Cursed to be a French Maid

This is my story and is also published elsewhere.

*****

Cursed to be a French Maid

By Sigh

Chapter One

"I think I'm going to be sick," the werewolf groaned as he stumbled off the couch and sprinted for the bathroom, leaving a trail of broken tortilla chips in his wake.

I looked down at my half-eaten chip. Was the color of the dip... off?

"Was it something I said?" the skinny barbarian across from me joked.

I set the chip down on a napkin and looked up at him. What was his name again? Had we even been introduced?

He leaned forward and held out his hand. "I'm Gore by the way. I mean, that's obviously not my real name... wait, we're still doing the fake name thing right?"

Who's ever heard of a skinny barbarian? I thought as I stared at him. He looked uncomfortable in his costume. The heavy leather straps hung off his paper-thin body. His yellow wig was a patch of dry grass. His furry bikini bottoms a tiny frightened animal.

I smiled politely, but remained on my side of the coffee table. "Yvette," I said, softly.

"Yvette," he said awkwardly as he pulled his hand back. "Oh right, of course, because of the French maid's uniform. That makes sense. I get it now!"

... the French maid's uniform.

I've fought my fair share of battles, dug in, drawn battle lines, and faced some intimidating foes, bullies, brutes... jealous co-workers. I've challenged them all and emerged victorious. There's only one adversary I fear. Her cunning is unmatched. Her tactics are brutal. She's notorious for playing dirty.

... my wife.

She was the reason why I was at this stupid Halloween party wearing this ridiculous costume. As I sat there, across from the skinny barbarian, I thought back, remembering the moment of my unconditional surrender.

"What do you think?" she asked as she walked into the livingroom of our small apartment wearing a coal black latex catsuit and did a quick twirl. "Too slutty?"

As I looked up from my phone my glasses slid to the tip of my nose and I almost fell off the couch.

"Whoa..." I said.

I'd never seen my wife in latex before and I never wanted to see her in anything else ever again. It was like she'd been dipped into a pool of wet tar, the sticky goo glued to her skin. My eyes were drawn to her, devouring every curve of her body. Her breasts, her tight waist, her hips. Before I could think straight, I was already on my feet, pulled to her by a powerful magnetic force.

"Down boy," she teased. "So, is that a yes... no?"

"I'm sorry, what was the question again?" I asked as I grabbed her waist and pulled her closer.

"Should I wear this to Brett's Halloween party?"

"Who?" I asked as I tried to kiss her neck.

She slipped out of my grasp and darted away. Wait... it even had a tail?

"Brett. You remember him, right?" she asked as she adjusted her cat ears and walked into the small open kitchen attached to our living room.

"He's a junior partner. I work with him. He's throwing a swinging Halloween party at his luxurious apartment this weekend and only a select few are invited."

"Right, of course," I lied. "Brett's Halloween party. How could I forget?"

"Rumor has it they're going to make him a full partner by the end of the year, and you know what that means?"

I moved across the floor of our apartment, my hands raised, ready to strike. "Absolutely," I said.

"It means he'll be in a position to hire his own team and that means big perks."

"Big... big perks," I murmured as I got closer.

"Which is why it's important I... we make a good impression," she said as she picked her phone up from the kitchen island.

I was almost to her, my eyes savoring every luscious curve of her body. The silver hoop of her catsuit was pulled down, revealing the deep well of her cleavage. I wanted to drown in it and sink to the bottom like a stone.

As I was about to lunge at her she raised her phone and blocked me. "That's why I want you to wear... this."

Reluctantly my eyes moved from her dazzling figure to her phone's tiny screen. "You want me to wear... "

Clearly, there was some miscommunication between my brain and what I was seeing because what I was seeing was absolute nonsense. "Ahh..."

She turned the phone back to face her. "Oh, wait, sorry. My bad, that's the wrong one. This..." she said as she flipped through her phone. "... is what I want you to wear."

She turned the phone back to face me again. It was a thousand... no, a million times worse.

I looked up at her, stunned. "You can't be serious."

She smiled. "Pretty please," she said, playfully.

I looked down at the phone, then back up at her. "Absolutely not."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?" she asked as she reached up and gently tugged on the silver hoop of her latex catsuit, bringing- it down further.

I looked away from the phone, my eyes drawn to her ample breasts. "No... I mean, I couldn't. I..."

"... with sprinkles, strawberries and covered in whipped cream?" she asked as she pulled the hoop down further, her breasts spilling out of her favorite cherry red push-up bra.

"... I doubt they even have it in my size," I mumbled, my eyes glued to her juicy tits.

She walked around the kitchen island, stopped in front of me, reached down and started to trace the lines of her breasts. Wires crossed, circuits burned out and my brain melted. "That is... I mean, I... I... I."

The rest was a blur as my brain oozed out of my ears. Reluctantly, I agreed. It was the reason why I was now sitting in a stranger's apartment talking to a skinny barbarian on Halloween.

... all because of a god damn French maid's uniform.

"Have you tried the quac?" the skinny barbarian asked me, pulling me from the memory. "It should be fine. I didn't see that dog shoveling it into his mouth."

"Werewolf," I said softly as I nervously spun my feather duster.

"What?" he asked as he reached down and grabbed a handful of mixed nuts.

"I think he's supposed to be a werewolf, not a dog."

"Oh," he replied as his eyes strayed to the kitchen. I followed them. Brett was entertaining my wife.

"Are you close friends with Brett?" the skinny barbarian asked me.

"What? No," I said as I sat there watching them. My wife was smiling as she toyed with her latex catsuit's tail. Wait, was she flirting with him?

No, she wouldn't, would she?

What was he supposed to be anyway? A ski instructor? He was wearing a pair of thick aviator glasses and a large pale blue bomber jacket. His leg was in a fake cast.

As I stared at them, he patted his puffy bomber jacket, searched the pockets, produced a ballpoint pen and handed it to her.

She took it, popped the cap off, then with the agility of a seasoned stripper crouched down on her stilettos and signed his cast. He wasn't subtle as he stared down at her tits.

... not flirting with him, I tried to assure myself as I looked away and soaked in my surroundings. The apartment's decor matched his stupid costume. It was a ski lodge, a literal ski lodge. The repurposed wood was the color of thick maple syrup. A set of skis hung on the walls and the chandelier looked like it was made out of plastic antlers. Who was his decorator? and what substance were they abusing?

The other party guests had formed small pockets and were chatting amongst themselves. There was a mermaid propped up against a wall talking to a black knight... or was it just an empty suit of armor? He didn't appear to move or respond to anything she said. I saw a few stray white bunnies and a Victorian Queen impatiently waiting at the bathroom door. She did not look amused.

"You and the cat, you're...?" the skinny barbarian asked me, pulling me back into our awkward conversation.

"Yes," I said abruptly.

When was this stupid party supposed to end, I thought. Midnight?

As I sat there, I heard a strange knock from above me through the ceiling. I wasn't the only one. Brett raised his phone and turned the music up, drowning it out.

"Do you have the time?" I asked the skinny barbarian.

"What?" He asked over the roar of the stereo.

"The ti..." It was too loud. I raised my arm and gestured at my empty wrist.

"Oh," he said and checked both of his bare arms.

"Sorry, no watch," he shouted then patted down his furry bikini bottoms. "Or a phone. It didn't work with the outfit."

I ignored him and looked around, searching for a clock... any clock. I spotted one across the room. If I was reading it right, the two hockey sticks said it was 11:45 pm.

... fifteen minutes to go.

I wasn't the only one who was aware of the time. The crowd was starting to thin out.

I looked back over at my wife. The space between her and Brett was uncomfortably thin. He was whispering in her ear. Was she giggling?

Fuck this, I thought. I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. I wore the stupid French maid's uniform. I made an appearance at Brett's stupid party. I'll wait in the lobby if necessary. I'm done. I'm leaving.

As I stood up the skinny barbarian spoke.

"Bleebing ba-ready?" he asked, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.

I didn't reply, turned, walked to the door, opened it and... dropped my feather duster.

Had there been a costume contest, the witch blocking my way would have easily won first prize.

Her skin was the color of decaying apples, her wrinkles like sandpaper. Her hooked beak was shaped like a fishing lure, her tiny eyes like dried raisins floating in spoiled milk.

Was she wearing a cloak? Its mud stained coarse fabric looked like the thick burlap sack someone had unsuccessfully tried to drown her in.

"Yer not the stupid smilin' pretty boy," she croaked.

"Ah, no..." I replied. "Is the noise too loud? We... we can turn it down."

Brett shoved me aside. "What is it now you old hag? What did I tell you about disrupting my vibe with your negative energy?"

"Ye said yer silly party would be over by midnight," she hissed, every word dripping with venom. "It better be quiet by midnight or they'll be..."

"Or what?" Brett snarled, interrupting her. "You'll summon a swarm of bats? Toss us into a bubbling cauldron? Wiggle your boney fingers and curse us?"

A dark flame ignited in the old witch's sunken eyes. "Yes... a curse," she whispered, her voice like a ghostly moan.

A curse? I thought nervously. What curse?

"Get bent," Brett sneered. "Stuff some cotton balls into your ears. Take a pill. Take a leap. I don't care."

"A curs..." she snarled as he slammed the door in her face.

"Ignore her," he said as he turned to face me. "She's just the old bat from upstairs. I've been waiting for her to croak so I can drill a hole through the ceiling and finally hook up my firepit."

Firepit? I thought. What firepi...

My wife walked over, joined us and wrapped her arm around my elbow. "Have you asked him yet?" she asked as she looked over at Brett.

As he smiled, there was a dark twinkle in his eye. "Not yet. How about a drink first?"

... ask me? Ask me what?

I followed them into the kitchen. As if to taunt the old hag more, Brett pulled out his phone and turned the music up. I looked around. The skinny barbarian was lounging on the couch, stuffing his face full of snacks. The Victorian queen was struggling to put her coat on as the black knight held onto her tiny pink purse. The three white bunnies were packing up, and the mermaid was on her phone, if I was to guess, calling the first available cab.

"So, your wife tells me you're in a dead-end job and considering a career change," Brett said as he rummaged through the bottles on the kitchen island, grabbed several and poured them into a large plastic jug.

"Did she now," I said as I scowled at her. How could she?

He shook the plastic jug like a martini, poured it into three red plastic cups and handed me one.

"I mean, if you're not too busy I could certainly... use your services," he said, threw back his drink in one gulp and wiped his mouth with his greasy hand.

"And what services would those be?" I growled.

He poured himself another drink. "Well, as you may have heard, I'm climbing up the corporate ladder. I'll be spending a lot of time at the office and I could use some help around the apartment. Someone to... tidy up."

"Tidy... up?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Yea, mop the floors, dust the bookshelves... check the jacuzzi's PH levels."

"Well, thx for the offer but that wasn't quite what I had in mi... wait, you have a jacuzzi? In an apartment building?" I asked, confused.

"Yea, it's in the bedroom. I could... show you, if you like."

I searched the walls. Where was that stupid clock again? I spotted it. It was five minutes till midnight. What had the old hag said? If we didn't wrap up the party by midnight she'd curse us? She wasn't being serious was she? I mean... magic, that's just utter nonsense... right?

My wife crept closer to me. "And on the days you're not working here you could tidy up around our apartment!"

... three minutes till midnight.

my mind was a fishbowl, my thoughts aimlessly swimming about, bumping into each other. Was he seriously offering me a job as a maid?

"Personally, I think it's a wonderful idea. Don't you honey?" my wife asked me as she tightly squeezed my arm.

The Halloween party. The French maid's uniform. Had she planned it all? Was I just a pawn she was using to get her next big promotion?

"And you wouldn't even need a uniform. You could wear... that," Brett said as his toady little eyes crawled all over my body.

I looked over at the clock. The large hockey stick snapped forward... it was midnight.

Whap!

There was a loud pop like the universe had broken. I saw a white light, felt the ground drop out from beneath me and then... nothing, my last thought before the world collapsed: I wonder how much he would have paid me.

Chapter two

While I floated in an empty void I thought back, retracing my steps, searching for the moment when everything had gone off the rails.... it was when those damn packages had arrived.

It was Halloween. I was cornered, my last hope of getting out of the party a viral outbreak or a delay in shipping. Neither had happened. My wife had paid for express delivery and not one, not two, but five small packages had arrived at our doorstep as if delivered on leathery wings.

I'd stalled, pouted and tried to sabotage the plans to no avail. I was done for. I was going to Brett's stupid party dressed as a French maid.

I walked into the living room, ready to accept my fate. I raised my hands and...

"You're planning on showering first, right?" my wife asked.

What?" I asked, confused.

"You're all... prickly. I won't have you showing up to the party and ruin what may be one of the most important nights of my career looking like that. Go shower and shave first. I bought everything you'll need. It's in the bathroom. You're welcome by the way."

I smiled meekly. Was it too late to fake my own death?

"Get to it, no dawdling, the clock is ticking," my wife scowled.

I turned, walked out of the living room, down the hallway and into our small bathroom. True to her word, she'd bought several new products. I read the instructions. Apply to the skin, wait fifteen minutes then rinse off. Easy enough, I thought as I took off my clothes. I opened the plastic bottle and smeared the pearl white goo onto my bare skin.

I set the alarm on my phone for fifteen minutes and waited.

... and waited. With nothing to do, my eyes wandered around our small bathroom.

... small.

Everything about my life felt small. A small apartment, a small bathroom, a small job. Honestly, it suited me just fine. But my wife... my wife thought big.

In the few short years since she'd graduated from university, she'd clawed her way up the corporate ladder. She was laser focused, driven by an ambition that was almost feral.

The alarm on my phone went off, snapping me back into reality. I blinked several times then caught the scent of the strange goo I'd slathered all over my body. It smelled like burnt plastic.

I stood up, turned on the shower and stepped in. The warm water rinsed off the goop, leaving my skin silky smooth. As I washed my hair I marveled at the shape of my body. Was that mine? Where had I been hiding those legs, that tiny waist, those plump hips?

It was as if the pieces of a puzzle had been shuffled around and a new picture had emerged.

... or was there something toxic in the goo's fumes?

There was a knock on the door. "Hello," my wife said through it. "Are you decent?"

I turned the shower off, leapt out, wrapped a towel around my waist, grabbed my glasses, opened the door and peeked out. "Yes?" I squeaked.

She pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside carrying... were those her makeup palettes?

"Sorry to burst in on you but we're running a bit behind and... excellent! you washed your hair. This should be easy then."

I looked down, why was she holding a pair of scissors and a comb?

I stared up at her, stunned. She wasn't serious was she?

"Don't worry, I'm just going to tidy it up a bit, nothing you won't be able to shake out later. Have a seat on the edge of the tub. I might as well try and keep the mess contained in the bathroom. Glasses please."

I sat down on the edge of the tub and reluctantly handed them to her.

"You're just going to tidy it up, right?" I whimpered.

"You'll barely miss a single strand," she said as she raised the scissors.

I closed my eyes and listened as she cut my hair. It wasn't as if I didn't need a haircut. I'd neglected it and let it grow like a weed.

"How do you feel about bangs?" she asked.

"What?" I asked in horror.

"Nothing, nothing, just teasing."

She continued to cut, the scissors buzzing around my head like an angry wasp. I felt the wisps graze my bare shoulders and fall to the floor. Just a few strands my ass, I thought.

"... there, I think I'm done. Keep your eyes closed though and I'll do your makeup quick."

"My makeup?" I asked.

"Shush and sit still! This is delicate work. You don't want me accidentally poking you in the eye, do you?" she teased.

I obeyed, kept my eyes closed and listened as she opened her makeup palettes. She dabbed, poked and plucked.

... plucked? Why was she plucking my eyebrows?

"And the finishing touch..." she said as she slathered something wet across my lips. "There, done! You can open your eyes now."

I opened them and the light flooded back in. My wife was standing in front of me, blocking the bathroom mirror.

"You clean up nicely," she said, smiling down at me. "Why don't you change first, then you can see the complete picture."

"Ok," I pouted.

As bizarre as this ordeal was, I was curious how I looked. She guarded the bathroom mirror as I stood up. I turned, walked down the hallway and stepped into our bedroom.

... and there it was, neatly laid out on the bed, the French maid's uniform. All those bows, the ruffles! It was like an exquisite portrait, built layer upon layer from thousands of delicate brush strokes.

The short-sleeved dress was coal black with a flared skirt. Beneath it was a thick ruffled petticoat the color of a freshly fallen sheet of snow. An apron tied around the waist. There were black ribbons woven through the sleeves of the puffy shoulders. A large black bow was pinned to the chest. The icing on the cake was a small lacy headband that looked like a glittering jeweled tiara.

... that was when I noticed the set of lingerie lurking in its shadow.

Lingerie? Seriously, why? I could easily slip into a pair of my old boxers and no one would ever be the wiser. I had plenty in my dresser, I could just...

... or I could.

I looked down at the lingerie. There was a complete bra and pantie set with a garter belt. It was bubblegum pink with blue accents, the silky material smooth like warm syrup. There was also a package of thigh-high nylon stockings.

"Chop, chop," my wife shouted from the living room. "I want to be fashionably late, not just late."

Ok, I thought. No more stalling. I let the towel drop to the floor, sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the panties... thong panties, I discovered.

I brought them down and... and.

I hesitated. Why did I hesitate? As best as I can explain it, it was like there was a chalk line drawn across the floor of the apartment and I was about to cross it. What was on the other side? I peered across the line. It was clouded, obscured but there was something there that I could almost make out, two figures, one was standing and one was... on their knees?

I could turn back now, walk into the living room with my head lowered and explain to my wife that I was uncomfortable with the idea of wearing lingerie. Uncomfortable with the idea of wearing a French Maid's uniform. Uncomfortable with the idea of... of.

Nonsense, I thought. Plus, I'd already agreed to go to the stupid party and my wife was waiting.

I dipped my toes into the panties, slid them up and tucked my raw sex in. There, I thought. You did it. There are no sirens. Nothing exploded, doors weren't kicked in, nothing. So, what was all the fuss about? Now quit stalling. Change!

I reached over, picked up the push-up bra, pressed it flat against my chest and fumbled to find the hooks in the back. I was successful on the fifth attempt.

I hooked the garters around my waist, then peeled off the tape on the package of nylons and carefully pulled them out.

They were like a thin wisp of smoke, the snow white nylon sparkling like diamonds.

I rolled them up into a donut, dipped my toes in, pulled them up to my thighs and attached them to the garters.

I looked down, expecting to see my tired old potato body, the same one I dragged out of bed every morning and pumped full of caffeine till it finally sputtered out and collapsed. What I saw was... legs, a mile long. Plump hips curved like a bell. A flat tummy and... breasts? Impossible!

As convincing as they were, clearly they were fake, a clever illusion performed by the push-up bra and yet... seriously, what was in that goo?

I stood up, reached down and picked up the short-sleeved dress. It zipped up in the back.

... it does what now?

I've spent decades ignoring the fashion trends and have stockpiled a decent arsenal of clothing. Yes, it's bland, often pulled from the bottom of a bargain bin and yet not a single piece ever zipped up in the back.

I examined it closer. It seemed simple enough. I unzipped the dress, stepped into it and pulled it over my new lingerie up to my shoulders. I reached back, searching for the zipper... and searched. Where was the damn thing?

"Need a hand?" my wife teased.

I gasped and spun around. She was standing behind me wearing her latex catsuit, playfully swinging her tail.

... that body. It was like a lude drawing brought to life, every curve embellished, every proportion super-sized. I wanted to touch it, feel it, grab it!

"Spin around and I'll give you a hand. Those pesky zippers can be a real pain."

I obeyed and did a quick turn. She walked across the room, reached down and tugged on the zipper.

"Oh, and before I forget. Brett is insisting that everyone use a fake name at the party."

"A fake name?" I asked. "Why?"

"I think to help break the ice. He said it should be something based on your costume. Wanna guess mine?" she asked.

"Fur Ball?" I teased.

"Close," she said, leaned down and picked up the apron. "Kitty."

Clever, I thought. She reached down and tied the apron around my waist, then stepped back and picked up the frilly jeweled tiara.

"Turn, please."

I obeyed, turned around and she crowned me. "Adorable, you look like a princess!" she said, smiling.

She then leaned down and picked up a rectangular cardboard box from the bed.

"You're spoiled rotten. I even bought you a brand new pair of heels for the occasion."

"Was that... necessary?" I asked.

"Well, we can't have you wandering around in your bare feet, now can we?" she asked as she handed me the shoe box.

"I suppose not," I said as I opened it. Inside, cradled in a soft bed of white tissue paper was a pair of jet black heels.

"I did the conversion with the help of the internet. And that was the first and last time I'll be looking into your stinky shoes," she teased.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, reached over and picked up the heels. The surface was like a polished gem, the lines from the toe to the stiletto heel, razor sharp. And I was going to walk in these? Yea right.

I leaned down and slipped them on. They were a perfect fit.

"There, all done. Now let's have a look at you," she said.

I stood up, wobbled in my heels and did a quick twirl for her. She smiled and clasped her hands together. "Stunning! Now give us a curtsy."

I reached down, pinched the hem of my skirt with my fingers and dipped down.

"I love it! Looks like you're all set... hold on, I want to get a picture first. Don't budge!" she said, darted out of the room, down the hallway and grabbed her phone from the living room.

While I stood there, I tried to picture myself. I saw nothing. My hair felt lighter, and I was almost certain she'd actually given me bangs. I was about to reach up when she walked back into the room holding her phone and a...

"Seriously," I smirked. "A feather duster?"

She handed it to me and raised her phone. "Who knows, maybe there will be a costume contest and it'll come down to who has the best props. Now smile for the camera!"

I gripped the feather duster with both hands and smiled nervously.

She peeked above her phone. "You can do better than that. Channel your inner kink, give me your best influencer pose. Be daring!"

Channel my inner kink, I thought, channel my inner kink...

I spun around, straightened my legs, bent at the waist, shoved my chest out and pretended to dust my nightstand.

"Brilliant!" she cheered. "More, more! What else do you got?"

I hesitated...

"Don't think, just act!" she said as she snapped several more shots.

I switched off my brain, let my mind empty out and moved between poses, letting them form naturally as she took more pictures. The dress swayed, the hem whipping from side to side, the lingerie underneath gently tugging to remind me it was still there.

When I had finally exhausted every idea, I looked up.

"They're all fantastic," she said as she scrolled through her phone. "Whoa, this one for sure is a keeper!

She held up her phone for me to see. I leaned forward and peered down at its small screen.

"Is that... me?" I asked, stunned.

"100%," she said. "No filters, fillers or cheap trickery. What do you think?"

The words escaped me. She had cut my bangs and given me a light bob haircut. The makeup was subtle, bubblegum pink eyeshadow and cherry red lipstick. I wasn't buried under a thick layer of foundation, then how, how was it possible?

My eyes welled up with tears.

"That bad?" she asked.

I looked up at her, and blinked several times, batting them back. "No, it's not that, it's just... I wasn't expecting to look so..."

"Hot?" she asked me. "I believe that's the word you're looking for. I'll be honest, you're making me a little jealous."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yup. With those adorable glasses and that new haircut, you're definitely going to turn a few heads."

I blushed as I smiled.

"All you need now is a name."

A name? I thought. What would be a suitable name for a French maid?

I wracked my brain. There was nothing, just random gibberish. Then it appeared, magically popping into my mind.

"Yvette," I whispered.

"Yvette. I like it. Well Yvette, why don't we head out. I'll ring a cab," she said and scrolled through her phone.

"Oui, Madame," I said.

Oui Madame? Where had that come from?

She smiled, turned, and walked down the hallway into the living room. I followed.

"You can borrow one of my coats. The cab should be here in a few minutes."

She opened the closet, handed me a coat and unlocked the front door. She turned and looked back at me. "Ready?" she asked.

I nodded then looked down. There along the doorway I swear I could see the faint hint of a chalk line.

"What's wrong, nervous?" a voice croaked.

I looked up. My wife's back was turned away fromme, her shoulders slumped, her arms hanging loose in their sockets. She craned her neck slowly, her skin turning pale lime green as it cracked and frayed like dry paint. Her features sunk, her skin tightening around her jagged bones. Her hair curled like wire and her eyes turned milky white.

... the witch, I thought in horror.

She smiled at me, her jagged teeth putrid and lemon yellow. "What's wrong honey, aren't you excited to make your grand debut?"

... debut... debut ... debu...

The memory collapsed. I was nowhere, then somewhere. But somewhere where?

Light flooded in and I was slammed back into reality. I was lying on the floor between two kitchen cabinets. Through my pounding headache I heard a stereo blaring music and... wet flopping?

I looked up. A barbarian wearing leather straps and a fur bikini was dragging a mermaid across the living room floor. He looked up at me and scowled.

"Grab the tail," he growled. "We need to get her into the jacuzzi before she drowns!"

"Oui," I said and scrambled to my feet.

Oui?

I rushed over and tried to grab the mermaid's tail. It thrashed about, whipping from side to side. I looked up. She stared back at me wide-eyed, gasping as she struggled to breathe.

"Quickly, we don't have much time!" the barbarian shouted as he wrestled with her.

"Elle n'arrêtera pas de bouger!" I shouted.

Wait, what? Why had I spoken like that?

I tried again, forming the words individually in my mind.

She won't ...

"Elle ne le fera pas."

Stop moving!

"Arrête de bouger!"

Again, it came out all wrong. Had I whacked my head off the kitchen island when I'd fallen? And why had I fallen? I remembered something about a party... midnight.

"What? Look, I don't understand a word you're saying. Just hold onto her for a second, the jacuzzi is down the hallway."

A jacuzzi? I vaguely remembered something about a jacuzzi.

I obeyed, reached out and grabbed her tail. The sequin-colored scales were dry, the fin like a prickly leaf.

The barbarian led the way as we dragged her down the hallway to the bedroom. With the back of his furry boot, he kicked the door open and we stepped inside.

"Just a little further," he grunted.

We dragged the mermaid to the edge of the jacuzzi, then together, threw her in. Like a goldfish dropped into a small fishbowl, she did several laps before emerging, smiled at us, then sank back down below the surface of the water. The barbarian then walked over to a small panel of buttons on the wall.

"That should about do it," he said as he adjusted a dial. "I don't want to accidentally cook her."

I stood back. With a few seconds to spare I tried to piece together everything that had just happened. Who was I again?

My name was... was.

My name was Yvette. I was a maid in the service of...

Wait, that didn't sound right.

My name was... for some reason it eluded me like it was obscured by a thick fog. I was married, my wife was a... more fog.

I tried to concentrate, focus. There was a party, everyone was dressed up...

I looked up. And who was this strange barbarian again?

He was a pillar of raw masculinity. The thick leather straps that crossed his oiled chest strained against his bulging muscles. His mop of hair was lemon yellow, the color of his eyes like glaciers.

My cheeks went beet red, and my eyes darted away. It was then, as the adrenaline faded I noticed that something was... off.

The signals were mixed, confusing. Everything my brain was telling me was wrong and what it was telling me was that I was a...

I looked down. What I saw all but confirmed it. They're fake, I tried to assure myself. Fake!

There was only one way to know for sure.

I brought my hands up and squeezed. The sensation was electric, causing me to gasp. Through the short-sleeved dress I could feel them propped up by the push-up bra... breasts. My breasts and they were real, hardwired and shockingly sensitive.

I stared up at the barbarian in horror. "Ce... ce qui s'est passé?" I asked.

... again in the wrong language. Since when did I know how to speak French? I'd never studied it, never been immersed in it. How had my brain been reprogrammed to speak it?

I tried again, using the most rudimentary form of communication I could think of... a confused expression.

The barbarian shrugged. "I was hoping you could tell me. I just woke up, discovered our scaly friend there flopping around on the floor and..."

Ok, I thought. Calmly, let's try this again. I'll keep it simple, ask a direct question. I pictured the words.

Have you seen.

"Avez-vous vu."

My wife?

"Ma femme?"

He stared at me with a blank expression as if a cord had been pulled loose in his brain. He then blinked several times and the light returned to his eyes.

"What? Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a second. Weird. It happened before... what were you saying?"

I tried again, and again I spoke French.

Gore ignored me and stared down at his fingers as he opened and closed them into a fist. They were as thick as sausages.

"Do these look... bloated to you?" he asked as he raised them to show me. "Do you think there was something off in that guac?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my new body. Was that the conclusion I was accepting? It raised a difficult question. Had everything changed? I wasn't in a position to check, but I was almost certain it had.

I picked through the debris of my memories, piecing together what I could remember. I was attending a lame party with my wife. There was a ski instructor... no wait, he worked with her. There was a knock on the door, I'd answered.

... the witch.

It was the witch! She'd threatened to curse us if we didn't shut down the party by midnight. We hadn't, so... what? Magic is real?

I rubbed my hands together. The prickled spines from the mermaid's tail had caused a hundred tiny scratches. If I was dreaming, it was hyper realistic. I looked up. Wait... where was Gore?

I looked around. I was alone in the sleazy bedroom, my only companion a mermaid doing laps in a jacuzzi. I quickly darted out of the room. Gore was halfway across the living room headed towards the front door.

"Gore!" I shouted, my voice carrying a French accent.

"Attends, arrête. S'il te plaît, arrête!" I said, begging him to stop.

He ignored me as he opened the hallway closet and pulled out a small gray coat. "Well, I think I've had just about enough excitement for one evening, thank you very much. I think I'll be leaving now."

He shoved his thick arms into the coat, tearing it apart at the seams like it was tissue paper. Frustrated, he shook it off, tossed it down, reached for the door and...

... there was a soft moan from beside the couch. Gore spun around and stared down.

"You," he growled, as he reached down, grabbed hold of the collar of what looked like a ski instructor and pulled him off the ground. "You're to blame for all of this!"

"Arrêt!" I cried as I rushed over to him. "Vous lui faites du mal!" I pleaded, afraid he would hurt him.

Gore looked down at me, blinked several times, looked up at the ski instructor, then dropped him. He fell to the floor, reached out and grabbed his cast.

"Fuck man, what's the deal? That fucking hurts," the ski instructor moaned.

"Sorry, I..." Gore said. "Are you ok?"

"Do I look ok?" the ski instructor howled. "My fucking leg is broken."

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me. It was like I was... like I was someone else there for a second."

The ski instructor rubbed his cast. I looked down. It was signed.

Kitty I thought, why does that sound familiar?

"Ton nom est..." I said as I stared at him. What was his name again?

The ski instructor looked up at us. "If you two weirdos are here for lessons, you're out of luck. The resorts closed. Go away."

He looked back down at his cast and sobbed. "I'm going to have to sit out the whole season now. All those parties... all those babes!"

Party, I thought. The party.

... the witch.

As I stood there my mind started to stray. I looked around the apartment. I'd neglected my duties. The floors needed to be mopped, the shelves dusted, and where was my feather duster?

I was suddenly interrupted by a flurry of white and black fur. I jumped back as a black cat chased three snow white rabbits across the living room floor.

Those poor rabbits. That cat is going to eat them! I thought in horror.

I chased after them, almost tripping over my own heels as I ran down the hallway past the bathroom towards the bedroom.

... the bathroom.

There was a thunderous boom as a pair of razor-sharp claws tore through the door. I screamed and fell to the floor.

I looked up. Through the jagged scar cut into the wood I saw a pair of eyes the color of amber staring back at me.

"Gore!" I shouted.

Gore looked up. "The bedroom, run!" he shouted.

I was paralyzed, gripped by fear as the horror beyond the thin wooden door tore it to ribbons.

... definitely not a dog, I thought. That's a werewolf.

Gore dragged the ski instructor to his feet, charged down the hallway, scooped me up, and cradled me in his powerful arms as the werewolf broke free, shattering the remaining door into a thousand pieces.

Gore leapt into the bedroom, threw us down onto the floor, spun around and slammed the door shut behind us. There was a loud thud as the werewolf plowed into it, almost knocking it off its hinges.

"Grab anything you can and block the door," Gore shouted as he ran over to a cabinet and shoved it against the door.

I leapt up and grabbed the first thing I saw, which happened to be a chair, and wedged it under the doorknob.

We both went back and forth, piling furniture against the door until we had built a small barricade.

Gore stepped back, ready for battle.

"Devrions nous..."

"Shush!" Gore hissed, interrupting me. "Listen."

I stopped, listened and heard... nothing?

"He's in the living room," Gore whispered. "I think he found something else to chew on for a while."

"Combien de temps penses-tu que cela l'occupera?" I asked.

"I don't know how long that'll keep him busy," Gore said, repeating what I had just said.

"That should at least give us a few minutes to catch our breaths... to think. You got anything to add?" he asked, looking down at the ski instructor.

"No ski bunnies... no slopes... no trophy wives..." the ski instructor mumbled in a loop.

Ski bunnies... rabbits! I thought, remembering the terrified rabbits the black cat had chased into the room.

I looked around and spotted them cowering in a corner. The black cat, like a dark shadow, crept across the floor, ready to pounce.

"N'ose pas!" I shouted as I lunged at it, flailing my arms and hit the floor.

The black cat, turned, hissed at me then leapt up onto the ledge of an open window.

A black cat... wait, was that actually my...

"Attendez!" I cried but it was too late. It leapt out of the window onto the fire escape and vanished into the night.

From where I was lying I could see under the bed. There, amongst the pile of bent porno mags and fast food wrappers was a... a cherry red push-up bra.

No, I thought, stunned. She wouldn't... would she?

Before I could ask her, I needed to catch her.

I stood up, rushed to the open window and searched for her. I saw a flash of black fur above me as she scaled the fire escape. I turned back to look at Gore, who was guarding the door.

"Reste ici. Je reviens tout de suite!" I shouted.

"I have no idea what you're saying, but ok," he replied, his eyes fixed on the barricade.

I turned, climbed out of the window and onto the fire escape.

I looked up. The night had descended on the city like a velvet shroud, blotting out the skyline. The fire escape was a tangled web of old rusted metal, scaling the building like a vine. The metal groaned under my weight. "Je ne suis pas si lourd," I said, scolding it. I wasn't that heavy!

Every step was treacherous, every second measured by the steady beat of my heart. Should I call her name? Would she even recognize it?

I looked up and saw her above me, staring down at me with her silver eyes.

"Attendez!," I called out, "Atte... " but she was already gone.

I climbed the narrow stairs, reached the next floor and saw... plants. Potted plants. Identical potted plants. There were dozens of them clustered together on the terrace in red clay pots of various sizes.

I didn't recognize the flower. Was it rare? Its pedals were an oily purple, the little antennae thingies... whatever they're called, honey yellow. Its razor-sharp thorns discouraged me from stopping to smell them.

I looked up. The black cat... my wife had leapt up onto the windowsill. Beyond her was a jagged crack in the glass.

"Attendez!" I shouted but she ignored me and slipped through it.

I swore, my words requiring no translation.

Now what? I thought. What's the plan?

I was treading water and quickly growing exhausted. What was I planning to do if I even caught her? Cast a magical spell?

I wanted to laugh but as outlandish as the idea was, it was the most plausible explanation of what had happened. A creepy old witch had cursed us all to be our costumes and I was now standing outside of her apartment.

But why did I still remember fragments of who I had once been? Was the spell not complete?

As I was lost in my thoughts, I failed to notice the vines slithering towards me like vipers.

They sprang forward, coiled around my ankles and tightened. I screamed and collapsed to my knees. A vine wrapped around my wrist and dragged my hand behind my back. My other hand soon followed. I struggled which only seemed to encourage them.

The vines wrapped around my entire body, squeezing me like a vice, panic my sole companion.

Is this really how it ends? I thought in horror as the world went dark. On a fire escape, magically transformed into a French maid, squeezed into pulp and served up as plant food?

Fate, it would seem, had other plans. Through the thick clumps of vines, I heard ripping. Light soon followed.

"Hold on, I got you" Gore shouted as he tore through the vines.

Fear stricken, I wiggled free and leapt into his arms. They closed around me like two tree trunks, and pulled me in tight.

I closed my eyes, inhaled his sweet aroma, and escaped... escaped fear, doubt, and all the emotions I'd been bottling up. I was safe now, his strong embrace like an oasis.

"Our a... friends are regrouping," Gore whispered.

Reluctantly, I pulled back. The tangled mass of vines was closing in, blocking our way back down the fire escape.

Gore turned, reached in, grabbed a fist full of vines and tore them apart. The wound healed. He tried again, and again the gap closed.

They circled us, their oily purple flowers sneering with delight.

"La fenêtre, c'est notre seul espoir!" I shouted.

Gore turned to look back at me, then past me. "The window, it's our only hope!" he shouted, repeating what I had just said.

He rushed to the window and dug his fingers into the wooden frame.

"Sorry about this," he grunted, then forced the window open.

He peered back over his shoulder. "They're closing in.... quick, hop through."

I ran to the windowsill and hopped up onto it.

Gore kept the window propped open, his eyes straying down to my nylon clad legs. Were my panties showing?

I leapt down into the apartment and was joined by Gore. He swung around and slammed the window shut. The vines thrashed against the glass and poked through the crack, yet seemed reluctant to venture further.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fyre," Gore whispered.

I peered into the darkness. The dimensions of the room were a coffin. Shadows danced around the crude bookshelves huddled together like a gang of thieves. The furniture looked like a parade of spiders, the glass chandelier a raised knife.

"Cozy," Gore grunted.

"Shush!" I hissed, then pointed towards a lime green light oozing out from below an archway.

Gore nodded and we crept across the floor. From the mysterious room I heard the faint sound of bubbles popping.

I peeked around the corner. It was a kitchen. The open cabinets were an open wound, spilling their guts out onto the floor. Cloves of dried garlic hung from the ceiling. An old stove, stitched together like a patchwork quilt from sheets of raw iron was pressed against the far wall. A slab of knotted wood served as a table and was piled high with metal pots.

"And I thought my apartment was a dump," Gore grunted.

I walked into the kitchen and checked the stove. A pot of glowing orange goo was bubbling on the burner.

"Late night snack?" Gore asked as he peered into the pot.

He looked up and gave me a devilish grin. "Dare you to try it."

I snorted. "Certainement pas!"

I walked to the kitchen island. It was cluttered with dozens of pots and pans, all full of similar goo, all different colors, all glowing brightly. Why? What was she up to?

I turned, and to my horror, saw Gore dip his finger into the pot, then pop it into his mouth. For several seconds the wheels spun while he stared up at the ceiling, then delivered his verdict.

"Tastes like paint."

I stared at him, stunned, then laughed. He was ridiculous... yet it was oddly charming.

He reached down, picked up a crude wooden spoon, dipped it into the pot and scooped up some more goo. It oozed off the spoon in goopy threads.

"You sure you don't want to try some? I bet it contains your recommended daily dose of iron... and lead," he said as he taunted me with the spoon.

"Absolument pas!" I laughed.

He playfully jabbed at me with the spoon and I batted it away.

"Your loss," he said, then devoured it.

I shook my head, looked down and noticed a small trail of orange goo leading away from the stove, out into the living room. Gore followed my gaze as he licked the spoon clean.

"Follow the trail of breadcrumbs?" he asked.

"Oui," I said, turned, and followed it.

How had I not noticed it before? I thought. The orange goo glowed brighter as if it was beckoning us... leading us on, but leading us where?

It turned right, led us down a narrow hallway, then left, right... and left again?

"This tomb is like a maze," Gore grumbled.

The further we went the more I was convinced we were slipping down the throat into the belly of a hungry beast.

We turned another corner and saw an open door... or open jaws?

"About time!" Gore grunted as he raised the wooden spoon defiantly. "If it's something's lair, I'll deal with the pointy bits, you try and grab its legs."

We walked into the room and...

"Snazzy," Gore said as he looked around.

The walls were ivory white with gold accents. There was a silver vanity with an oval mirror surrounded by fluorescent light bulbs. The wardrobe was a work of art, the wood stained a deep crimson red. All of that paled in comparison to the four poster bed. The silk sheets were ruby red, the pillows like soft fluffy clouds.

The trail of glowing orange goo led to the center of the room then stopped abruptly.

"So what's the plan?" Gore asked, looking down. "Start digging?"

Should we? I thought. What other choice did we have? The trail had gone cold.

... click.

I spun around. The door had closed behind us. Gore rushed over to it, grabbed the doorknob and fought with it. "It won't budge. It's locked!"

He started to hammer his fist against the door. "Open," he growled. "Open!"

He hunched down and flailed his arms against the door, grunting the same word over and over again.

"Open... open... open!"

"Gore, Arrête, ça ne sert à rien..." He ignored me and continued to pound on the door.

"Open you stupid fucking thing open, open!"

"Gore!" I shouted.

He spun around and glared at me, his eyes were two burning pyres, his nostrils flared like he was ready to charge me. I no longer recognized him. Gore the barbarian was gone, I was looking at a brute, a thug, a beast... which I was now trapped in a cage with.

"Gore?" I whispered.

He blinked several times and the shadow lifted. "I'm sorry I... I..."

He looked down. His hands were clenched fists. He dropped the wooden spoon, walked past me and sat down on the bed. He stared at his open hands then looked up at me, his eyes welling with tears. "What's... what's happening to me?"

I walked over to him and sat down beside him. "Je ne sais pas," I whispered. "Si seulement je savais."

Sadly, it was true. I had no idea what was happening. As we sat there, I wanted to comfort him, find the right words to say... any words, I wasn't picky.

He wasn't alone. I was struggling as well, my own grip on reality slipping. Who was I again?

... Yvette?

No other name emerged. I sifted through the shattered fragments of my memories, searching for any I recognized. I remembered something about a cat... no wait, a wife?

I wasn't married to a cat was I?

No... that didn't sound right.

I looked around. Why was I in this room again? It could use some tidying up, perhaps even some light dusting, and when was the last time the floors had been swept?

Gore looked over at me and smiled. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I'm actually really quite timid in real life. If there is such a thing anymore."

I turned to look at him and smiled pleasantly.

"I bet you have absolutely no idea what I'm saying, do you?" he asked.

I did, every word. I could respond with a simple head nod, but instead I chose to remain silent, and smile politely.

"I could say just about anything right now, couldn't I? and you wouldn't have a clue."

I continued to smile.

"Like... the fact that you are so fucking hot. Criminally hot. I think it's the glasses... you're so adorable. And you know what's wild? If you had met me on the street you wouldn't have given me a second glance. Wanna know what I do for a living? I bet you'll never guess."

I continued to smile pleasantly.

"... I'm an accountant. A god damn accountant! Pretty sexy right?"

He laughed and turned to look across the room. "I mean, I can't complain. It's not like it's a difficult job. No one bothers me at work. I just go in, move some numbers around, then go home and rinse and repeat, day in and day out."

He snorted and looked up. "I wasn't even invited to this dumb party. I overheard some of the girls from the secretary pool talking about it and thought, fuck it? Why not?"

He turned back to look at me. There was a raw vulnerability in his calm blue eyes. "I bought this stupid costume, figured if I made a big splash, maybe someone... anyone would notice m..."

I kissed him.

I... I... I kissed him.

In the swirling vortex that was my mind there should have been an explanation, a reason, but there wasn't. I just... wanted too.

He kissed me back, then leaned in and pulled me towards him. I was weightless in his strong arms as I fell against his well-oiled chest. My mind exploded, the pleasure searing the fragile bond anchoring me to reality.

I let go, discovering new sensations, new desires. As our tongues twirled together, I pouted, why had I denied myself this for so long?

... I wanted more.

He swept me up off my feet and we stood in a tight embrace. I stood on my toes, reaching up to savor his delicious lips. My appetite was insatiable. I pulled back, reached up and traced the lines of his chiseled jaw.

"Je parie..." I said softly as I admired his physique. "Tu ne comprends pas un mot de ce que je dis."

He smiled down at me, his warmth radiating like the sun. From his blank expression I could tell he didn't understand a single word I spoke. I continued.

"Est-ce que tu sais ce que je veux?" I asked.

Lost under my spell, he didn't reply.

I reached down, followed the lines of his finely tuned abs, slipped my hand under his furry bikini bottoms and wrapped it around his hard cock. I was done being subtle. I knew what I wanted.

I leaned up on my toes and whispered in his ear. "Je veux te sucer la bite."

The words required no translation and were received on a primal wave length. I wanted to suck his cock.

I slowly slipped down, kissing his bare chest until I was on my knees.

... on my knees.

My mind leapt back, dug up a buried memory. I was standing in an empty apartment. The furniture was faded, apparitions of what it had once been. I looked down. I was standing on a chalk line. All it would take was one step... one tiny step and I would cross it, and once I did there would be no turning back. I'd be a...

... cocksucker.

I was plagued by an insatiable curiosity. What would it be like to have a cock in my mouth?

The thought reduced my inhibitions to ash. I wanted to... no, needed to know.

I pulled his furry bikini bottom down and his hard cock sprang free. I marveled at its magnificence. It was a pillar of raw masculinity, the tip like a blunt spear, the shaft measured in a width greater than both of my hands combined.

... and I was planning to suck that?

It was a daunting task. Was I up to it? I looked up at him. He was staring back down at me wide eyed, tormented by the agonizing wait.

I kept my eyes glued to him as I slowly leaned forward, swirled my tongue around the tip of his hard cock then plunged forward and...

Failed. His cock was too big!

I tried again, pulled back, then dove forward, determined to reach the base. With each successive thrust I got closer, my enthusiasm rewarded by a gasp of pleasure.

"That's it," he moaned softly. "Just like that... just like that."

As I sucked his hard cock my glasses slid to the tip of my nose. I continued to stare up at him, past his perfect physique and into his calm glacier blue eyes.

He was in ecstasy, the pleasure painted across his face in broad strokes. "Yes," he moaned. "Yes!"

I brought my hand up and began to stroke his hard cock as I sucked. With each thrust I drove it further towards the back of my throat.

I pulled away, continued to stroke his hard cock, looked up at him and spoke.

"Ta bite est magnifique," I said sweetly.

"What?" he asked. "Did you just say my cock was magnificent?"

"Oui," I replied.

"Oui I understand" he said, grinning.

I gave him a pouty smile and dove forward, taking his cock in my mouth again. He reached down, put his hand behind my head and began to guide me into a steady rhythm with each thrust.

"That feels so... so," he moaned.

I'd short-circuited his brain. His body was trembling. He was close. He was going to cum. Was I ready? Was I prepared to swallow?

As strange as this journey had been, never in a million years would I have assumed I'd suck my first cock. Be magically transformed into a literal French maid on Halloween? Sure, why not. I've seen enough b-movies to know that wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

His chest rose and fell in waves, his grip tightening as he quickened his pace. I kept my eyes glued to him, his obedient pet, his cocksucker.

"I... I... " he said then shut down, his brain overloading.

He erupted in my mouth, his salty cum rocketing to the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, my lips remaining tightly wrapped around his hard cock in an O shape.

His energy released, his pace slowed. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and took a deep breath. "Amazing," he whispered. "That was so amazing."

He released me and I continued to suck, my tongue swirling around the tip of his cock, determined to savor every last drop of his salty cum. It was after all my first blowjob. I wanted to be thorough.

Incredible, I thought. I've done it. I've sucked a cock. I'm a cocksucker. Did I feel any different? No. Was it a big deal? Maybe.

Reluctantly, I pulled my lips free of his cock and smiled sweetly. "Papa approuve?" I asked, showing him my empty open mouth.

He looked down at me and smiled. "I need to learn how to speak french so I can ask you to do that again and again... and again."

I smiled pleasantly, my hand absently stroking his cock as I looked up at him... then past him and stared wide-eyed in disbelief.

"Was it something I said?" he asked, confused.

I looked up, my gaze locked on the ceiling. He tilted his head back, and looked up. Above him, the ceiling tiles were organized into squares. They were all identical except for the one directly above him. The color was off. Nothing I would have normally noticed. But at this angle, on my knees, it stood out.

"Soulève-moi," I said, then gestured at the ceiling tile.

"What?" Oh right, gotcha," he said, quickly shoved his cock back into his furry bikini bottoms, reached down and grabbed me by my waist.

I let out a gentle gasp.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded and he hoisted me up. I reached up, and searched the edges of the tiles. Nothing.

"Try pushing it," Gore grunted as he held me up.

I pressed my hand against the tile. There was a mechanical click and the tile rose up into the darkness. Several more followed.

I looked down at Gore. "Abaissez-moi," I ordered.

He ignored me, his eyes fixed on the dark void. From the darkness gears spun and chains pulled, their rusty whines seeping through the thin walls. "Gore?" I barked.

"What? Oh, sorry," he said, lowered me down to the floor and we both stepped aside. There was a chorus of mechanical noise, then a spiral metal staircase appeared and came to an abrupt stop in front of us.

"Well that solves that mystery," Gore whispered.

I stepped forward and peered up. "Wait!" Gore said and stepped in front of me. "Let me go first."

"Mon héros," I teased, and stepped aside.

The staircase strained under Gore's weight as he stepped onto it. I followed and we climbed up, spiraling upwards through the building.

"I think I see something," Gore said, peering up into the darkness.

He reached up, jabbed at a metal hatch then pried it open. He then climbed out, reached down and helped me up.

As I stood up I almost bumped my head on the pale blood moon. It hung low in the night sky, its surface scarred with deep welts.

I looked around. There appeared to be the scorched remains of a structure on the roof. I couldn't quite make out what it had once been, a small church? A tomb? All that remained was the shattered husk, covered with strange glyphs that glowed bright orange. The witch's paint?

"Quick, over here!" Gore hissed from behind the crumbling remains of a brick wall. "I don't think she's seen us yet."

I ducked down and darted over to him. "Où?" I asked. He raised his finger to his lips then gestured past the wall.

I peeked around the corner. At the center of the web of debris was the old witch, hunched over the shattered remains of a crypt, painting crude symbols with her bare hands.

Gore peaked over my shoulder. "What do you think she's doing?" he whispered.

I looked back, smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Je n'en ai aucune idée, mais quoi que ce soit, ça ne peut pas être bon," I whispered. I had no idea what she was doing but whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Gore gently pulled me back behind the wall. "She's responsible for this whole mess, isn't she?" he asked.

I kept my answer as simple as possible. "Oui."

"Oui indeed," he said, crept to the edge of the crumbling wall and looked back at me. "Ok, here's the plan. You stay here and I'll creep around the side and grab her. Then I'll hold her in a bear hug and squeeze her till she reverses the spell."

"Cela ressemble à un plan stupi..." He was already gone, weaving through the ruins towards the old witch.

I peeked over the wall. The old witch slapped her hands together, wiping off the thick goopy paint, then looked up at the blood moon. It hung above her, staring down, its gaze unwavering.

It was then, while my heart did several laps in my chest that I noticed how quiet it was. There was no ambience, no background noise, nothing.

Nothing except...

Wait, was the moon... humming?

It sounded like... like...

The words failed me, my creative vocabulary unable to describe it. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before. Had anyone?

It was both beautiful and a little bit terrifying. I remembered the old witch's warning. Quiet by midnight. That was what she had told us. She'd succeeded but how far did her withered claw reach? Was the entire city under her spell?

As I thought that, I saw Gore. He was almost within striking distance. If she was as powerful as I feared, what could he possibly hope to accomplish?

I tried to draw his attention with a series of awkward expressions. He ignored me, his eyes focused on the old witch.

Then something unexpected happened. She sang. The old hag sang! Her voice was shockingly angelic. I didn't recognize the words, if they were words. She and the moon sang together in perfect harmony, then she broke off and they performed a duet, then again as a harmony.

While I watched, the old witch started to glow orange, the color bleeding out of her body until it was a black silhouette. It then changed, swirled and spun into a new shape.

... and what a shape it was.

The glow faded and where the old witch had once stood was a stunning young woman wearing a sparkling orange sequin gown. Her skin was the color of a rich cream, her shoulder length hair raven black.

As I stared at her, mesmerized, Gore howled a fierce battle cry and leapt from the shadows. The old... young witch spun around, threw her hand up and stopped him mid-flight. He hung there, dangling in the air, desperately flailing his arms.

"Fool," she hissed. "How dare you disrupt the ceremony!"

She whipped her hand back and he flew through the air and slammed into a brick wall, shattering it. He grunted, hit the ground, then was back on his feet, and charged towards her. She smiled like a viper and raised both of her hands. The entire roof shook. Loose bricks rose into the air and began to fly at him as if possessed.

He continued to stumble towards her as the bricks engulfed him, covering his arms, feet and chest.

His progress slowed as he waded through the magical onslaught, consumed by the bricks until his only visible feature were his enraged eyes.

The witch sneered and began to squeeze her hand tightly. He let out a muffled howl of pain as the bricks slowly crushed him.

"Arrêt!" I screamed as I stood up. "S'il te plaît, arrête!"

The witch spun around and stared at me, her eyes two bubbling cauldrons. "Foolish girl. Do you really think you'll fare much better than this lumbering oaf?

I looked over at Gore. With her attention focused on me, her grip on the bricks had loosened, allowing him to breathe.

I turned back to face the witch. Behind her I saw the dawn warming the horizon. I struggled to focus, my mind an empty socket.

"Only a few minutes more my child and you're suffering will be over."

Over? I thought. What did she mean by that? With every passing second my memories slipped away, cementing the idea that I was a... was a...

"Come to me," she hissed. The brick wall in front of me split apart and a strange force pulled me towards her. "I want to get a better look at you."

I stumbled forward, my heels dragging across the surface of the roof. The hem of my short skirt bobbed slightly, the cool fall air cutting through my thin nylons.

She looked down at me with a strange curiosity. "What an odd choice of attire. And you're supposed to be a..."

"Une servante française," I squeaked.

"How very strange..." she said, her eyes oozing over my fragile frame. "This modern age is so confusing. Your rituals are bizarre. Why would anyone want to dress as a common servant?"

I looked over at Gore. Could he read my expression? I could see him desperately trying to communicate to me, begging me to stop. What choice did I have?

I looked back at the witch. "je pourrais être... ton serviteur," I said, meekly.

She laughed and glided down from the crypt, her orange sequin gown twinkling. "And what use would I have for a servant?"

I've seen your apartment, I thought. It's a disaster.

"J'ai vu ton appartement. Il aurait besoin d'un bon nettoyage, époussetage. Je pourrais fournir ces services. Je pourrais être ta servante en échange..."

In exchange for what? I thought. I looked over at Gore. Unable to speak, he screamed internally.

"De... son... leur liberté."

She circled me slowly, the trail of her long gown slithering like a snake.

She stopped in front of me and looked down. Her lips coiled up into a sneer as she spoke again.

"And you would do this willingly? Sacrifice yourself to save..." she peered over her shoulder and glared at Gore. "Him?"

I looked over at Gore, the taste of his lips, his salty cum still lingering on the tip of my tongue.

I tried to remember my life before I'd accidentally bumped into him. It was a series of mistakes stacked in a row, inevitably tumbling one by one until I ceased to feel like I had any real control over my life. For one brief moment I'd felt something I'd never felt before... something real.

"Oui," I whispered.

She stepped aside. "Then say goodbye. When the dawn rises you'll be mine, my obedient servant, body and soul... forever."

I slunk past her and walked to Gore. The loose brick around his mouth crumbled away and he gasped.

"Please, he whispered. You don't have to do this. I'll... I'll find a way to fix this."

I peaked over my shoulder. The sun was about to rise. We were out of time. I turned back, leaned forward and kissed him. Time stood still. I closed my eyes and savored the moment. I wanted to lock it away in a place where I knew it would be safe. Reluctantly, I pulled away.

I looked up into his eyes. It would be the last time I would ever see them again.

"Oliver," he whispered. "My real name is Oliver. I just thought... I just thought you should know."

I smiled, kissed him gently on the forehead, and turned to face the witch. "Je suis prêt," I said softly.

She waved her hand and the pile of bricks holding Gore... Oliver sank into the roof carrying him along with them.

"He, and everyone else in the apartment will be fine. They will wake up in the morning as they once were and remember nothing," she said and turned to face the rising sun.

... everyone in the apartment, I thought. I had the sudden feeling that I'd forgotten something, but I couldn't think of what it was. I remembered the color black, cherry red, but the memory was too frayed, to faded. Whatever it was, it wasn't important. I turned and walked over to the witch... to my new master, and obediently stood by her side. As the sun rose, I closed my eyes and smiled as I let its rays bathe me in their warmth, burning away the last remnants of my old life.

I opened my eyes. Confused, I looked around. Why was I on the roof? I looked to my side. Thankfully my master was standing beside me. She'd know why we were up here.

"I think that's enough excitement for one evening," she said and turned. "Come now pet and prepare my morning tea."

"Oui madame," I said, and obediently followed her.

Chapter Three

The dawn was not a welcome companion. It crept in through the blinds, tickling Oliver's cheeks and woke him. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

The fuck, he thought as he looked around the room. The unfinished wood walls, the cheap furniture, the mirror in the ceiling... mirror in the ceiling.

It was then that he was aware that he wasn't alone. In the reflection he counted not one, not two, but four bodies, only one of which was his.

... and why were they dressed like bunnies?

... and why was he dressed like a barbarian?

He scoured his memories, frantically sifting through the debris, searching for an answer, any answer. He'd crashed a Halloween party dressed as a barbarian. He'd largely been ignored and sat on a couch stuffing his face full of snacks. Wait... it hadn't been a total loss. He'd met a fre...

The rest was murky, the threads stretched beyond recognition.

He looked up again into the mirror on the ceiling. Well, maybe it wasn't a total loss.

He looked down. He was still wearing his furry bikini bottoms and the three bunnies were still wearing their slinky one piece vinyl outfits, so nothing serious had happened. But how had he ended up in a stranger's bed with three girls dressed as sexy white bunnies?

I'll have plenty of time to piece together a coherent picture when I'm far, far away from here, he thought as he gently pried a stray arm off his chest and slithered out of the bed.

He reached the floor and turned. One of the bunnies stirred, looked up at him with sleepy eyes, raised her hands to form the shape of a phone and mouthed the words "call me."

He smiled politely, walked around a bubbling jacuzzi, shoved a wooden cabinet that was blocking the door aside, opened it and gently closed it behind him.

... there's a jacuzzi in the bedroom? He tried not to dwell on it.

As he walked down the hallway, he wove through the shattered remains of a door. As he passed by the open bathroom, he peered inside. Hunched over the toilet was someone dressed as a dog... wait no, a werewolf.

... don't dwell on it, he thought and continued on.

He walked into the living room. Everything was in disarray. All the couch cushions had been pulled off and scattered around the floor. There were dozens of red cups covering every available surface. The cluttered kitchen island looked like a miniature replica of the city built out of half-empty bottles.

A mermaid... wait no, a x-mermaid was sitting on a barstool, staring down at her phone, her soaking wet tail neatly folded and sitting on a barstool beside her. She looked up at him, gave him an awkward smile then returned to her phone.

... a mermaid in the jacuzzi. Don't dwell on it.

Below her, on the floor, leaning against the kitchen island was a ski instructor. One of his legs was in a cast. He was gently moaning as he rubbed it.

"I think... I think it's actually broken," he sobbed as he looked up at the mermaid. "You're calling me an ambulance, right?"

... a ski instructor with a broken leg.

Don't dwell on it, he thought as he made his way to the front door.

He stopped. There, on the floor, torn into several pieces was his jacket. Better that than nothing he thought, reached down and picked it up.

... there was something underneath it. He bent down and picked it up.

A feather duster?

He saw several things at once, flashes, like stills from a movie. Vines creeping along a fire escape. A bubbling cauldron full of orange goo. A lavishly decorated room and... a French maid.

She wore a skimpy little French maid's uniform, her thigh high stockings peeking below the hem of her short skirt. Her short-sleeved dress was covered in bows. He remembered her eyes peering up at him above her thick glasses. She was on her knees and she was...

The memory faded and slipped from his grasp. He set the feather duster down. That was one hell of a party he thought, smiled and walked out the door.

Epilogue

The kettle reached a boil and howled like an feral animal. I reached down, lifted it off the stove and poured the boiling water into a teapot.

"Meow?"

I looked up. Like clockwork, I thought as a black stray cat pawed at the kitchen window.

I set the kettle down, walked over to the window and opened it. The black cat hopped down onto the floor and gently rubbed against my ankles, purring softly.

"Oui je peux t'aider?" I asked as I reached down and pet her. "Oh attends, laisse-moi deviner. Vous souhaitez un bol de crème fraîche?"

"Meooowwrr," she replied, approvingly.

I walked back to the kitchen island, poured some cream into a small bowl and served it to her.

"Vous êtes les bienvenus," I teased.

It was all part of our morning ritual. While I prepared my Master's tea the stray black cat would wander up the fire escape and paw at the kitchen window. I didn't mind the company, but I never let her stray further than the kitchen and always washed away her paw prints after she left. After all, I prided myself on my work and I kept my master's kitchen spotless.

The black cat eagerly lapped up the cream. As I smiled and watched her I had a funny sense that I... knew her? Odd I thought. Where would I have met a stray black cat?

I turned, picked up the tray and walked into the living room. The morning sun crept through the thick curtains. My master preferred them drawn, so I left them undisturbed.

I walked to her chair, the one she sat in every morning and enjoyed her tea. The chair was a strange beast, twisted and gnarled like a thorny vine. It looked like it had been grown rather than carved.

I set the tray down on the small table beside it and poured the tea.

"Reliable as always," my master said as she appeared from the shadows.

"Merci Madame," I said politely as I set down the teapot. "Du sucre et de la crème?" I asked.

"Naturally," she replied and sat down in the chair.

I glanced up. She was wearing a sheer pearl white gown that glittered in the morning light, her naked milky smooth skin visible underneath.

"It's rude to stare," she smirked.

Suddenly aware I was staring at her ample breasts, my cheeks went beet red and my eyes darted away. "Mes excuses Madame."

She reached out, picked up her cup of tea and brought it close to her lips. The steam curled in ribbons around her raven black hair. She took a sip and closed her eyes. I patiently waited for her verdict.

She opened them, and smiled. "You really have a natural talent for this."

"Merci Madame," I said, smiling brightly.

She took another sip, then set the cup down. "Do you know what today is?"

Today? I thought in horror. Had I missed something? I was so thorough. I never missed anything!

"Non Madame," I replied, meekly.

She studied me for a second, then spoke. "It is a year to the day since you joined my... services."

It is? I thought, surprised. It hadn't occurred to me. In fact, it was difficult to distinguish between any of the days. I awoke, performed my duties, cooked, cleaned then repeated the ritual again, and again... and again.

"Does that surprise you?" she asked.

"Non Madame," I said. "C'est juste..."

I tried to picture my life outside of her service. There was nothing, just a deep well of fog.

"Do you enjoy being my servant?" she asked.

I brightened up. "Oui Madame. Tout à fait!"

"Good," she said and slipped out of her chair. As she did, her thin robe changed shape, turning into a coal black sequin gown. The room began to light up as orange candles burst into flame, casting long shadows like knives.

I stared up at her in awe of her power. She turned to face me.

"You've been such an obedient servant," she said in a deep voice, ancient and powerful. "Tonight you shall be rewarded."

"Récompensé?" I asked.

"Yes, my pet," she said and snapped her fingers. There was a blinding white flash. I blinked several times, then looked down.

"A gift," she said.

My French maid's uniform had vanished, replaced by a velvet short-sleeved black dress covered in purple bows.

"Come pet," she said as we both started to rise. "The witching hour is at hand... let's see what kind of mischief we can get up to before the blood moon sets."

The End