Life in Ashtonville was about to get interesting. And it was about fucking time, in Allie's opinion.
The thirteen year-old and her younger sister, Junie, had moved here in the Spring after their parents had died in an auto accident. Like any five year-old, Junie had been confused and distraught. Allie, on the other hand, had been quite composed; feeling only annoyance at the nuisance of having to move to New England and live with their mother's widowed Aunt Dorie.
Allie supposed she might be considered a sociopath by others. She certainly didn't think so but she had heard the quiet conversations between her parents at night when they thought she was asleep. At first, she had been offended but then became amused at the concerns of her parents and teachers. Masking her indifference with feigned solemnity at her parents' funeral, her only deep feeling had been rage when, of all the family members she could have been sent to, she was sent to Aunt Dorie.
Of course, everyone said that it was important to keep the sisters together. Allie had no idea why. Junie wasn't any fun and hadn't improved at all when she turned six late in the summer.
And Aunt Dorie's big hobby was about the history of Ashtonville. Originally named Ashton Forge by the Puritan pilgrims who settled here in the seventeenth century, it supposedly had a colorful history. Junie, of course, had been a willing companion at the Ashtonville Historical Society meetings which seemed mostly populated by old people (Dorie, in her early fifties, qualified as such in Allie's estimate) and younger losers who probably would never get a date (although there was one married couple there in their twenties).
Finally, Allie met some kids - older teenagers - who were into the occult. Allie didn't have any feelings either way when it came to summoning the forces of darkness, but the coven meetings then devolved in to drinking and sex after the formalities were done. Despite being younger than the others, Allie had earned their acceptance by acquiring a taste for alcohol (and purloined some of Aunt Dorie's hard cider from the apple shed for the group) and for cock.
So far, Allie's sexual experience had been oral but had become quite skilled at sucking dicks as well as rug-munching with some of the older girls. She certainly liked the cock but pussy did nothing for her. But it didn't repel her to give and receive some girl-on-girl action since the boys liked to watch and a couple of the girls obviously had the hots for her. Allie saw it as gaining leverage within the group.
Tonight, Allie's status was going to change as she would be the star of the ceremonies. Spread out on a flat stone they used for an altar, she would get her cherry popped by Chuck, the eighteen year-old coven leader, and then fucked by every other boy for good measure.
All this took place at Anonquin Lake, not far from Aunt Dorie's place if one walked through the woods.
This added to Allie's satisfaction because Dorie had often spoken about the lake and its sacredness among the Indian tribes back in the day. The lake always kept a balance, the woman said, never letting one force of nature become overbearing and maintaining peace among the native people. It had been a place of worship and mediation. Allie wondered if her dear aunt would keel over if she knew what kind of worship was happening now.
It was Saturday night and the night before Halloween. Sunday would be for Trick-or-Treating but one of the town's clubs was hosting a party for kids tonight. Dorie had insisted that Allie attend with Junie, which might have put a crimp in Allie's plans to bid adieu to her virginity had she not concocted a cover story.
Telling her aunt that she had been invited for a sleepover, she said she would go home with a friend after the party if Dorie would retrieve Junie. But Dorie was hosting a Historical Society presentation on Ashtonville Halloween traditions and wouldn't be able to get Junie in time.
Junie might have gone to the party with her friend, Evan, a little boy who lived a few houses away, and gone home with him, but the boy and his parents were away and wouldn't be back until Sunday.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Thursday, October 20, 2016