her old hag self before nearly yelling, “... this!”

The entire conference burst into applause and laughter.

“And I am La Ciguapa,” the slender woman said loudly as the laughter dimmed. “The men of The Dominican Republic do not trust a woman in a long skirt such as this,” she said as she slowly pulled her skirt upward revealing feet that faced backwards rather than forwards. “That is why the women pull their skirts so far into the air as they dance at the festivals. It is not just to show off their legs or perhaps give someone a glimpse of their ass. It is also so the men will know that they are not La Cigaupa.”

She let her skirt drop to the ground and then said, “The women accuse me of stealing meat and butter from their villages, and whenever a lonely man disappears, they say that I have also stolen him.”

She smiled and said, “But they never find their wayward son or husband because I am also a form of Succubus. Unlike a true Succubus, I do not bring terror to the young men. My body remains beautiful and they are consumed with pleasure as they spurt within me again and again and again until their youth is mine. Then I leave their emptied husk behind. The people of the village never realize that the withered stranger whom they discovered dead of old age was really their missing young man.”

“And that is why they call some of us monsters,” Merlin said forcefully. “But I guess it is just part of the circle of life. Who else among you is powerful or at least healthy? Will you share your secrets?”

“I don’t know if it is belief or the force of emotions,” a strange voice crackled, “but I am healthy and... ... powerful.”

Everyone suddenly opened a wide path as a ball of fire rolled to the front of the group. The front of the ball had the shape of a human skull that somehow remained in the front as the ball rolled. When it got to the front, it stopped and two arms emerged from the fire.

“I am obviously,” it began, “Bola de Fuego. They know of me throughout all of South America. They think that I am attracted to prayer, but that is not the case. I am just a jokester who gets a laugh... and power... when someone is so overcome with anger that they switch from godtalk to cursing in the blink of an eye. When they really get to cursing– as can be done best in the Spanish language– I start laughing so hard that I have to leave to keep from putting myself out.” He paused before continuing, “Maybe that is why they think that cursing will drive me away.”

The ball slowly turned completely around to stare at everyone with its empty skull-like eyes. “No sex,” it said flatly, “no taking of life, just anger, or perhaps humor is what gives me power.”

“Do people remember you in between times that you appear?” Merlin asked.

“Oh, they remember,” it said rapidly. “Even if they don’t actually believe in me, they remember who I am. If a man– or a woman– is caught cussing by their spouse or their mother or the village priest, they will say, ‘I was driving away La Bola de Fuego, did you not see it?’”

“Does that work?” someone from the crowd asked.

“A man will believe his wife much easier than a wife her husband or a mother her son,” the ball of fire said flatly, “but they still say it.”

“So,” the Blob who was in charge of the meeting said, “we have sex and power and money and belief and curses and the outright stealing of life and anger and laughter and... ?”

“I don’t know if this is sex or anger or frustration,” a strange, high-pitched voice said as something slithered to the front. A snake-like being with an oriental-looking face raised itself up and continued, “I am Jimamushi Nyūdō, people believe that I live under the floorboards of their houses in Japan. In the old days, they thought that it was I who slithered into their rooms while they weren’t looking and snuffed out their lamps with my long tongue.”

He stood up even stiffer and taller. “That was once true,” he continued, “but I wasn’t just being mischievous. I needed the darkness for other things... like slipping into the beds of the wives and maidens and feasting between their legs.” His enormous, forked tongue flickered out to its full length. “With this,” he said, “I can do anything from creating a slight tickle to taking a woman to places she didn’t even know existed.” His face formed a snakey-looking leer as he said proudly, “I’m one of the reasons that many Japanese women today don’t want to get married. Why give me up for some limp-dicked husband that can only satisfy her once or twice a month when they aren’t dead tired from working all the time.”

A second Jimamushi Nyūdō joined him at the front. “There are also,” it said slyly, “many men who don’t mind getting their assholes licked as they try to sleep in those little caskets they call sleep rooms in Tokyo and other big cities. Some even enjoy it when I thrust my tongue all the way into their cute little asses.”

“Different strokes for different folks,” the first Jimamushi Nyūdō said brusquely. “But in any case, be it frustration or sex or whatever, we Jimamushi Nyūdō are healthy and strong.”

“Again,” said Merlin, “how do people remember you?”

“It is hard to forget a night with a Jimamushi Nyūdō,” the first snake demon said with a laugh.

“But some remember us when we weren’t even there,” said the second. “Whenever a woman has a particularly erotic dream, she says– or at least thinks– ‘The Jimamushi Nyūdō came to me last night.’”

“Thank you,” Merlin said firmly.

A gigantic, hairy man pushed his way through the crowd and lumbered forward to where Merlin stood. He didn’t seem all that intelligent as he turned and looked around the room. “Many of you know me,” his voice boomed out. “I am Genderuwo. No one speaks of me publicly, but the women whisper about me in the corners and the shadows. I seek out lonely women who have been neglected by their husbands or widows who miss a man’s touch, and I seduce them.”

He chuckled a deep, rumbling chuckle. “How do I do that looking like this?” you ask. “I know that I am big and ugly and not as smart as someone like Merlin, but I have my own magic.”

He exhaled a deep breath that seemed to hang in a violet-tinged cloud before his face. “Once I breathe my spell on them,” he said firmly, “no woman can resist me. And once I have pounded my massive member into them, no woman regrets having been seduced by me. Some even beg me to return... and that is not a result of my magic... unless you consider THIS magic.”

He held up a huge prick that even in its flaccid state looked way too massive for any woman to accept. As he held his prick, he attempted to smile, but it came out as a crooked leer. Then he said, “Sometimes I even impregnate them and they give birth to another Genderuwo. All of that keeps us strong and keeps our numbers up.”

“That is once again the power of magic... I think,” the Blob blubbered, “but it looks like you do get some power from your... from your... strength... and the stories whispered about you in the corners by the women of the village.”

“Whatever,” the lumbering giant said as he walked back into the crowd.

A young, healthy-looking woman dressed entirely in black stepped forward. The paleness of her skin was made even more striking by the brightness of the red on her lips and the deepness of the black in which she was dressed. Her eyebrows looked like two black slashes on the snow. Her eyes were like shining lumps of black coal with the hint of fire burning in them. “I have grown strong while many of you have grown weak,” she began, “by something new and modern.”

She looked around. “We must adapt to the times,” she said. “Witches like me no longer stir cauldrons on the mountaintops and call down curses from the sky. We– those of us who are left– have found a new source of power.”

An excited roar of monster murmuring rolled through the crowd. When it had diminished, a tall, skinny woman with long, long, yellow fingernails stepped forward. She looked healthy, but... tired. “Tell us, Sybil,” she began, “what this new power is. We Pisadeira need something new. In the past, when a person ate too much or drank too much, I would wake them from their sleep and they would find themselves paralyzed with me sitting on their chest leering down at them.” She held her thin arms around her body and shivered as she said, “Ooohhh, the fear that would be in their eyes. It could feed me for weeks... or even months.” Her arms dropped to her sides and she said, “But modern medicine has pushed into almost all the dark places of Brazil, and now the doctors tell the people that it is just an awake dream and give them pills to help them sleep.” She slowly walked back into the crowd, her shoulders slumped, her arms hanging at her sides so that her overly-long yellow fingernails dragged on the ground.

A strange bat-like creature with one, large eye flew shakily forward. “I am a Popobawa,” it squeaked out. “I sneak into rooms at night and seduce young women... or men,” it continued. “But most people fear me for something I do not do. The people of Zanzibar once believed that I could take the shape of a man or even many men and invade a household and rape everyone. They thought that I, in man form, would then order them to tell everyone what I had done or the Popobawa would come back.”

The bat being wrapped its wings around itself as if crying and then finally said, “I gained great power from their fear and the fear their stories stirred in others, but modern police techniques have started tracking down these thugs who do this– worse monsters than any of us here– and arresting them. Now the people tell the police what happened. Few still believe in me. Even the virgins I seduce think it was just a dream and that I do not exist. If we do not find a new source of power, the Popobawa will soon be gone.”

A strange, octopus-like being slithered forward on its tentacles. “I am remembered primarily for my strange name,” he said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. “The people of rural Maryland often speak of going out looking for the Snallygaster. They called me the Schneller Geist, the "quick ghost", back in the old country, but now I have this ridiculous name that has no meaning. The stories say I eat chickens and children, but I have never eaten a child.”

He slumped down on his tentacles and said sadly, “There were once many of us roaming the land. All of the parents would warn their children, ‘Don’t stray away or the Snallygaster will get you.’ The children believed in me! But no more. Now I am the last of our kind, remembered only in practical jokes as people trick newcomers into going out looking for me.” His voice trailed off as he slithered back into the crowd.

“Young witch,” Merlin said forcefully, “tell us your secret.”

“I am not young,” she replied. “I am as old as you, or perhaps even older, but I have renewed myself with the awesome power I have discovered.”

“Tell us what it is!” the Blob thundered. “What is your secret source of power?”

“You have already surmised the sources of our power,” she said slowly. “Our power comes from belief and from sex and from fear and from magic and from laughter and from money and from anything else that fosters belief.” She leaned slightly forward and looked intently around the room. “I,” she said loudly, “have found a time and place where all of those things come together in a single night. It is a night where you can find enough power to fill you for years.”

She stood fully upright and said calmly, “It is called Halloween. On the last day of October, humans dress up as monsters or heros or witches or sexy nymphs of one sort or another. They drink and revel into the night. And during this time called Halloween...” She paused and then shouted, “THEY BELIEVE IN ME!!!!”

Her voice echoed throughout the hall. Then there was silence. A frail voice spoke from the crowd, “But how can we get them to believe in us like they believe in you?”

“There are two ways,” she said calmly, sweeping her hand across the crowd. “The first way is to just show up at a Halloween party. People at these parties are already primed with images of things strange and wonderful and scary and perhaps sexy or humorous. They are ready to believe because of all of the decorations and the alcohol and their hopes of sex and everything else that goes with Halloween today.

If you look close enough to being human, you could just come as if you were an invited guest. They will go nuts trying to guess who you are. Then when they finally demand that you unmask, say who you are and appear in your full horribleness... or just disappear... or start throwing fire all over the place... or whatever you can imagine that will imprint your image into their memories.” She laughed and said, “Or, if you have a body like mine, you could just take everything off and offer to couple with anyone there. Trust me, whatever you do, they will remember you and believe in you for weeks or months or even years.”

“But what about us who can’t blend in with humans?” a strange voice croaked out.

“Then show up anyway!” the witch said with a laugh. “Scare the hell out of them and they will remember you and believe in you.”

“But how will they know who we are?” the voice continued.

“Ah,” the witch said, “that is where the second way comes in. There are a lot of sites that post stories at Halloween. Some even have contests about them. Use your power to find people who write these stories. Have them write stories with lots of sex and violence and power and humor and riches so people will read them. And in those stories be sure that they mention your name as many times as possible. If that is done, then for all the time that a person is reading that story– and perhaps for days or weeks afterwards– they will believe in you!

That’s what I’ve done. When you read the stories of Halloween and Halloween parties you will see how often witches are mentioned... sexy witches... evil witches... beautiful witches... powerful witches... extremely wealthy witches... they are all there. And every time someone reads one of those stories we witches gain power.”

She took a deep breath and sighed as if she had just finished a succulent drink, then she looked out again at the crowd and said, “Another witch story has been posted somewhere.”

“So what you mean,” Merlin said, “is that someone should tell the story of what has happened here at this meeting? And then that writer should warn people that perhaps not all of the marvelous disguises at this year’s Halloween parties will actually be disguises.” He laughed lightly and said, “That writer should warn them that some of us will be showing up as ourselves.” He laughed again and said, “I like that idea! It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a really good party.”

“That is exactly what I mean,” the witch said, flashing her beautiful smile. “We need the story of this conference told. We need the stories of our lives and our exploits told.” She spun around to face Merlin and said forcefully, “And I know exactly who I can get to write that story. He owes me a couple of favors for showing him some of the more... interesting... aspects of our magical world.”

“Meeting adjourned!” boomed the deep bass voice of the Blob. “Let’s go party.”

***

And that, my dear readers is how... and where I continue to get the inspiration for some of my Halloween stories.

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END OF STORY

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