Ghouls, Ghosts, Vampires, and everything in-between. Halloween is host to these and many more creatures lurking about everywhere you may look, even here, among your friends and family. Press play and find yourself immersed in seven worlds of wonder and fright with several of your favorite authors.

Special thanks to Roberta J Cabot for the images.

Groovy Tones always had a great Halloween. Every year there was a costume party, and people came from all around to see what costumes people would be wearing. Otto, the owner, spotted werewolves, vampires, Frankenstein's Monsters, zombies, mummies and ghosts mingling with princesses, faeries, ogres, gangsters, former Presidents and video game characters. The gamut was run from one side to the other, and the sales were strong.

(Otto somewhat regretted actually selling things on Halloween, but there were always sales that day. Christmas was even worse. No one would take his charity that day.)

The sheer amount of people all around the store made Otto wonder if he should consider making it larger again. He'd already increased the interior size three times as more and more people came in, and while there was still plenty of room, he could see some people getting annoyed with the others around them. If another group of people came in, he would make certain the store was larger. He wouldn't want people getting into a fight over something silly.

A devious thought crossed his mind. These people were unaware of the magic expanding the room around them, perhaps they would be unaware of more magic. The prospects were hilarious, the entertainment would be wonderful.

Otto turned his attention to the nearest person, a man in a werewolf costume. He didn't notice when his mask became his face and his tail began smacking his date in the ass. On the subject of the date, a man who clearly had a thing for wands and wizardry, he became a real life Harry Potter, though whether or not he realized his snitch was actually floating around him, Otto couldn't tell.

On the other side of the room, a girl in a Pikachu costume found herself jumping out of people’s way before she was stepped on, and accidentally electrocuted one of her parents. Her father, on the other hand, found himself trying to nibble on his wife's arm as he discovered a hunger for flesh. His wife (and the Pikachu's mother) wasn't paying attention to either her husband or her daughter as she came to a new understanding of what it meant to be the Bride of Frankenstein.

Now Otto came to a very special pair. He was dressed like a princess, she like a valiant knight in shining armor. Otto could just swap their costumes and be done with it, but where would the fun be in that? No, it took very few seconds for the young man to fill out his extravagant dress very nicely and the young woman to fit her armor a little better.

All over the store, people became that which they pretended to be. It would only last the night, of course, and once they left the store, they'd return to their normal, average, boring selves. What few were allowed to play with magic for the time being would find they couldn't do anything life-changing. Otto wondered how fun the rest of the night would be.

Then he noticed the knight and the princess again. Something about them, something... different.

Then he realized it: They knew.

Otto's grin spread from ear to ear. Those two were very special indeed.

* * *

~o~O~o~

Early one morning, a seal swam to shore on a beach that seals did not normally frequent, for it was too heavily populated by humans. Not at this hour of the morning, however; no one was on the beach to see her. She waddled up the beach a ways, to high tide line and a little beyond, and then contorted herself in a way that seals rarely do, shucking off her skin and revealing herself as a tall woman with tan skin and black hair. She picked up the sealskin, folded it, and tucked it under her arm, then with a cautious glance around, walked up the wooden steps that crossed the dunes and connected the beach to one of the beach houses. Here, on the back porch, there were several towels and swimsuits hung out to dry. The woman stole, or perhaps borrowed, a one-piece woman's swimsuit, teal with yellow trim, and covered her nakedness. Then, with another glance around, she returned the way she had come, and, looking around again, hid her sealskin under the wooden stairs.

In human form and dressed decently enough for the casual atmosphere of various seaside establishments, she walked further along the beach to a set of public access stairs and set out to explore the island for the day.

* * *

Seventeen hours later, well after sunset, the woman returned to the house she'd borrowed her swimsuit from, walking down the beach from the pier. She had enjoyed her day, but she was looking forward to returning to the sea, and to her sisters. She'd be repaying the borrowed swimsuit with interest, since she couldn't take her shorts or sandals into the sea with her. Of course, she might have to hang around the beach for hours until everyone staying in the houses along this stretch of beach went to bed, but she might as well scout the area now, in case it was already possible to go.

Oh, no.

There was a teen boy sitting on the wooden steps where she'd hidden her sealskin. And it was lying across his lap. The fate her sisters had warned her against, which she had avoided by good luck and cleverness so far, had come upon her; she would have to do whatever he wanted to get her skin back, and she might not get it back for years. The good news was that a boy that age wasn't likely to force her into a thirty-year marriage, like too many men had done to her sisters. He'd probably just ask her to let him see her breasts, maybe to fondle them... or at worst, one sex act and she'd be free to go. And who knows, maybe he'd be fool enough to accept fairy gold for it, such as had paid for her sandals and shorts and her meals. Or... she could try to just bluff her way through.

"That doesn't belong to you, young man."

He looked at her appraisingly. "Yeah, and that swimsuit you're wearing doesn't belong to you, either. My sister's been mad at me all day, she thinks I stole and hid it for a prank. Come on, I can think up ten better pranks than that before breakfast. A hundred if I had a selkie skin to use."

By the Sea Witch, he knew what he had. This was much worse than she thought. He'd know better than to be bought off with fairy gold, then.

"What do you want for it? Your sister can have these shorts and sandals in exchange for the loan of the swimsuit. And you can apologize to her on my behalf."

"Not like she'd believe me, anyway. She can keep guessing about where her swimsuit went all day. No, on second thought, I think I'll just borrow your skin for a while. An hour or two, that's all." He looked up and down the beach; they weren't completely alone, but nobody was nearby or paying them much attention.

"What do you want to do with it?" she asked. "If it gets damaged --"

"I just want to go for a swim," he said, and started to wrap himself in it.

"No!" she shouted, and he paused. "That's -- it's a very bad idea. I don't know what would happen if you put it on while you're naked; it probably won't be good for either of us... but I *do* know that you'd kill yourself and destroy the skin if you put it on over that swimsuit."

"Easy enough," he said. "You can turn your back if you like," and he stripped out of his swimming shorts. She didn't turn her back; she hadn't seen a mortal man naked, even a young scrawny one like this, in a decade or more, the last time she came on shore in human form. Her flirtations today hadn't worked out. The boy wrapped the skin around himself and it first stretched to cover him, then he shrank to fit it... and moments later a seal sat there. She looked at herself, nuzzling her flippers and hindquarters, and then waddled off toward the water.

"Come back soon," the selkie called out desperately. "Don't stay out too long." She sat down on the wooden steps and looked out to sea, her fate hanging in the balance.

Half an hour later, a middle-aged woman came out of the beach house and called: "Jason, where are you? Come on in, we're going to play Parcheesi." Getting no answer, she came down the walkway and steps across the dunes and paused in surprise to see the selkie sitting there.

"Excuse me," she said, "these are private steps."

"No problem, I'll just move," the selkie said, and got up, sitting down a moment later a few yards down the beach.

The older woman walked out onto the beach, looked around, and frowned. "Jason!" she called even louder. "Where are you?" She turned to the selkie and asked, "Have you seen my son? He's fourteen, about five foot seven with brown hair... he needs a haircut."

"Yeah, I think I passed him coming south, a few minutes ago. He was walking up toward the pier with a couple of other guys his age." She hoped Jason appreciated the alibi she was giving him.

The older woman grumbled and went back inside. The selkie continued to sit and wait for the boy with her skin to return.

Finally, after everyone in sight had gone into their houses or hotels and it had been ten minutes since the last time someone walking along the beach passed her, a seal came swimming up to shore and onto the beach. She barked a couple of times and waddled over toward the selkie, who sprang up and walked toward her.

"You don't know how to get out of the skin, do you?" she asked, and the seal shook its head. "Then let me help you. Stretch your flippers to follow the motions of my hands," and she put her hands on the seal's forelimbs and guided them through a complex series of motions. After three attempts, the skin split down the front and a human spilled out.

But not the fourteen-year-old boy who had stolen her skin. A girl of about the same age lay sprawled on the beach. She rolled over and squawked.

"I'm a girl! Why am I a girl?"

"How should I know?" the selkie asked. "I told you I didn't know what would happen if you wore my skin. But it’s probably because you wore a female seal's skin." She took the sealskin back, then stripped off her sandals, shorts and swimsuit and tossed them at the girl. "Goodbye." She got back into her skin and headed into the sea.

"Wait!" the girl cried. "I don't know how to -- I can't -- You can't leave me like this!"

But the seal swam off to the south, making no answer.

* * *

Trismegistus Shandy is the author of more than forty transgender stories, available on Smashwords, Amazon, BigCloset, TGStorytime, Shifti, and Fictionmania. They’re currently working on an expansion of their story “Free” from the previous mixtape.

~o~O~o~

It's been two weeks since I came out as transgender to my family, to my friends, and to my classmates. Overall, it went fairly well. My family, after getting over the shock of it all, was accepting of my need to express who I truly was, a girl. And they were even more accepting of my new name, Emma. My friends? Well, I lost a few, but sometimes, that can’t be helped. My best friend, Johnny, freaked out at first, but called me up a few hours later to apologize. The day after I told my family I wanted to be Emma, I went to school dressed as a girl. It was a huge step, one that my family disapproved of. But I knew that if I wanted to fully transition to a girl, I would have to face the world at some point. Might as well get it over with. When I showed up to class that first cold dark morning, I was met by mixed reactions. Some were positive, some were negative, and some were neutral. I did have to deal with bullies, three to be exact. They were older than me and massive jerks. So I did my best to ignore them, which is what the adults ask us to do when faced against bullies.

Now, two weeks after that day, I stood in front of mirror wearing a classic princess costume. A classic, pink, princess costume, purchased by my mother, of course. It was something I had dreamed of wearing as long as I could remember, but was too scared to wear one in the past. Now I was free to wear it, and even better, on Halloween. I may be slightly too old to do trick-or-treating, but my first halloween as a girl was too much of a grand opportunity to pass up. It honestly felt like some sort of formal event. The pictures, the posing, it was all a dream come true.

Trick-or-treating was slightly more difficult, not because of my costume, but because I looked a bit older than the average trick-or-treater. Most the attention was diverted to my younger siblings, but I didn’t mind. Everybody I talked to saw me as I wanted to be, a girl wanting to be a princess. But Halloween was special in my family. We would often tell stories about things that could come out when night fell. All the supernatural creatures; werewolves, vampires, ghosts, demon creatures. These things were fun to think and tell stories about all of it. This was family tradition and I was proud to be a part of it, especially as a pretty pink princess.

“Hurry up, Emma,” my little sister urged.

“We still have a ton of trick-or-treating to do,” my other little sister followed.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming… I’m coming,” I said. The only problem with my dress was that the skirt was a bit poofy, making it slightly difficult to run. I made up for this by raising the skirt off the ground, allowing me to run faster on the boots I was wearing. Running to catch up to my two baby sisters, I came around the corner to find my sisters hiding behind a bush. Why were they hiding? Because the three bullies that I have had since I came out as transgender two weeks ago were on the other side taunting a little girl dressed in a Rainbow Dash costume. They were pushing her around as she tried to jump for the candy bucket the three had obviously stolen from her. She was crying while begging them to give it back. In response, the three laughed harder.

“HEY, YOU FUCKS! Give that back!” I yelled at them as emotions of bravery washed over me. The little girl they were taunting looked about the same age as my baby sisters and even if I was their sister now, I was still going to protect them and those like them. Quickly, the three bullies turned to see who had called them out. Their eyes came to rest on me. At first, there was a look of shock on their faces, but it changed when they realized who I was, at which the look became a sick smirk.

“Look who coming to the rescue, the fag. And look guys, he’s a pretty, pretty, princess!” All three started laughing.

“Hey, that’s not very nice!” one of my sisters called out, joining me in standing up to the bullies.

“Yeah, go away, you big meanies,” my other sister called out. My bravery had given them bravery.

Smiling, “You hear them, get going,” I told them.

The three looked at each other, then mockingly said, “As the princess commands.” With that, they ran off, laughing. The little girl that they had been bullying fell to her knees and started crying. I ran up and knelt down beside to comfort her.

"Why were they" (sniffle) "so mean" (sob) "to me?" she cried. I looked around for her candy bucket, only to be dismayed when I realized that those bullies took this girl’s candy bucket when they ran off. I knew from what I saw that the bucket she’d had was full of candy, so losing the bucket to those jackasses must have been devastating to her. My two sisters were trying to comfort her, but they couldn’t get her to stop crying. But I knew what to do.

“Here you go.” I offered her my candy bucket. There wasn’t much in it, but still. The little girl looked up at me timidly, tears still in her eyes, unsure whether I was actually offering it or I was planning to trick her. “It's alright,” I reassured her. The little girl tenderly reached up and took the bucket. Without hesitation and without me asking, my two baby sisters took half of what was in their buckets and dumped it into the little girl’s newly acquired bucket, completely filling it. The girl perked up; her stolen hard work had been returned. She quickly jumped up and wrapped her hands around me in a big hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said over and over again with a tone of pure joy. She pulled back, looked me straight in the eye and said, “You truly are a princess.” And she ran off, I hoped to find her mother. I had lost my candy, but to make that little girl happy was worth it. I did realize that I had completely forgotten to ask what her name was, but her comment about me being a princess, well, words couldn’t describe what I felt. With lightness in my heart, we started back home. I got three blocks from my house when my mother appeared to relieved me of my duty of watching over my sisters and told me that one of my friends, Johnny, had come over to invite to a Halloween party he and a bunch of my classmates were having over at Johnny’s house. She told me to go have fun, so I did. It was Halloween night, and I wanted to have fun. As a girl no less.

I actually ran into Johnny on the way to his house and after him commentating on how cute I looked, we continued the rest of the way together. We made small talk about the past couple of weeks and how eventful it had been. A few more comments about my princess dress topped off our arrival at the Halloween party. From the sound of it, it was wild. Johnny stated he had something to do around back, so he left me alone to walk through the front door. And when I did, I shut down the party. Everybody turned to look at me. The music stopped. A cup dropped. And no one was wearing a costume, except for me.

“Wow, Ethan, going all out, aren’t you?” one partygoer said, calling me by my old and discarded name. Their stares were making me feel deeply uncomfortable and I somewhat wanted to leave. But, then again, I needed to face this to prove that I would face whatever came my way. So I moved about with the party resuming some of its wildness. My poofy skirt made walking around party goers difficult, with some tripping over it.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I kept saying to those who tripped. I was trying to find Johnny, but the amount of effort to move from one room of the house to another made it pointless and made me realize that the princess dress I was wearing wasn’t made for parties. Then, to my utter shock, I saw them. My three bullies who stole the candy from that little girl. To add insult to injury, they were actually in the middle of eating the candy they had stolen. They didn’t notice me, but if they did, I had half a mind to walk up and kick them right in the groin.

“Emma!” Johnny called over the noise of the party, from the opposite end of the house. “Over here,” he yelled, waving his hand. Great, I’d have to walk back through the party with my poofy dress. But before I did, I quickly glanced over to the three bullies and saw that they were focused solely on me. Their glares felt weird, almost inhuman.

Going back through the party goers was easier said than done, but when I reached where Johnny was waiting, he guided me into an empty side room. He walked toward the other side of the room to pick up something, with me looking on with mild curiosity.

“Emma,” he started to say.

“Yes?” I asked.

“You are truly a princess,” he said. I blushed at his comment. I truly felt like a girl, both mentally and physically, at that moment. Then he picked up a bat. “But you are still a fag that must be dealt with.” What?! Johnny was my friend. My best friend, my most supportive friend. But this ‘friend’ turned around and his face became twisted, sick. He slowly began to walk toward me, holding up the bat.

I backed up, terrified of the situation I was now in. Then I backed into something; turning around, I faced the three bullies who had the same twisted sick face that Johnny did. One shut the door and locked it. This… this was a trap. Johnny’s support of me being transgender, the party, it was a trap. “It’s time for you to take part in your own, personal, Halloween nightmare.” I heard Johnny cackle, then the force of the bat being whacked against my head, then nothing.

I woke up sometime later, but felt extremely sick and disoriented. I had a massive headache, and I couldn’t see or hear anything. I was laying on something soft, but felt a pressure on top of me. I couldn’t even tell if I was still wearing my princess dress. My sides ached and piercing pain began to make itself known in my leg and arm. Then I slipped back into the darkness. When I emerged again, the pain was worse, and I felt even worse in every part of my body.. At that moment, I thought I was going to die, all because of some sick fucks. As I slipped back into the darkness, I hoped it would be the last time.

But I didn’t die. I woke up again and even though my condition had deteriorated, I still couldn’t see anything, but I could barely hear people moving about the room, as well as music from the party and the sounds of pictures being taken by some old, loud camera. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I could make out the tones. The tones of these bastards sounded excited. Maybe I was imagining it, but it seemed the tones turned from excitement to confusion as the house began to shake. Then it stopped, but at the same time, the wild sounds of the party died out. I sensed the ones in the room moving about, trying to figure out what was happening. Then the door was blown open, the force sending it crashing into the wall beside me. It was impossible not to know this, it was so loud and made my head feel worse. The tones turned from confusion to anger as they confronted whatever had knocked down the door. I could hear Johnny amidst everything. I was beginning to slip back into the darkness when, suddenly, the tones of Johnny and most likely those three bullies suddenly turned from anger to pure terror. They started screaming so loud that I could actually make out them attempting to beg something to stay away from them. Something was here, something bad, something out of a Halloween horror story.

The four sounded so petrified. Then, the room was filled with a bright light, so bright that even in my condition, even in my blindness, I could see it. In the light, the screams rose to their highest levels. The room shook violently, then suddenly, the screams faded to nothing. Everything went quiet, and my blindness returned. A figure made its way over to me, I could hear the quiet footsteps approach me. Whatever had attacked the four was now going to claim me. I felt so close to death at this point, I didn’t really care. I closed my eyes and waited for the quiet embrace of death on this Halloween night. But instead, I heard a muffled voice that I thought I recognized and the snap of fingers. My body was overcome by a warm, piercing, comforting feeling.

My mind cleared, my body’s aches went away, but another strange feeling came over me. A feeling of something changing within me. Then the feeling disappeared and whatever injuries I had suffered were gone. The ringing in my ears ceased which means I could once again hear perfectly. I opened my eyes, relieved that I could once again see. I felt a presence beside me and I turned to find that my savior was a little girl with pure blue eyes and a goofy smile, wearing a Rainbow Dash costume. It was the little girl that my sisters and I had comforted and given candy to after the three attackers had stolen her candy bucket.

“Those were some sick fuckers. Well, are you feeling better?” she asked me in concern. I looked around the room, which was, to my surprise, Johnny’s room. But there was no Johnny or the three attackers. All that was in the room was me and this ‘thing’.

“Who… who are you?” I asked nervously, noting that my voice sounded more high pitched than before.

“My name is Sammie,” she answered.

I looked around the room again, then back to where the door had hit the wall. The pure terror in my attacker’s voices before they disappeared, as well as the damage made it obvious clear that Sammie was no little girl. “What… what are you?” I asked, my voice keeping the same nervous spark. I again noticed the difference in pitch in my voice.

Sammie simply shrugged. “It’s not important. What is important is that you are okay.”

“What did you do to me?” I questioned.

“I healed you. From the injuries of your head, body, and that gender problem you were having.” Sammie listed off.

Gender problem? Wait, does that mean? I brought one hand up to my chest, and the other down to my groin. From what I could feel through my ruined costume, the change to my voice suddenly made sense. Sammie cured me by changing me into a girl. A true, biological girl. Suddenly, I forgot about the ‘Halloween nightmare’. My greatest wish was granted by my apparent rescuer. I rolled off the bed and grabbed Sammie and pulled her into a hug. Sammie returned the hug. “Thank you,” I cried. “Thank you for everything.”

“You're very welcome,” she said. Then a thought came over me.

“But why?” I asked her.

Sammie’s smile never faded. “A princess once said that when you carry out an act of kindness, with no expectation of reward, that you would have a feeling that someday, someone might do the same for you. You and your sisters helped me and when I finally sensed that you were in danger, I came to your rescue. Because it took some time for me to realize this, I knew I had to give you what you wanted most.” Sammie reached up and wiped the tears off my face, “Now, time to send you home. Your family is worried sick about you. Don’t worry about the partygoers and the four that attacked you. I have taken care of them. Now, close you eyes, I will send you home.” I did as Sammie asked and I felt her bop my noise. Within seconds, I found myself standing in my driveway. Multiple cop cars were parked in front my house.

Turning around, I saw the first light take hold across the skies, signifying that a new day was beginning. I heard the front door opening and my name being called out by my mother and sisters. I heard the sound of their footsteps running towards me. I didn’t turn to face them, rather, I looked down at myself. My dress was ruined, but I knew that I was really and truly Emma. Looking back up at the sunrise, I pondered about my rescuer. I knew Sammie wasn’t a traditional Halloween creature. She created such terror in my attackers, but at the same, displayed kindness towards me. She came to my rescue. And just before my family embraced me into a hug, I pondered over one last question. Sammie wasn’t a Halloween creature, but was it possible that my rescuer and the deliverer of my greatest wish, the little girl that called herself Sammie, was actually and truly… an angel?

* * *

Paradox is the author of two other stories, both available on TG Storytime.

~o~O~o~

I watched my daughters heading out the door, One dressed as Sailor Moon, the other as Lucy Heartfilia, both with cloth grocery bags to collect their candy loot with. I stared for a while longer, longing for those happier/easier going days... Ya, that's what I was longing for...

I heard my wife's voice behind me. "Well?"

"Well what?" I asked pulling myself out of my stupor.

"Aren't you going to go join them?" I heard her ask.

Now I was really confused. "You know I can't do that," I said dejectedly.

“You could go as Tuxedo Mask or Natsu (you have the hair for it)... or maybe..."

I turned around to ask her what she was talking about.

My wife was right there, alright, but she seemed frozen in place, a look of sympathy on her face. Floating above her right shoulder, however, was a little green hairless humanoid. It was featureless and doughy aside from the essentials of a humanoid form.

"Perhaps you want to be something different," it stated with a great deal of intensity, but still using my wife's voice.

"Wha-What are you talking about?" I asked, confused and little scared (for all the wrong reasons).

It just smirked at me knowingly. I gathered up my courage and tried to take the offensive.

"Who the Heck are you?!? " I demanded. "What are you? What did you do to my wife? Why are you talking in her voice?" I stepped forward menacingly.

Its smirk just got bigger. "Ah, classic fight or flight response... So primitive." It grinned. "To answer your questions in reverse order, I thought her voice would help keep you calm during our first encounter. Your wife is extraneous to this conversation. I don't need to tell you. And as for the last... you can call me... lets see... 'The Great Gazoo.' Yes, I think that sounds fitting."

"Let’s get a couple things straight, I'm no Fred Flintstone and there is no way in hell I am calling you 'The Great Gazoo'," I said as I reached to snatch it out of the air. My hand stopped halfway there; it wasn't stuck, it just wouldn't go forward any further.

"You can't touch me unless I want you to, dumb-dumb," it said with a huge smirk.

I had had enough, whatever it was; I wasn't about to keep playing its game. I stepped forward, bringing my hand into range, and grabbed it.

It looked startled for a moment, then suddenly there was a poof and my hand was empty. It was floating over my shoulder now, a little less smug looking.

"You're right, you are no Fred Flintstone, but why do I get the feeling that Wilma Flintstone might be acceptable to you. Oh, and can you please stop calling me 'it' in your inner monologue?"

He snapped his fingers and I and my perspective changed. I felt like I had something heavy hanging around my throat.

"'He' is fine, and if you don't like 'The Great Gazoo,' how about 'Gonzo'?"

I looked down at myself and saw a rock necklace over a white top and miniskirt. I felt weird, but not totally in a bad way.

"My wife, please, and Wilma doesn't work for me," I said in Wilma's voice.

With an exasperated sigh, Gonzo snapped his fingers again and my wife disappeared with a small bang. I was worried for a moment, but then I heard movement upstairs. Gonzo nodded to me. Another snap and I was back to my normal boring self.

"So not Wilma, eh?" he asked

I had calmed down a bit after my wife was out of harm’s way. "Look, what is it you really want?" I asked, resigning myself to the conversation.

"Why, to fulfill your deepest desires, of course," he stated.

"Rrrr-iiiii-ght" I responded. "What’s in it for you?"

"What does any all-powerful being want in situations like this? Your gratitude and worship, of course," he said, with that smug look returning to his face.

"Bull-Scheisse," I responded.

"Okay, ok let’s just call it community service, then," he said with a pout.

"Okay, fine, so what are you supposed to do for me? Grant my greatest wish or something?"

"Something like that... Hey, how about Erza Scarlet?" he asked as he snapped his fingers...

Suddenly I was pulled off balance by a huge weight on my chest pulling me forward and something pulling my head back at the same time. Now what had he done? I stumbled to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

Long flowing red hair, brown eyes, little dagger earrings, plate armour and boots, large breasts, skinny waist, silhouette of a fairy tattooed on my left arm ... The whole nine yards.. Yep, I looked just like Erza Scarlet now. Well, a real life version of her anyway.

"What have you done to me this time?" I demanded.

"Why, I gave you a body compatible with your desires," he commented snobbishly. "Now go out and have some fun. It’s Halloween."

In a split second I was staring down a sword blade at him.

"Undo it NOW!" I said in Erza's command voice.

"But why?" he asked, confused. "This is what your subconscious wants, I looked!"

"You idiot!" I exclaimed "I don't want to BE a girl, I'm not transsexual. I'm a crossdresser, I just want to be able to look and dress like a girl!"

"Oh... Okay," he mumbled, and snapped his fingers.

"What have you done now? I still look the same," I said, glancing in the bathroom mirror.

"Well, you’re now wearing an Erza costume. Now go out and have fun!"

"I can't go out like this," I said in panic. “How do I get out of this 'costume'?"

"Of course you can go out in that, it’s just a costume and it’s Halloween. No one will make fun of you on Halloween," he said with a grin.

I continued to stare into the mirror. "O-of course they will, just because it’s Halloween doesn't meant that people won't recognize me for what I am and use that knowledge to hurt me and my family. What would the girls think when they find out that their dad is a 'fairy'?" I said, starting to really lose it, searching all over my body for a seam or zipper.

[click] [click] I heard, and looked up to see my wife behind me placing one last padlock behind my neck [click].

"The kids already know about you, dear, they've known for a long time. These locks will keep your identity safe. Now off you go, you’re not getting the keys until you have at least one full bag of candy. Oh, and make sure you watch out for the girls while you are out there," she said.

I stared from her to Gonzo and back again. They both seemed pleased with themselves. Gonzo snapped his fingers and I was standing in my Erza costume just outside our front door. I quickly turned around and tried the door. It was locked. I started hammering on the door... "DEE! DEE! Let me in!"

"Not without the candy,” was the reply as the porch light was turned off.

With a sign of resignation, I turned and headed for the street with all its ghouls, superheroes and anime characters. I might as well make the best of it and hope that this costume really does come off, I thought. I put a smile on my face. The sword that I was still holding slid into its sheath. I grabbed a cloth bag off the step and joined the milling crowds.

* * *

“You think he will notice that there are no locks on his 'costume'?” she asked Gonzo as they watched him join the crowds through the upstairs window.

“He might; he's a little smarter than many of the other humans I have worked with. You have a real keeper there... Now, shall we continue our negotiations?” Gonzo asked. “The future of both our planets depend on their success.”

~o~O~o~

The recovery from my SRS (or GRS) procedures was slow, but recover I did. And, aside from the need for regular dilation (which I am supposed to taper down eventually after a year or so), I was practically, ummm, done.

Today was my first time to jog again (well, not jog but more a brisk walk) and I had just got back to my apartment. I had a few twinges, but I knew these twinges would be happening for a while. Par for the recovery. That’s fine - I can live with that.

“Hi, Mr. Smits,” I said to my building manager.

“Hello, Ms. Delaney,” he said. “Had a nice workout?”

“Pretty great. I was just gonna grab a bottle of water. Wanna come in for a drink?”

“Thank you, but I’m pretty busy.” He indicated the ladder he had on his shoulder. “No rest for the wicked,” He said and chuckled. For some reason, that phrase stuck with me, and had me worrying about Mr. Smits.

“Okay,” I nodded, stepping into my place. “Have a nice day.” Though a very nice guy, there was something off with Mr. Smits.

As I drank a cold bottle of water from my fridge, I picked up my mail, which I had dumped into a little bowl beside the door earlier before I went for my run. And there was a bunch of letters from the Parapsychological Association mixed in with the usual ones (as I found out when I met the guys from Flagstaff, the association was the main authority in the country on ghosts and goblins and monsters and anything that went bump in the night).

After participating in that thing with Flagstaff University’s Parapsychology Department last year, I suddenly found myself on the mailing list of the association. I had been getting emails and phone calls from their members until I changed phone numbers and installed a filter app to screen all my emails. It’s nice to have fans, but this isn’t exactly the fan base I wanted. Would you?

But there was no stopping them from sending snail mail to Flagstaff University (thank God I had kept my new address unlisted), and the University people would dutifully forward my letters to me. At least only a few letters a week arrived, and it had been tapering off for a while.

I looked at this week’s batch and dismissed most of them, but there was one that caught my eye, simply because the envelope was clean and neat, and my name and the return address was neatly typewritten instead of freehand in pencil, crayon or magic marker.

Thinking that I would regret it, I decided to open it and read the letter.

Minutes later, I was on the phone and talking to Dr. Tully.

Days later, I found myself on the road with Dr. Tully and his team, on our way to yet another haunting.

* * *

“So, Debbie,” Helen, the tall bubbly blonde said while giggling, “the old team back together again! Fun, huh?”

I was sitting in front with Dr. Tully driving. I could see her from the mirror in the visor. She was looking at me expectantly so I stuck my tongue out at her, and she responded with yet another giggle.

There were five of us in the van: Dr. Tully, Jackson the big guy with curly hair and the deft touch with electronics, Helen, the tall, giggly blonde, Lucy the brunette who, I think, was the bravest of us all, and me.

“We’re almost there, Ms. Delaney,” Dr. Tully said. “Why don’t you brief us again about why we’re here?”

I nodded.

“Well,” I began…

I explained (again) that I’d gotten this letter a week ago, and it came from this family that found their little town being terrorized by some kind of entity. Almost half of the town had already relocated while the rest all lived in fear of this whatever-it was that terrorized the town.

The man who wrote was an English teacher from the town’s one remaining school (the other two had shut down for lack of students). He had been living with this fear for over a year now when the association referred him to us.

The townies (as the teacher called the townsfolk) believed that the whatever-it-was came from the town cemetery, and the… terror usually started to happen at around eleven o’clock to midnight. Many people who were out and about at night reported being chased by some night creature - maybe some wild dog or wolf - and others were actually attacked. This couldn’t be corroborated because they were soon infected with some kind of wasting disease, like tuberculosis, and passed away in less than three weeks.

The rest listened to my recitation politely until I was done, and then Jackson said, deadpan, “we already knew that.” And everyone started to laugh.

* * *

We arrived at the cemetery at around ten in the evening, and the man that wrote to me was impatiently waiting for us by the gates. After some quick handshakes, he gave us a quick tour of the deserted cemetery. Clearly, he didn’t want to be there because he rushed us through the cemetery and its main sections. After which, he jumped into his car.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Lucy called after him.

“It’s almost ten thirty!” he yelled back. “The fun starts about midnight. I only have about an hour and thirty minutes to get home! Sorry I can’t stay! Have fun!” He waved through his car window and sped home.

The cemetery was indeed spooky: headstones all over, covered with moss, and the rest of the cemetery overgrown with creepy plants and trees trailing little vines and rootlets. The guy said the cemetery hadn’t been in use for at least a year, and no one came and visited their loved ones anymore. It was disused, and it looked it.

There was no sound at all except for the wind, and all of us shivered in the cold.

“Dammit, it’s so cold!” I exclaimed.

Helen giggled. “Well, who decided to wear a miniskirt to a ghost hunt?”

“Haha. Very funny. Now what?”

We looked at each other sheepishly, at a loss of what to do next.

“Well…”

“Ms. Delaney, bring out your camera,” Dr. Tully said.

“What?”

“Just do it.”

I brought out my Canon DSLR that had Dr. Tully’s lens attached, switched it on and peered into the viewfinder. I gasped.

* * *

In my camera’s little viewfinder, I saw the cemetery in the greenish cast of Dr. Tully’s special lens and saw that we were practically surrounded by the ghostly spectral figures of people In normal everyday clothes, but all of them were clearly dead.

They weren’t gory or anything like the zombies from The Walking Dead, but they were standing like they did in that show, heads tilted and looking at us with blank expressions. I could see gravestones and trees through them. I’ve seen many ghosts since that first time in the theater and, though they still gave me the willies, I didn’t jump out of my skin. At least not anymore.

I started clicking the shutter. “Oh, my God,” I whispered.

And as I clicked, they lifted their arms and pointed to one direction.

I put down my camera and brought out a flashlight.

“Come on,” I whispered and gestured for the others to follow me.

From time to time, I would check my camera and followed where they pointed. We were slowly getting closer to the center of the cemetery. I pointed my camera to where we were apparently making for, and I saw one of the larger grave markers.

It was about seven feet tall, and had a large cross on top, or what should have been a large cross if the left side of the crossbar hadn’t crumbled away.

As we got close, we noticed that the dirt covering the grave of whoever this was, was actually disturbed.

I looked at Dr. Tully and he nodded.

“Jackson,” he said, “dig this up. I would help but I need to do something.” With that he walked away.

Jackson and the others looked at each other and shrugged. He picked up one of the shovels we brought and started digging.

I looked around and felt cold again.

I lifted the camera to my eye and looked into the viewfinder again. The specters were now all around us, looking at Jackson and the grave as he continued to dig.

Lucy, the most scholarly among the three, used her tablet to take a picture of the gravestone.

“What kind of writing is that?” I asked.

“Cyrillic, I think.”

“So. Russian?”

She consulted her tablet. “It’s Serbian. It says, ‘Ovdje lezi Petra Plogojovitz. Neka Bog oprosti njoj zbog svojih grehova, a ne dozvoljava joj da opet ugrozi zivot.’”

I giggled a bit. “What?”

“In English, it says, ‘Here lies Petra Plogojowitz. May God forgive her for her sins and not allow her to afflict the living again.’ The gravestone says she was buried in 1725.”

“Wow. More than fifty years before Independence. This grave is almost three hundred years old.”

I reflected on the translation. “Afflict the living?” I thought aloud.

* * *

When Jackson was almost three feet down, Dr. Tully returned. “I know what we’re up against,” Dr. Tully said. “Here.” He then handed each of us what looked and felt like pieces of wood, or rather, more like branches from a tree.

“Good thing we’re in Virginia,” he said. “Ash trees are plentiful.”

“What’re these for, Doc?” Lucy asked.

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Oh…”

Helen searched around and handed us large rocks.

“Now, what are these for?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “it’d be pretty hard to pound down a stake with your bare hands.”

“Are you done now, Jackson?” Dr. Tully asked.

“I think so, Doc,” he said. “I hit something. Sounds wooden and hollow.”

“I would have assumed the coffin would have disintegrated hundreds of years ago. Let me help. See if you can open the thing. And hurry, Jackson, it’s almost midnight!”

Jackson pounded on the side of the coffin and he eventually grunted in satisfaction. He must have gotten it open.

“Doc!” He grated. “Help!”

He was in trouble!

“Hold on, Jackson!” I cried. I was the nearest so I got there ahead of the others. Looking down, I saw him being strangled by a woman in a tattered black cloak inside the coffin. In the dark, her eyes seemed to glow. The others crowded around me and peered down as well.

For some reason, I lifted my camera and took several pictures. Is there anything like a photographer’s instinct?

But that was just for a moment. Another kind of instinct took over. Dropping my camera and allowing it to hang from my neck, I grabbed Lucy’s rock and stake and jumped in. Transferring the rock and stake to one hand, I grabbed Jackson by his collar.

With all my strength, I was barely able to wrest him from the… thing’s grip on his throat, and I leap-frogged over him.

Without thinking, I rammed the rudimentary stake into the woman’s chest, causing her to fall back.

With that, it gave me an opportunity to use my rock and start pounding it onto the top of the stake.

The rough point that Dr. Tully had carved wasn’t too sharp, so I wasn’t really doing much. But Jackson grabbed the stake and rock from me and, with his stronger muscles and larger size, he was able to pound it into the creature.

A scream like a banshee’s echoed through the cemetery and she tried to pull the stake away from Jackson. I squeezed in beside him and tried to hold down the woman’s arms. The feel of her skin was unpleasant - she was cold and a bit slimy, and as I increased my grip, her skin started to tear.

I guess I was helping because Jackson was able to pound the stake in deeper. And, with each strike of the rock on the stake, the screams became weaker and weaker until the screams faded away.

Not taking any chances, Jackson continued pounding, and only stopped when he felt the stake punch through and into the wood. At which point, I let go of the woman’s arms.

In Dr. Tully’s flash, I saw that I really had torn the skin of the woman’s wrists. I saw what looked like bone and muscles exposed but, curiously, no blood.

We looked at the woman but she wasn’t moving.

“So,” Helen called down, “is she dead?”

* * *

We stayed there for the rest of the night, taking turns watching over the body and waiting for dawn. Dr. Tully had also asked us to document as much as we could, so we started treating the thing like a kind of archeological dig. For me, I acted like it was more like a crime scene and I was a CSI photographer.

While we worked, the Doc just stayed in the shallow, three-foot-deep grave and watched over her with another stake in hand. “Just in case,” he said.

As we worked, I couldn’t help but notice that we were still surrounded by dead people, but, somehow, the atmosphere around us had also changed despite the ghosts.

I looked through the viewfinder and a lot of them were still there. Some looked down into the grave and walked away, and as they got further away, they faded into the night.

But dawn was coming, and they were starting to thin out.

One of them, a tall man in a suit and tie, looked at me. He looked like some well-to-do businessman who was just on the way home or something. The only thing that ruined it was the blood dripping from his mouth, and the fact that he was a transparent ghost.

I couldn’t hear it, of course, but I knew he said “thank you.” I could read his lips.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

He nodded to me and smiled, turned and walked away. I followed him with the camera until he faded away.

“Who were you talking to?” Lucy asked.

“Oh, no one. Just some guy.”

And then the sun peeked over the horizon.

* * *

Note - The picture was a collage made from publicly accessible pictures of the Sena Kashiwazaki character and other pictures. No IP infringement is intended.

* * *

Roberta “Bobbie” Cabot is a transgender girl from DC. She transitioned in 2004, and has been living as a girl full time ever since. With a mom from Italy, a dad from Quebec, and a spouse from Kyoto, her writing (and her speech) is less than perfect. However, she doesn't really speak Italian, French or Japanese, although she can puzzle them out a bit. She is a fan of sci-fi, drama, love stories, romcoms and comedy/sitcoms, -- these are the kinds of stories she looks for. Her only “claim to fame” is her still-incomplete story, “Danny,” which was first posted in Crystal’s Storysite back in 2009 (“Danny” is also posted on BigCloset). Her most recently posted stories in BigCloset are “Shepherd Moon,” “Autobots Revisited” and “Drew Nance, Girl Detective - Book 1: The Secret of the Old Clock.”

If anyone wants to contact Bobbie, one can click “Roberta J Cabot" in the list of authors in the story header, then click “Send author a message”.

~o~O~o~

As an immortal, unkillable vampire, I've always enjoyed one specific phrase that the Americans seem to like to use to justify pedophilia. "I keep getting older, they stay the same age." Then, of course, I actually think about the phrase, and it seems disgusting, but Hugh Hefner lived off it until he died, so honestly I have no idea where this train of thought is headed. I'm quite certain my mind would be clear if I weren't on my eighth shooter right now. The guy across from me, whose name I think is Phil, is on his fourth, and still somehow thinks he's going to beat me. Pipe dreams are nice.

Next to him is probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, and I think her name is Victoria. All I really care about is that she never directly looks my way, because I can already tell the connection is going to work, and I intend to make good on it. Maybe-Phil will never be able to tell the difference, and that's just wonderful. Truth be told, it's amazing he's lasted this long. Not just at the drinking game, but also at life.

"Drake here thinks he's gunna win!" Maybe-Phil slurs out, almost incomprehensible. I don't pay him any mind, I simply down my ninth shooter. I don't know if Maybe-Phil is smart enough to realize just how deep in he is, but I honestly don't care. 'Drake' isn't the weak-stomached pissant he so clearly is.

Maybe-Victoria is too busy hanging onto him to realize that my eyes are on her, every perfect inch of her. It's been quite some time since I've been in the body of a woman. Not that I have much preference. Both genders have their little wonders. I do find myself in male bodies more often, but I sometimes wonder if that's just because it's how I started out. Today, though, I'm ready to borrow a woman's body again.

Ah, yes, I feel those privy to this narration should probably know a few things before we get into the real meat of the story, shouldn't we? Certainly you've all heard the tale of Dracula, the nefarious count who rose as the first of his kind and became immortalized as a vampire? And what if I told you that's all a giant crock of shit? You'd probably shout, "Oh, no, Dracula, you've got to be kidding, I saw it all in the movies!", well guess what, I don't care! Y'see, the real story of Dracula is that he was a man who got every bad hand in life dealt to him. Story of Job, that sort of thing from the Bible? Yeah, Job wasn't the only poor bastard that God shat all over for no reason.

(Granted, I'm just speculating here, but I'm pretty sure Job didn't exist... Honestly, has anybody actually fact-checked the Bible? This is maybe more important than other things we're doing right now.)

Anyway, I was a very basic, normal person, living in a shitty and rundown farm in Wallachia. My father was murdered, my mother was taken and I never saw her again, the usual sort of thing that would happen in what are today third-world countries in Eastern Europe. I was left to fend for myself at the ripe young age of seven, which was interestingly about half my life-expectancy since I was then killed by a group of bandits on my fourteenth birthday.

I know. It was a shitty birthday.

When I finally made it to the afterlife, I had to wait in some godforsaken line in Limbo until I was eventually -- and you're never gonna believe this -- pulled from the line and thrown back to Earth! Thanks to some fucking skeleton in a robe carrying a scythe, I was back to life but not quite, exactly. The skeleton reached into my chest (which, admittedly, wasn't a difficult task, what with the giant hole the bandits had cut into me with their axes) and ripped out my heart entirely. After that, it dumped it into a glass jar and told me that I'd never again be a prisoner of death.

Now that I put thought into it, the skeleton was probably being literal, since a skeleton in a robe carrying a scythe is what people eventually started to accept as a personification of Death itself. Personally, I think Death is an average person, probably with a funky hairstyle or something like that, otherwise how would anybody not notice some six foot tall skeleton wearing a robe carrying a scythe every time somebody died? It would be friggin' impossible not to notice that!

Back to the topic at hand, after the skeleton left me, I made my way to the bandits who killed me and promptly did exactly the same to them. Limbo was probably backed up that day with all the newcomers. I didn't care, I'd gotten revenge and no matter what they tried to do to me (one of them cut my head off; it tickled), I couldn't die.

And there you have it, the origin story of the murderous, bloodthirsty monster named Dracula. I'm honestly not sure when the phrase 'bloodthirsty' went from 'extremely violent' to being a literal thirst for blood, but I've never actually drunk blood in my entire life, and honestly the idea of it creeps me the fuck out. I'm still not entirely certain where the name "Dracula" came from when my name is Vlad Tepes, but people like their movie monsters, and Vlad doesn't sound like a monster name. Either way, using it to make myself seem more imposing is quite useful, considering I'm one of the most harmless people on the planet. Well, except for those bandits. I haven't killed anybody since them, but I destroyed them.

From then on, my life was very simple. My original body aged, and I found I could use whatever powers being literally heartless gave me to take another for myself, and use it until it aged enough. I never let myself make it to a certain age, because then it became difficult to transfer until after the body died and I had to rebuild myself, essentially, bit by bit until I gained my original consciousness back. That had happened a few times, times when I lived to a ripe old age with a wonderful partner, and couldn't bear to leave them before their time. In the end, a part of my new body's original personality always left itself with me.

And it's that last thing I mentioned that brings me to today and this bullshit drinking game. In my last body, I'd married and fathered three children. I wouldn't let my wife pass alone. As luck would have it, she wouldn't either. I had no idea she'd had a gun in the bedroom, and took me with her. I can't imagine what kind of pain it put the kids through, but they were all out of the house with families of their own when it happened. Retirement communities tend to cause that.

After I found a new body, it took more time than I was comfortable with to pull myself back together inside his mind, and I found out why shortly after gaining consciousness. The man (whose name was Drake before I took him over, which is actually a hilarious coincidence when you think about it) was a college-aged alcoholic who was apparently so bad at everything that when I managed to put his shirt on the right away, his roommate nearly had a heart attack.

(Granted, I'd also told the roommate who I was and what I was doing, so that could have had something to do with it.)

Back to the present day, I've finally hit my fourteenth shooter and the room is now starting to spin. Lucky me, dumbass Maybe-Phil's face is already making out with the table. I set my glass down and cheer alongside everybody else, including Maybe-Veronica, who seems almost a little too eager to know her boyfriend lost a drinking game. I've still got her in my sights, though. Luckily, Drake will wake up with no memory of what I've done and go back to his old life.

(Also, if you're wondering about the "Maybe-Veronica" instead of "Maybe-Victoria", I've finally remembered her name isn't Victoria, but I've forgotten everything other than the letter V in her name, and thus I'll go back and forth between different V names.)

After the drinking game, I follow Maybe-Vera, not too close but not too far, either. She doesn't notice me, thankfully. If anybody were really noticing anything, I'd be considered a stalker. Well, Drake would be. He's kind of a sucker, really. It's funny in a funny way. Either way, it doesn't look like stalking, as Maybe-Velma and Drake live in the same dorm building, but on different floors. I remember one of my lives would have been in Heaven if she'd been allowed to live in a co-ed dorm.

The both of us arrive at the dorm not long after we left the bar. Drake's roommate is in place, ready to cart his friend back up to their room and throw him in bed. Honestly, the idea of that sounds wonderful to me right now, but I had more important things to do than sleep. I'll jump into Maybe-Vanessa, then I'll sleep. Preferably with someone, because cuddling is one thing I definitely prefer from the female side.

Maybe-Violet slips into the women's bathroom, cutting me off from her. It's not a giant problem, but it's a major inconvenience. I hate taking control of women in the bathroom. I always lose some form of bladder control, and usually have to stay in there for a good half an hour until I'm certain everything is dealt with. Hopefully, this doesn't end up that bad. I make my way over to Drake's roommate -- his name is Eric, I remember now; don't know why I forgot it, but I did -- and sit next to him on the lounge couch. "Be ready," I tell him.

Finally, I close my eyes and picture Maybe-Verra. I obviously don't know exactly where she is in the bathroom, but I don't need to, I just picture her in my mind. Thankfully, I'm good at remembering faces, otherwise this whole body-swap thing would be fucking impossible. The connection is made, though she's unaware of it. I let Drake's body slip, and then I'm finally free of the absurd alcoholism (well, for awhile, people's personalities never truly leave me, but that's a topic for another day).

As I make the surprisingly long journey from body to body despite the actual physical distance being less than a hundred feet, I'd like to tell you why it is I'm swapping Drake for Maybe-Vivica when I've already told you I generally take more male bodies than female. Unfortunately, the tingles have already started to take me and I can't really do that. Just know it's to help Eric because he and I have gotten to be pretty good friends these past few months I've spent in Drake's body, and I promised him I'd do this. Also, I get the feeling he's probably wanted to see how this whole thing works, and me jacking his body wouldn't help there.

As I said, the tingles start almost immediately. That's a good sign, it means the body's particularly vulnerable and I can jump in without any real damage to the original owner. If they put up a fight, it can take me a few hours to actually take control and it's almost always physically painful. Maybe-Virginia will just feel like she's going to sleep until she finally wakes up after I've left her body. If you're wondering about the moral dilemma, I'm never cruel to their bodies, and they never feel like they've been body-snatched. They have enough memory of what happens to piece what I turn their lives into back together and remain the combination of who they were and who I made them. To my knowledge, none of my former timeshares have ever gone mad from being taken over by an immortal vampire.

The tingles intensify as I start to feel other sensations. I feel the toilet underneath me, at least one hand is on the stall wall and my legs are... Spread very wide. Wider than I expected, actually. Women don't generally spread their legs when they take a piss, what the hell?! The tingles strengthen and spread throughout my new body.

And as I gain full control, I realize why and the hand that was against the wall is now clamping my mouth shut. Damn good thing, too, because Katie (that's her name, by the way; I was completely off with the V name thing) is just about to climax, and what I remember from Drake's almost completely incoherent thoughts, somebody in the locker room described her as a screamer. I remove the vibrator and let the juices flow until I can finally maintain my composure again.

I've lived centuries, been hundreds of different people, and this is the first time I've ever taken control of someone in the middle of masturbating.

I clean up quickly, make sure everything's put away and that no one will notice what I've done (well, not what I've done...) and leave the bathroom. Why Katie would have taken that chance, I'll probably find out when I'm not thinking about it. Granted, no one was in the bathroom, as most people are out somewhere for some reason. She, and subsequently I, was very lucky that nobody ever came in the entire time.

Eric is munching down on a bag of Cheetos when I get back to the lounge. Drake is still passed out, but he'll likely be that way for a good fifteen hours, then he'll wake up and get drunk again. He's only managed to stay in school because I brought his grades up.

Eric's eyes light up when he sees me, almost as if he's surprised. Then again, this is the first time I've swapped bodies since meeting him, so he doesn't yet know it's worked. "Hey there, Eric," I say, perfectly imitating Katie's sweet-girl persona (however the hell that works when she uses a vibrator in the public bathroom), "you ready to take me out tonight?"

He almost jumps from the lounge couch. "You're serious? This is really... Um..."

I smack him on the back of the head, a residual bit of Drake left over, most likely. "Yes, dumbass, it's Dracula. Now, seriously, take me somewhere. I haven't been a woman in decades, and I'm dying to have a date where the guy's paying again."

* * *

Hikaro is an author of many things. Seriously, he writes a lot. Almost too much. It’s quite frankly annoying. He should really stop, but the sonuvabitch just won’t.

~o~O~o~

I hate beginnings. I dislike endings more.

A story doesn't just appear from thin air, thus a beginning is a fallacy; before we know it, there is a story to tell. Just because the exciting times have passed does not mean that the story has reached its conclusion, either. There are no curtain calls in the world, waiting to draw the tale to begin its inevitable fade.

There are just complicated middles lacking in so very many details. To lack detail is to fall short of truth, and without truth, how can there be trust?

Trust is a blessed gift one must cherish and hold dear. So, should it come along, be sure to grab hold and keep a firm grip, because you never know when that delicate thread may slip from your grasp and fade into the murky darkness of the night.

Not all threads, however, are so readily broken; some bind your body to others with such firm will as to seem all but impossible to break free.

These are bonds of blood, bonds of fate, bonds of a long foretold destiny just waiting to play out in the theatre that is your life.

But maybe that need not always be so?

What if I could promise you a new fate, a destiny of your own choosing? All for the smallest of prices?

What would you be willing to give? What would you be willing to take to get your deepest desires granted? Would you accept a gift if it meant receiving an equal punishment?

I have touched upon fate and the flows of destiny, marked by all the splendour and horrors to come. I have peered into worlds untold and seen the ages thrive and crumble. And in you, my cute little friend, I see a warmth as bright as the sun, yet as soft as the clouds. However, beneath that lays a darkness so deep it threatens to consume all.

I suppose, before I go any further, it wouldn't be appropriate to forget to introduce myself, now would it? For convenience's sake, you may know me as Garnet, Disciple of the Grand Sorceress Moonstone, Teacher of the Blood Acolyte Carmine.

These days I find my training dull and fruitless, my years of study reaching their natural conclusion. Such a shame it would be to depart this plane as an echo in the wind, a whisper carried on the gentlest of breezes.

This is where you come in, my curious little friend. You are here to make my last days more meaningful and exciting. Let's not get hung up over the start of this tale and instead get to tonight's main event.

Good, good, now mind your arms as you sit down. We wouldn't want to knock something over. There would be no telling what sort of ruckus might occur if we aren't careful, isn't that right, dear?

How is it? The chair, I mean. I hope it is comfortable. I got it many years ago from a curious fellow, a bit odd in the head if you ask me. Never could keep his mind on the task at hand; made for some truly entertaining stories, mind you. You could never tell just what he would say next. Most amusing.

Now, now, I can see that worry on your face. No need to panic; chairs are for relaxing right? For taking the weight off your shoulders, to reduce your burdens, yes? Well, this one is a little special. Indeed, your limbs will feel the utmost relaxation. so much so I fear you find yourself unable to gather the slightest bit of strength, right? Although your shoulders may feel heavier, don't mind that little detail.

Worry not, we can continue our task even if you are unable to move. It just means a little more effort on my end. Nothing this old lady cannot handle, I assure you.

Now my little friend, let me free you from your burdens and give you that promised gift.

It is such a troublesome affair to feel and care and long for others.

To worry about their wellbeing. To stress over your image in the eyes of another. No, no, no, we can't allow that.

Let me free you from your obligations to the world; let me release that which the light traps deep within you.

My gift shall be the world's punishment. How could it let such a blessed child born to shine, suffer, pushed to the gutters of society? Let us bring out that brilliance hidden within you, my cute little friend.

Oh? You say that you aren't small or cute? I can assure you you most certainly are. You just cannot see it yet through this boyish veil you wear. Once we work out all this masculinity from you, I can guarantee that you will be most pleased with the result. I stake my name on it.

What do you mean that you are not here answering my task? You were out 'Trick or Treating', but lost your way and went looking for directions? Why, you should have spoken up much sooner. The process has just begun and I can not allow all these valuable reagents to go to waste. Look, the show is about to begin.

You see how those meaty hands of yours are changing? How clumsy they must have been before, not like this little pair, so delicate to touch they must meet only the finest silks. How your nails so worn from years of hard labour begin to clear and shine like tiny gems, the once rough surface now glossy as a varnish finish. See the dirty, wrinkled skin as the years turn back, countless days of dust and dirt dropping away as if but an illusion. As the tan from unregulated hours under the harsh unforgiving sun fades away, like a field covered in the fresh powder of winter's first snowfall.

How wonderful it must feel to know these changes are occurring to your whole body. The crowning glory of a master artisan at the height of their fame, working over your body on a vast scale. Slim arms shed all traces of past tedious, menial tasks, so slender they appear they would crumble at a careless touch. Your shoulders move closer together as your budding chest takes form. A once bulky and unrefined body now showing traces of elegance and femininity.

I understand how odd this must feel. How traumatic and horrifying to see your own body shifting before your eyes, but don't worry about the sensations you feel. That is just how the chair functions, you see. It would be impermissible to have you experience the pain that comes with bodily alteration.

Aha, finally your lower body is beginning to catch up. All that excess waste around your torso is most definitely not allowed to stay. I shall just store all this flesh and preserve it for later. Now you have such a nice thin waist, it seems about time for your hips and legs to catch up with your upper torso. See how the remaining flesh and fat shift to new positions? Your once stiff waist and narrow hips now slimming down before flaring out ever so slightly.

Your once muscular frame now looks so soft and thin that perhaps it could float away in a mild gale. Your legs long, smooth and slim, reaching on as if endless. You would now stand much shorter than before, not that you could tell from that gorgeous pair of legs of yours. Even your feet have become these lean little bare things gracefully tipped with such dainty digits.

Ah yes, such a petite little lass you make. That face of yours has really improved quite a bit, too. Certainly not unrecognisable if someone were to look hard enough, yet so much softer and rounder than before. The balance and shape of your small button nose to eyes like a still lake basking in the silver glow of the full moon. That ugly blonde hair now as black as the icy abyss that surrounds this mortal plane.

Truly the perfect daughter if ever I could ask for one. Almost a replica of my prime years, if I say so myself.

Make no mistake, boy. My wish was for a daughter, of sorts, and I really will not accept any refusal. So keep your chin up and embrace the changes, for they will soon become most familiar in the days to come. After all, I could not tolerate such perfection degrading with the passing of time. I shall ensure your looks will last an eternity if not longer.

You want to go home, you say? Back to your family and friends?

I fear it is too late for that, the damage already brought to pass, little one. Nought left now but to let you rest until the time comes to set you free and put the grand will in motion.

I shall bless you with a new name, a release from your past and from all that know you, so that you may begin anew and come into your own. Trust me when I say you will thank me for this one day.

Go, my cute little Charlotte. Fall into a deep slumber, for when you wake you shall show the world why they are right to fear the darkness and all it cloaks.

* * *

Author notes: Possibly even more erratic and mysterious than my last submission. I do hope that I have not failed to live up expectations :) ~Sylvia

~o~O~o~

* * *

"All right," Dan said, looking aside from the genie toward his friend Jack, "for my last wish, I wish for my ideal woman to appear facing me, and not in a mirror." Jack had a sudden panicked look on his face.

"Presto," the genie said, and waved his hands. A stunningly beautiful woman with long black hair appeared between Dan and Jack. She sighed and said, "I guess this was inevitable," while Jack just sighed in relief.

"Let me guess," the woman continued, putting her hands on her hips. "You figured the genie couldn't create life, so he would have to turn your backstabbing buddy Jack into your ideal woman, and you could claim it was an accident, you hadn't meant the wish that way."

"How did you know?" Dan blurted out, then saw Jack's glare and realized his mistake.

"You'll find out in, oh, about ten years," she said. (The genie smirked, and vanished. No one but Jack noticed; Dan and the woman were totally focused on each other.) "I can hardly believe the things I want to do to you... but I know it's inevitable, so let's get on with it." She pulled him into a kiss.

Jack tiptoed out of the room, though he probably could have stomped out and the lovers wouldn't have noticed.

* * *

Dan stepped out of the limo and went inside. As had happened every day for the last week, his wife greeted him in a negligee and practically tore him out of his suit.

They'd spent almost all their time together for their first year or so. But then Dan started getting more hands-on with managing the wealth he'd acquired with his second wish, and she had developed more of her own interests. Neither of them had aged a day in the last ten years, thanks to his first wish, and both still had a healthy sex drive, but the last few weeks were a little unusual even for them.

But something was different this time. Despite her eager ministrations, he wasn't getting hard. After a few minutes, she looked horror-stricken, and reached up a hand to brush gently against his cheek.

"Oh, no," she said. "It's already started... I couldn't remember for sure, I thought we had a few more days."

"What do you mean?" He loved it when she was cryptic and mysterious, how she would occasionally hint that she knew something and then, in most cases, refuse to say any more. The genie had known what his ideal woman would be like better than he did.

"You haven't grown any stubble since this morning," she pointed out. He hadn't noticed, but he put a confirming hand to his face: smooth as it had been right after he shaved. "And... it's not just limp, it's smaller than normal."

"What?" He looked carefully. Maybe it was. "This... this kind of thing shouldn't happen. My first wish --"

"I know. It's your third wish that caused this."

He floundered for a few moments before asking, "How?"

"You're starting to change into me. It will take about a month... and by the end, you'll be as deeply in love with the old you as I am. Only you'll get to go back in time and be with him, and I," she choked back a sob, "-- I'll be alone."

* * *

Thanks to Sylvia Waldgrave for help with the title.

~o~O~o~

And so, these tall tales are now ended, but with your participation, there will be plenty more to come. Not gonna lie, it gets harder and harder to get submissions each and every Tape, and this one in particular was cobbled together over the last week, but we made it, and that's what matters.

Now, if you'd like to contribute to the next Tape, here's what you have to do:

1) Write a story between 1,000 and 2,500 words (you can go as high as 4,000)
2) Contact Hikaro at [email protected]
3) Honestly those are the only two steps

I don't set deadlines or themes, typically, but I'mma do something different. Submissions for the next Tape are due December 12th and the theme is -- you guessed it -- whatever the hell it is you celebrate in the month of December because I don't really feel like alienating people by only using Christmas. And also Christmas.

Hell, if you've got it in you, write two stories! We could use them. But, anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope some of you decide to join us in the future.