The Halloween Hurricane

If I think about this logically, it's everything that has left me on edge. The crazy old lady, the hurricane and that creepy motherfucker. Like some horrible 3 layer cake, I've had my head shoved in it and can't seem to wipe the frosting off.

Back in the living room now, I lean the shotgun against the couch. I do this because I want to look out the window again, where I need to cup my hands around my eyes to see better.

It's very hard to see, but I can tell that the water is far over the curb now and rising. The rain is coming down so hard, it's like there's a god-sized faucet in the sky that's been turned on. It's so dark out there. I can only make out that the water is over the curb thanks to the brief lightning flashes.

Needing a release, I move back into kitchen to fix that cup of coffee. After grabbing the coffee cup, I have a change of mind. That's when I take the flashlight and look into the panty. There I grab the bottle of whiskey I have. Instead of getting a glass, I instead take off the cap and take a multi-second sip.

Lowering the whiskey bottle as I feel my cold, scared body begin to warm, I notice something reflect my flashlight on the floor. My eye is instantly drawn to it and I lean over to examine what it is since it wasn't there before. I lean over more and more as I don't believe I'm seeing what I'm seeing. Like if my brain doesn't want to admit it sees it but my eyes keep pointing it out.

It's wet shoeprints. A single set of wet shoeprints. In the middle of my kitchen, is a left and right foot shoeprint. It is as clear as can be too. Like the person just stood in this one spot and didn't move.

What's weird is that the prints don't match. The left one is much smaller than the right. The right one looks like a fucking Viking's foot, while the left looks like a teenager that hasn't fully grown up yet. A real human being couldn't have this sort of dimensions, at least I wouldn't think.

Gulping, this proves that someone is in the house, right? I know I didn't make those shoeprints. But how can this be? I've checked everywhere. I've checked multiple times.

Turning around, I look though the opening of the kitchen into the living room. When I do this, I expect to see that lopsided hulking figure just standing there, staring at me. But there's still no one. Just the dimly lit living room with the soundtrack of the raging hurricane.

More and more I start to get worried that the crazy old lady was telling the truth. It would mean there's no one in the house, but there is something, I dunno, supernatural going on. Come to think of it, the creepy guy from earlier was standing in the middle of the street. Surely someone else would have seen him. It would have attracted attention, to which they would have tried to chase him off or called the police. What if I was the only one that could see him?

Oh dear, what if it's all in my head? That my brain is making me see shit that isn't there? That I'm losing it mentally from the stress and worry? If I'm being honest, that seems more likely than me seeing ghosts or demons.

Alright, time to think. What should I do? What can I do? Need to think logically. Need to be smart.

What about locking myself in one of the rooms? Picking a room with one of the solar batteries then waiting for the hurricane to pass. I could hold up with some water and my shotgun, making it easier to handle if someone tried to break into the room. I would be able to bring a radio to get any updates.

But if I did that, I would be trapped without knowing how bad the storm really is as I wouldn't be able to see out the front windows. Not to mention that I would be cut off from all my supplies. What if something happens that I need to react, but can't because I'm stuck in that room? Like a gas line breaking?

Calling the police is out of the question. They wouldn't be able to make their way through the storm. And in any case, there's no proof for them to react on. Sure, there's the shoeprints, but I doubt it's enough for them to risk their lives driving through a hurricane. And with the cell network being toast, I can't even reach out to anyone.

Another option is to check the house again, even if I just did it. To go and confront whoever or whatever is in here with me. I'm not sure where they might be hiding, but I can keep searching until I find them.

But if I do this and still don't find them, what will I do then? Accept no one is in the house with me? I dunno. Doesn't feel like I'll be able to do that. I'll end up doing nothing but checking room after room all night till I drop dead from exhaustion.

A new question pops in my head that I hadn't really asked myself. Why do I think someone is in the house? I've checked everything a few times now, so why do I keep thinking someone is here? My first response is because of that old lady's warning, but that's not right. The real answer, which I don't want to believe is I can feel them. I can feel something is here with me. I'm not sure how I can do it, but I can feel a presence. I guess the question is if that feeling is real, or is it just my fear of everything? I have been guilty of letting my imagination run wild.

"I'm being silly," I say out loud. I say it out loud on purpose as it's the only way I can force myself to start to believe that I'm alone here. Sure, I may feel someone here, but it is most likely due to extreme stress than anything else. It's Halloween and I had a run-in with a possible witch, a creepy creeper and a dangerous hurricane. Anyone would be freaked. But I need to think logically. No one is here.

For a moment I consider if this is how people used to feel on Halloween in olden times. Scared and alone, with the thought that something scary is out to get you. Sure, that would be back when people really believed in all sorts of supernatural nonsense, like "old gods." I can't help but shudder when I consider that maybe Halloween really is an evil night. A night when real monsters get to roam around for whatever reason.

With a deep breath, I move to the window to look out again. Before I actually look out, I stop myself. I just looked a moment ago, and checking again will only stress me out more. I need to just relax and let the whiskey work its magic inside me.

Stepping away from the window, I turn to look at my living room again. I figure it's time to do what I should have been doing since the beginning, which is listening to the news on the radio. I have a couple of those emergency radios that should play nothing but alerts about the storm so I can keep track. But also, I wouldn't be opposed to just listening to some music.

Before I go to get the radios, I decide to have another sip of whiskey. I therefore head back towards the kitchen where I pass the dining room table that sits to the side of the living room. As I walk past it, I notice something I hadn't before.

Turning to look at the crowded table which has most of my supplies, I see what I thought I saw. I see yet another item that shouldn't be there. Something that I'm not even sure what it is. I blink a few times as this time what I am seeing is very clear and very real. It's not a shoe print that will get wiped off or a toilet paper roll direction that can be argued.

In the center of my dining room table is a huge candle. Not an emergency candle nor a religious one. This huge thing, which is as large as a can of coffee, looks handmade. Like hands patted it together to form the shape.

What the fuck is that thing? And how is it lit? I didn't lit it. Hell, I've never even seen it before. How did it get here?

Unable to stop myself, I move closer to it, noticing even more. There are symbols or runes carved into the wax. Like someone used their fingernail to dig them in. No clue what any of them are, but it is beyond creepy.

I then see little wooden men scattered on the table at the base of the candle. These are really small, crude figurines made from toothpicks and small tree branches. They look held together with vines in which each one is in a humanoid shape. I'm not sure how many of the inch tall figurines are here, but it has to be over 20.

My heart begins to pound as ice cold fear runs over me. Where the fuck did all this come from? Someone had to have put it there because I didn't do it. This is solid proof that someone is in the house, or was in the house. But why would they put this on my table? I don't understand.

Spinning around, I check the living room to make sure no one is creeping up on me. With the storm getting worse, the rain and thunder is much louder, making it hard to hear the small sounds so it would be so easy for someone or something to creep up on me.

When I confirm there's no one behind me, I turn back to the table. I do this in hopes that all of it will be gone when I look again. That it will disappear and I can blame the stress for making me see things. But no. It is all still on my table.

A clash of thunder rings out right as a flash of lightening streaks over the sky. The inside of my house is lit up for just a moment, where the thunder literally makes the house tremble. Right after, I swear I start to hear the sound of water dripping, like a few leaks have formed inside the house.

A cold sweat forms on my forehead as I recall checking under every desk and nook in the house and not finding anything. There can't be anyone in the house. There just can't be. It'll be impossible.

A scream comes out of me as I feel something grab the back of my head. The giant hand grabs the back of my head as if it was palming a basketball. It takes a massive hold of me, where it squeezes just enough to let me know it could most likely crush my entire skull.

"Happy Halloween," a deep, dark and evil voice tells me in a leering manner.

That voice is the voice of a demon. A dark and taunting voice, filled with malice. Something that can't be human. Something that only means to do harm.

Fear like I've not felt before comes over me. It's a cold fear, like my blood is replaced by ice cold water, stunning me. It makes my entire body freeze in place, like I'm pretending to be a statue or something. It's by far the most overwhelming thing I've ever felt. It's to the point that I can't move my body at all. All I can do is stand here, my eyes locked onto the flickering light of the candle.

The hand begins to squeeze my head even more, sending not just pain but terror over me. The fingers move slow, showing it intends on torturing me with this unless something is done. Seeing no other choice as my brain has shut down, I lift both of my hands up in the universal statement of "please don't kill me."

"Ouch!" I cry out as the man pushes my head down. My body is forced forward and against the table, bruising my thighs and hips. He forces me to bend over the table as he moves my head down, easily overpowering me.

"No, wait!" I yell out as the side of my face is pressed against the hard table. He keeps on pressing, making it feel like he intends on crushing my face. Even when I am bent all the way over and my hands over my head, he keeps pushing.

I then find the reason why this evil, evil...thing...broke into my house. I find it out when he grabs my gym shorts and yanks them down, exposing my bare ass. He yanks my shorts all the way to my ankles, making sure every inch of my bottom half is exposed.

My heart pounds and my stomach drops after he does this, but what scares me more is that he doesn't say anything. There's no quip like, "Nice ass." Nor is there anything you might expect, like a grope or slap of my bum. The guy says nothing, and with him being behind me as I'm bent, I can't see him or what he might be thinking.

"Lift shirt," the dark voice commands in a disjointed manner, like English isn't it's normal language. The way he says these words are almost like he doesn't understand their meaning. That he was told what to say.

This command sparks a weird feeling in me. In fact, overall I feel really weird. I'm so incredibly scared, but at the same time I feel humiliated in a way I've not felt. Like I'm forced to be submissive, which I never am as I think it's pathetic. It makes me feel a strange sexual urge towards this dark feeling.

If I'm being honest, it kind of feels like I've been drugged the way this doesn't feel real. It has that strange out-of-world feeling where you wonder if you are dreaming. The set up on being Halloween night in the midst of a hurricane, to an intruder that somehow magically appeared in my house. It truly makes me wonder if that whiskey had something more in it.

The weird arousing feeling which starts in the pit of my stomach instead of between my legs grows as I consider what he's wanting. With me bent over and bottomless, he wants to me to help him in his goal to, well, fuck me. That he's making me remove my shirt instead of him as if to point out that I'm the victim.

Seeing I have no choice, my hands move to my t-shirt where I lift it upward towards my head. I feel the fabric pressing and scraping against my skin as it moves up my upper body as I'm still bent over, hard. The man keeps pressing down, forcing my body to press against the table, which makes removing the shirt almost impossible.

I do let out a whimper as I have to put a great deal of force to make my shirt push past my breasts as they are smushed against the table. But I do manage to do it, forcing my shirt to yank over my breasts, scraping them a little and making pain run over me.

I keep pulling on my shirt until it moves over my head, complete with passing my hair through it. After this, I pull my arms out of it, until it is off me completely. There I leave the shirt a few inches from the burning candle, like it is a tribute or something.

I'm naked now. NAKED. Naked and humiliated while bent over my own dining table with an evil man holding me down. With just a couple of simple moves, this man has me naked and bent over, where I'm helpless to what he wants to do. And for some reason that drives an arousal through me that makes my body feel on fire.

"Ouch!" I cry out as the man grabs my left arm near the shoulder. Only the way he grabs, he digs his fingernails in to have the best grip. His hand grabs my arm tight and cruel, like he needs to pierce my skin and suck out my bone marrow.

I cry out again as he yanks my left arm behind my back, where he pins it high up, sending pain over me. It's almost like he doesn't understand that this hurts me for he pulls my arm up higher, making it feel like he's trying to break it. Like he wants to snap it off at the elbow.

"Other arm," he demands in that same weird blunt manner. To this I quickly fling my right arm behind me. I do this in hopes that he'll stop, that he'll ease up on my left arm and not break it. Because from the feel of it, he could snap my arm as easy as snapping a toothpick.

The man does ease up on my arms, letting me breathe again. He then grabs both wrists in his one hand where he holds them tight. His massive hand holds both in place, where again it feels like he's trying to crush them instead of keeping me in place.

For a moment I get scared that he's going to try and break my hands at the wrist as he lifts my hands again. But then I find out why he does this as he begins to wrap something around my wrists. It wraps it around over and over again, tying my hands together.

I'm not sure what he's using to tie my hands together, but it's rough and coarse. At first it feels like rope that's been unraveled and frayed, but the more he uses, the more this doesn't feel right. The more I feel of it as he wraps the stuff around my wrists more times than he needs to, the more it feels like, well, hair. Human hair. Hair that's been tied together or something and used like rope.

When he finishes tying my wrists, I do try to pull my hands free, but it's laughable. I can't even wiggle my hands thanks to how tight he's tied them with that stuff. And I don't want to move or struggle for he's stopped pushing me to the table and I'm scared any movement would make him do just that.

W-Wait!" I gasp out as I feel what can only be a cock being placed between my legs. He places his manhood right against my opening in a silent manner where I didn't even hear him pull his pants down. Furthermore, I'm stunned he manages to put it right on target in the dark. He doesn't poke around but finds my opening on the first go. Immediately I feel it parting my lips as it makes it way to violate me.

"W-Wait! Please!" I beg, my head turning to try and look behind me. When I see him, my heart sinks and new fear floods into me.

The first I notice is that the huge shadowy man is completely naked. There's no clothing at all, not a shirt or necklace. He's just bare ass naked.

The second thing I notice is his body shape. It's unlike any I've ever seen. His right side is vastly larger than his left side. And I mean everywhere, even on his head. Half of his head is enlarged while the other half is normal sized. His right arm looks bigger than the largest bodybuilder while his left looks so small that my arm might be bigger.

A scream comes out of me that only the two of us hear as he thrusts his manhood inside of me. On a normal day a neighbor might be able to hear my scream, but not tonight. Not when a raging hurricane is overhead, pounding down rain and throwing lightening. No one will hear even if I scream to the top of my lungs.

My eyes widen as his cock parts me open like no one has done before, making me feel like the smallest woman ever. I can feel my womanhood stretching in a way it's never done before from his oddly shaped cock. For I think his cock is the same way, huge on one side but not the other. It makes it feel like if he was any bigger, he would literally tear me apart.

The man starts to fuck me now. He wastes no time in starting to thrust over and over, wanting nothing more than to get off. With his hands holding my hips in a painful grip, he thrusts slow, hard thrusts, in which each one both hurts horribly as well as sends pleasure over me.

The feeling of his manhood violating me makes the weird, drugged feeling get stronger. Where the humiliation and violation of what is happening become what makes it so arousing. That his cock is what is making the butterflies in my stomach flap harder as he rams into me over and over.

It takes me a few moments to realize that the strange sharp moans are coming from me and not the storm as the man rapes me. Each time he shoves his cock inside me a moan comes out, sending vibes of pleasure and sexual bliss around the room. To hear those moans you would think it is a pair of honeymooners enjoying themselves. Not a strange looking man forcing a woman in her own home.

My mouth drops open as I feel something that can't be possible. It's an orgasm. I feel it beginning but still far away, born from this weird violating feeling. That's what this feels like, the perfect way to describe it, violating. Violating and humiliating, yet it is by far the hottest sex I've ever had. From the way his cock pounds away at my pussy, to the way he keeps a hand on my naked back to ensure I stay bent over.

Utterly stunned as I feel my orgasm growing, I begin to stare into nothing as I feel these feelings. It normally takes me several minutes to get into the mood of sex, then plenty of time to get off. Yet I can feel the intense and burning orgasm as it forms in under a single minute. This is something that's never happened before.

I try to fight off the orgasm that is quickly rising. I remind myself of how this guy could be a serial killer, that he's crazy, that there's no telling what else he might do. Yet all of that only serves to make me cum faster, for it causes my orgasm to erupt as if turbo charged.

My orgasm bursts over me, causing waves and ripples to move over me uncontrollably. As these intense feelings begin, my moans get wild and loud, betraying me by letting my rapist know that I'm cumming. My body feels like it is about to burn up with arousal, not that the man cares. He keeps pounding away, the wet sounds of my pussy getting louder now as I've never been so wet.