Magic Candy

 

 

By

 

 

Hi-Standard

 

 

 

"Are you ready yet?"

Michael Hanes looked up the stairs of his home, his impatience growing in the silence that followed his call.

"Are you ready yet?" he repeated, his voice rising in volume.

"I’m ready, keep your shirt on." His sister Carrie suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. She was wearing a bodysuit in vibrant colors of pink and white. White gauntlets covered her hands and a plastic helmet was tucked under her arm.

"Well, what’re you supposed to be?" Michael asked.

"A Power Ranger. What’d you think?" she replied, her face twisted into a decidedly unheroic grimace.

"We were supposed to be out a half-hour ago," he growled. Carrie struck a theatric, come-hither pose. It looked ridiculous on her skinny, eight-year-old frame.

"You can’t rush perfection," she intoned. Her fresh, round face formed into a smirk. "It’s not like you have anyplace to go tonight anyway."

Michael folded his arms across his chest and began to tap his foot on the carpet. Carrie sighed and stuck her tongue out at him as she clumped down the steps in her oversized costume boots. Her older brother felt a grin tug at his mouth despite her smart remark and tardiness. He pulled on his jacket, then picked up the plastic jack-o-lantern sitting on top of the hallway settee and offered it to her.

"Here’s your candy bucket," he said. Carrie shook her head.

"It’s not a candy bucket," she replied. "It’s my confection receptacle."

Michael bit his tongue to keep from bursting out in laughter. "A ‘confection receptacle’? Where’d you hear that?"

"Hey, I’m a Power Ranger. We use words like that," she replied.

"You sound like a Borg. You will be assimilated."

Michael waggled his fingers at her, grinning. Carrie rolled her eyes, then jammed her helmet on her head.

"I hope you’re not going to embarrass me tonight," she said, the serious tone of her voice penetrating the muffling effect of her headgear. Michael’s grin diminished but did not fade.

"No, I’m not. Are you going to be warm enough?"

"I’ll be fine."

"Maybe you better bring a coat."

"I said I’ll be fine."

Michael shrugged defeat. "Lead on, Power Ranger."

Michael followed as his little sister promptly began her Halloween sojourn, hustling down the walk from their front door with what seemed to be an inexhaustible amount of bubbly energy. He had great affection for her despite their twelve-year age difference. Michael would have preferred to spend Halloween night in a different fashion, but with both parents working he could not refuse to supervise Carrie’s trick-or-treating so they could have a night on the town. It didn’t matter too much anyway. His sister was right when she said he had no one to see or do anything with. His long-time girlfriend Sandra had left him to date another guy—again—and his patience with her self-described "weakness" had finally, completely eroded. The end of their relationship had long since been written on the wall but Michael had refused to see it. Not being the Leonardo DiCaprio type (hair too short, body too lanky), being too shy and not being athletic enough for hunk-hunting females, achieving a kissing friendship with the long-legged, raven-haired Sandra had been like manna from heaven. He simply had not wanted to give it up, even when she openly flirted with other guys. Oh, well. There were plenty of other women on campus. He was one fish in that big pond, and a fresh start is just what he needed.

Michael shook himself out of his reverie. Carrie was walking as fast as her legs could carry her to make the acquaintance of their neighbors up the block. Her enthusiasm rapidly filled her plastic bucket.

"Mike, my bucket’s almost full and we haven’t even made it around the block yet," she complained. She offered the jack-o-lantern in evidence. Michael grinned.

"Well, you shouldn’t have been so greedy and grabbed so much candy," he replied.

"Auggh," she replied, shaking her head. "You’re no help at all. It’s Halloween. I’m entitled."

Michael almost laughed—and pulled a paper bag out of his back pocket.

"Here," he said, offering it to her. "Pour your candy into this and I’ll keep it for you so you can get more."

Carrie’s eyes lit up as she saw the bag.

"Oh, Mike, you’re a lifesaver!" she cried. She grabbed the bag and quickly filled it, then handed it back to him.

"You’re welcome, squirt. Just remember you said that later."

Carrie smirked and looked up the street. Her merry expression fell.

"Oh, no," she moaned.

"What is it?"

"That’s Pete Llewellyn’s house!" she said, pointing one gloved finger towards the next residence up the road.

"Yes?"

"He’s in my class. I can’t stand him. He’s such a geek."

"The Llewellyns? Didn’t they just move in to the neighborhood last week?"

"Yeah. I don’t wanna go there."

"What’s wrong with him?"

"He’s a geek."

"So, you like him."

"Nuh-uh. I don’t like boys. Never will."

Michael smiled tolerantly. As he followed Carrie’s pointing finger he saw the front door of the Llewelen residence open. Two figures were silouhetted in the light; one was a small boy wearing some sort of costume, and a taller, feminine-looking figure.

"Who’s that?" Michael asked.

"His big sister Anne," Carrie replied. She grimaced. "He’s such a geek. Oh, no, he’s coming this way."

Michael watched the two figures walk down the walkway to the sidewalk. It was difficult to see in the dark, but a brief glimpse of the big sister’s shadow immediately caught his interest. Unconsciously he began to propel Carrie down the sidewalk.

"Er, let’s go, it’s going to be full dark soon," he muttered, almost pushing his sister off her feet.

"Hey, quit shoving!"

"C’mon, let’s go." Michael took the lead, walking directly towards the two shadows.

"I said I don’t wanna go there!"

"You know, you could try to be nice to him. He’s only just got here."

"Yecch."

The two Llewellyns came to a stop at the bottom of their walkway. The post lamp beside the walk snapped on, illuminating them brightly. Michael saw that Peter Llewellyn was dressed in a very convincing lizard costume, a suitably reptilian headdress atop his hair. The boy looked up at Michael and his sister. A smile creased his face.

"Hi, Carrie!" he called out. "Look—can you guess what I am?"

His smile broadened, then faded a little. Michael looked down at his sister. Carrie had put on her frown number 5—the one designed for the scum of the earth. Michael poked her in the ribs.

"Be nice," he growled under his breath. Carrie started and looked up. She looked betrayed. Michael poked her again, harder, and repeated his warning.

"Okay, okay, don’t jab at me like that, it hurts," Carrie muttered, moving out of his reach and rubbing her back. She quickly fashioned an utterly phony smile on her face and stepped towards the crestfallen Peter.

"Hi, Peter. Wow, that’s a great Godzilla costume. Where’d you get it?"

Carrie’s greeting immediately cheered the boy. He stabbed one claw towards the girl beside him.

"Sis made it for me," he announced proudly. The girl stepped fully into the light. Michael followed the boys’ pointing finger. As their eyes met he felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Hi," she said, extending her hand. "I’m Anne, Anne Llewellyn."

Michael barely managed to remember his name as he nodded dumbly to her. Anne Llewellyn smiled and a twinkle appeared in her deep green eyes as he took her hand. She was a very pretty girl. Her hair was a bright, natural blond, long and thick. She was dressed in an old-fashioned, blue bib-front dress over a simple white blouse that did nothing to hide her curvaceous figure. White stockings and black shoes with silver buckles completed her attire. Michael gulped at the soft warmth of her hand.

"Hi. Ah, hi, I’m Mike. Mike Hanes."

Anne’s smile broadened.

"How do you do, Mike. I’m glad to meet you," she replied. The twinkle in her eyes grew brighter. "Or should I say James Dean?"

"Huh?" Michael went blank.

"You look just like James Dean," she explained, her mouth curving upwards, her gesture covering his white T-shirt, denims and brown leather jacket. "I like it. It looks good on you. A little hair oil and you’d be perfect."

Anne stepped closer to him. While she was not as tall as Sandra she was much more endowed. Michael felt warmth creep into his cheeks as his eyes traveled across her curves. She smiled more brightly.

"I’m playing Alice in Wonderland tonight," she continued. Michael swallowed to regain control of his tongue.

"You look wonderful," he said. Even as the words left his mouth he felt his flush deepen until he thought he would heat the air around him. Anne’s smile did not diminish

"Thank you, Mike. That’s sweet."

Michael shook his head in an effort to recover his wits. He gestured to her costume.

"I guess you’re keeping your little brother company?"

Anne nodded. "Don’t want to see Pete eat half his candy before he gets home," she replied. She bent over double and hugged the little boy, who wriggled in her grasp. She did not see Michael measuring the fall of her bust in her dress with his eyes—or the glow on his face as it grew to flame-heat. "First you get to party, then I do, right Petey?"

"Awww," Peter said, his face blushing brightly in stark contrast to the mottled green of his hat. Michael swallowed down his embarrassment and smiled.

"Me, too," he said, gesturing to his little sister. Carrie was standing a full stride away from them. Her arms were folded aggressively and her expression was distinctly unsatisfied.

"Can we get a move on?" she demanded. "The night’s getting old and I’ve lots houses to visit."

"Is it okay if we trick-or-treat with you?" Anne asked. "It’s our first Halloween in Chesterfield."

"Sure," Michael replied immediately. "We’d be happy to show you around."

Anne’s smile made him feel like he could melt. Peter literally jumped for joy, cheering. Michael fixed Carrie with his most authoritative look. She looked like she was ready to vomit but kept silent.

"That’s great," Anne replied. "Thank you."

 

As they resumed their trek Michael found that Anne was an easy and pleasant conversationalist. He learned that her family moved from the city to Chesterfield when her mother was promoted. To his surprise he discovered she had transferred to Chesterfield College and was only two homerooms away from his own.

"Really?" Michael asked. "I just finished my two-year scholarship from them."

"That’s terrific, Mike," Anne replied. "So, I’ll be seeing you for the next two years?"

"Maybe. Hopefully, if I can get the money together."

"Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. It’d be nice to have a friendly face there for the next two years."

Anne slipped her arm through his and gave it a squeeze. Her gesture made Michael’s heart skip a beat. In her Alice costume she looked younger than college age. He felt his attraction to his new neighbor become stronger and stronger.

"You’re such a geek!" Carrie suddenly shouted. Both Michael and Anne turned to see the two children standing face to face. Carrie’s expression was one of pure juvenile rage while Peter looked utterly dejected. Michael thought he could see the little boy’s lower lip start to tremble.

"What’s going on, Carrie," he said. Carrie stuck out her lip rebelliously and jabbed a gloved finger at her companion.

"I told him not to grab my hand!" she shouted. Michael saw the little boy start to fold in on himself.

"I was jus’ trying to be friends," he said. His voice began to choke as he spoke. Michael felt himself redden again, this time in embarrassment.

"I’m sorry, Anne," he said softly. "I’m afraid my sister can be hell on wheels when she wants to be." He turned to face Carrie directly and his voice rose steadily in volume. "She keeps acting like she’s still two years old."

Carrie looked outraged, but she quieted under Michael’s gaze as he and Anne came up to them.

"I’m sure Carrie would like to be friends with you, Peter," he continued, turning to the boy. Carrie’s outrage returned and she opened her mouth to protest. Michael jabbed his thumb into her ribs.

"Ow! Will you stop doing that? It hurts!" Carrie said. Michael fixed his most authoritative glare on the girl but she still looked rebellious and hurt.

"It’s all right, Mike," Anne said. She was rubbing Peter’s back gently. Her face had fallen into a pensive frown but her voice was warm and sympathetic. "It’s always hard for us when we have to move to another place, isn’t it, Petey?"

"Your family moved a lot?" Michael asked. Anne nodded.

"Four times since I was born." She shrugged. "Mom has to go where the work is."

Michael nodded. He found himself liking this new neighbor more and more. Anne looked up from comforting her brother and peered over Michael’s shoulder.

"Who lives there?" she asked. Michael turned around. They had gone around the corner of their block and were walking up a side street into a cul-de-sac. The next house in line was a tall structure whose jagged outline was sharp against the darkening sky. The house was unlit and looked deserted.

"That? Oh, that’s the home of the Prowler," Carrie said brightly.

"The Prowler?" Anne asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, that’s there the Prowler lives," Carrie continued. "There’s more than one of them, but they only come out one at a time. Only at night, too."

"The Prowler?" Peter asked. In the light of the nearby homes Michael could see his eyes widen.

"Oh stop, Carrie," Michael interjected. He turned to Peter and Anne.

"It’s the Smiths," he continued. "They’re the oldest residents in the town. They’ve been here for years."

"Oh, an urban legend?" Anne asked, grinning.

"They prowl around at night? Have you seen them?" Peter asked, turning from Carrie to Michael and back again.

"No, they don’t prowl—that’ a story meant to frighten small children," Michael replied, giving his sister a meaningful glance. "No, I haven’t actually seen them. My Mom did, though. Said they were nice people."

"Look, their porch light came on," Peter said. Michael turned. Sure enough, two lamps now shone brightly on the porch, illuminating a broad, dark door between them.

"Now that’s a surprise," Michael said.

"Why?" Anne stepped up beside him.

"Usually they don’t turn their lights on at night," Michael replied. Little Peter’s eyes grew wider and he saw Anne’s questioning look. He shrugged.

"Maybe they’re offering treats tonight," he continued.

"Well, let’s go and see," Anne said. She slipped her arm around Michael’s again.

"No way," Carrie yelled. "I’m not going up there. They’ll grab us and chain us up in their basement and eat us, or something."

"Will you choke it off?" Michael snapped. He nodded to Anne. She smiled in return, then rubbed her little brother on the back once more and pushed him in the direction of the house.

 

The porch deck creaked dramatically under their feet with every step. Both Anne and Michael stopped at the first wooden groan and looked at one another. Anne giggled.

"Great sound effect. Just right for tonight," Michael said, looking around. Close up the house looked even older and more dilapidated then at a distance. Bubbles and flakes of peeling paint decorated the wooden clapboards fronting the house. The two front windows also showed similar signs of age. The front door was a massive, two-leaved structure that lacked windows or any other means of seeing outside. Michael stepped back and looked from side to side. Dark, heavy curtains covered every window he could see.

"I don’t like this," Carrie whined.

"I’ll admit it certainly looks right for the season," Michael said. He looked at Anne and the two kids, then shrugged and rapped his knuckles on the door.

Immediately the door flew open. Light streamed out, dazzling everyone. Carrie squealed in fright and jumped into the air. Peter, encouraged by Carrie’s antics, let out a cry of his own and Anne’s grip on Michael’s arm tightened in surprise.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to startle you."

Michael blinked the dazzle out of his eyes. Looking straight ahead he saw a bald head surrounded by a halo of neat, graying hair. He looked down. A small man wearing round eyeglasses and a smile was standing at the threshold, his head cocked to look up at the visitors. Michael blinked again. The man looked nearly as round as he was tall. He was dressed in a white shirt buttoned to the neck and voluminous slacks held up by broad suspenders. A paisley bow tie topped his attire. He nodded to Michael, then looked at Anne and the two children.

"Trick-or-treaters?" he asked. His voice was high and throaty and his smile broadened until it looked like it would meet behind his head. "We have trick-or-treaters? This is wonderful!" He turned his head.

"Dear? Dear, we have visitors! Trick-or-treaters!" he called out. Another figure appeared behind him, an elderly woman who was a near-duplicate of the man.

"I hope my abrupt entrance didn’t scare you," Smith went on, looking directly at Carrie. He angled one arm before his chest and bowed deeply. "Excalibur Smith at your service. This is my wife, Adelaide. Would you like to come in?"

"Yes, please come in, and be welcome," the old woman said. In stark contrast to the reedy hoarseness of her husband Adelaide Smith’s voice was clear and bell-like. "We get so few visitors. Oh, look at the wonderful costumes they’re wearing, dear!"

"Yes! Yes, indeed. Of course, do come in—wait a minute." Smith looked at Care and Peter, who were staring at them openmouthed, their candy buckets held limply in their hands. "Did you two say the magic words?"

"Uh—magic words?" Carrie asked in a small voice. Smith brightened even more.

"Yes, of course. Trick-or-treat!" Smith replied. He began to chuckle. At the two children’s dumfounded expressions his laughter grew until his entire body wobbled and shook. Despite himself Michael felt an echoing grin crease his face.

"Thank you. We can come in for a little while," he replied. He felt a tug at his sleeve. Carrie was at his elbow, shaking her head violently.

"Be nice," Michael growled under his breath. Smith waved his hands excitedly.

"Wonderful! Wonderful! To have guests! Come in, come in, come in!"

Carrie made a break for it. Michael grabbed at her elbow as he led the way into the home. He looked behind him to see Peter clinging to Anne’s hand, his eyes round with fright.

"There’s nothing to be afraid of," Michael began. "They seem very nice—"

Michael’s voice died away as he got his first glimpse inside the home. The walls were a riot of colors. Velvet wallpaper in alternating shades of red competed with ornate, gilded picture frames bordering brilliantly lit still-life paintings. A polished wood settee stood against one wall, its top covered by a rich white tablecloth and adorned by a sea of photos in glinting metal frames between shining accent lamps with cut-glass shades. A broad mirror further down the hall was similarly framed, reflecting the light of the crystal chandelier hung overhead. The floor under their feet was covered in thick pile carpet over which an intricate woven rug had been carefully placed. The difference between the dingy exterior of the home and what he was seeing now bewildered Michael. He caught sight of the other’s faces and realized they were thinking the same thing.

"Come in, come in," Smith said, waving his arms expansively. "Of course, our home is yours. It’s so nice to meet such nice young people. Where did you go, dear? Ah, there you are. You brought the cider? Excellent. Please, please, come in. Of course, find yourselves a seat anywhere."

The hallway debauched into a living room whose opulence made the hallway pale in comparison. Michael had just managed to squelch his open shock at the richness of the furnishings and wall hangings when he found Mrs. Smith by his elbow, carrying four crystal mugs filled with cider on a silver tray. He was quickly ushered to a seat on a massive couch covered in dark green brocade. Anne took the seat beside him. Carrie shook herself out of her own bemusement long enough to claim a chair for herself. Peter squeezed himself between the arm of the couch and Anne.

"Good," Smith said as he waddled into view, another silver tray in his hands. "Everyone comfortable? Try the cider. My wife presses it herself. Of course, it’s special."

Michael stared into the mug he held. He could see flakes of cinnamon or nutmeg floating on top of the pale cider in the glass. He sniffed at it. The aroma was pleasantly spicy. He took a sip. It was delicious, but different from the store-bought cider he was accustomed to drinking—lighter, fruitier.

"You made this yourself?" he asked Mrs. Smith. She smiled brightly. Michael noticed for the first time that despite her apparent age her hair was a solid chestnut color without a hint of gray.

"Yes, indeed. We grow the apples in our orchard out back. Do you like it?"

Michael nodded. "Yes, it’s very good."

"Of course, you haven’t lost your touch, dear," Smith said. He extended his burden towards them. Michael saw it was covered by a mass of petit fours.

"You must try some of my small treats," Smith announced. "Adelaide and I used to do this for a living, right, dear?"

"Oh, yes." Mrs. Smith bent to offer a mug of cider to Carrie, who accepted gingerly. Michael quickly drank half the contents of his own mug. The cider was wonderful. Anne sipped at hers and smiled appreciatively. Peter was staring at his mug like it contained toxic waste. Anne had to press him to drink it.

"Yes, we used to have the only confectionery store in the town. Made all our own sweets and drinks, we did," Mrs. Smith continued. "My Cal made the very finest cakes and candies in the town, and I made the other refreshments."

"Oh, I can’t take all the credit, dear," Smith announced. "Your special touch made my candies and cookies unique from anyone else’s. Of course, they were much, much better than the stuff you get in the store nowadays."

 

Michael found himself relaxing as the two Smiths bustled and gossiped. He had to stifle a grin at the two old folk’s antics, they were so excited to have company. Another round of cider made its appearance along with a massive plate of cookies whose warmth indicated they were only recently removed from the oven. Michael noticed that Carrie attacked the cookies with considerably more enthusiasm than she had paid to the petit fours. Both she and Peter grabbed at the cookies simultaneously and their hands touched. He was mildly surprised that she did not jerk her hand away immediately. Even more surprising was the small, shy smile she bestowed on the boy. Michael felt himself relaxing into the overstuffed comfort of the couch. It seemed that every item in the livingroom had a story, and the Smiths were all too happy to relate each tale to them. Soon both kids were relaxed and giggling at Mr. Smith’s jokes as Mrs. Smith continued to ply them with what seemed to be an endless supply of treats.

"Mr. Smith?" he asked. Smith leaned forward in his chair as much as his bulk would allow and turned fully to face the boy.

"Yes, Peter?"

"Why do they call you the Prowler?"

Michael choked on the half-chewed cookie in his mouth. He felt himself flush to his hairline. Anne did the same. Even Carrie turned red with embarrassment. To Michael’s amazement she not only refrained from making a tart comment about Peter’s indiscretion but reached out to pat him sympathetically on the wrist.

"The Prowler?" Smith replied. His eyebrows rose, then fell. "The Prowler?"

"Uh-huh," Peter replied. Michael saw Anne use her thumb in Peter’s back.

"Peter, that’s a terrible thing to say," she said softly. She turned to Smith. "Mr. Smith, I’m terribly sorry—"

"Excalibur, dear. Please call me Excalibur. Of course, so they call me the Prowler? Well, well."

From her seat beside him Mrs. Smith tittered. Her husband joined in, slowly at first, then more loudly.

"Oh, my," he whispered, wiping a laugh-tear from his eye. "That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard." He turned to his wife, who reached out and took his hand. "I guess we do keep too much to ourselves, dear."

"Mr. Smith—" Anne said.

"Of course, call me Excalibur, Miss Anne."

"I’m really sorry," Anne continued. "My little brother heard this silly story about you two—"

"Think nothing of it, think nothing of it. I remember when I was a lad we had a tale about an old man who lived in a shack atop Red Mill Road." He lowered his voice. "We knew he was an axe murderer ‘cause everyone said so. Turned out he had retired from the Army after the Great War and just wanted to live by himself. Of course, this is too funny. Never thought we’d be the source of a neighborhood myth, eh, dear?"

Anne looked extremely distraught at her brother’s indiscretion. Michael found himself embarrassed for Anne’s sake. He looked at his wristwatch as a distraction and saw the time.

"Look, we’d better get going if you two are going to finish your trick-or-treating," he said. The two Smiths’ expressions betrayed their immediate disappointment at his announcement.

"What, you have to leave already? Oh, that’s too bad. Of course, we shouldn’t interrupt your trick-or-treating," Smith said.

"It is a shame, though," Mrs. Smith added. "We get so few visitors."

"We’ll come back to visit. We promise," Anne offered. The two elderly residents brightened.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" Mr. Smith said, rubbing his hands together. He paused, and a twinkle came into his eye. "Of course, we must have treats for the trick-or-treaters."

"Yes, definitely. We insist," Mrs. Smith added. She turned to her husband. "I think some special treats are appropriate for our guests, don’t you, dear?"

"Of course," Smith replied. He popped out of his chair. "Be right back."

"Mrs. Smith, Peter is sorry about what he said—" Anne began.

"Have no concern, dear. Cal, where have you got to—ah, here you are."

Mr. Smith suddenly reappeared with several small, very shiny parcels in his hands.

"Now, these are very special," he said as he held out one of the parcels in his hand. "Adelaide and I occasionally make these specially for people who deserve them. Here’s one for you, Peter, and for you, Carrie. Take them home and enjoy them."

Michael looked at the parcel in Carrie’s hand. It was as big as her palm and wrapped in brilliant plastic wrapping. There was writing on it but he couldn’t make out what it said.

"And now, for Alice here," Smith continued, winking at Anne, "the golden treat, and for Michael—or should I say, James Dean?" Smith’s eyes positively twinkled with an inner amusement—"silver. Now, you will promise to come back? We would love to have you over for dinner."

Michael nodded as he looked at the prize Smith had put in it hand. It was covered in a shiny plastic paper. The words E. & A. SMITH’S FABULOUS MAGIC CANDY were printed—hand-printed, it looked like—across the wrapper. The candy was so large it filled his palm.

"Now, Of course you understand these are our very finest confections," Smith said as portentiously as his hoarse, reedy voice would allow. "They should be savored and not gobbled down right away. My Adelaide worked hard to make them special. Now, enjoy. Of course, you should be on your way now. We were very glad to meet you all. Please come back again—we have lots more treats we’d like you to try."

 

Michael led the way outside. He found himself smiling at the obvious relief of the old couple when he promised to return for another visit. To his shock Carrie added her voice, cheerfully offering to visit the Smiths at any time. Both Excalibur and Adelaide insisted on shaking their hands as they left the residence. The last thing Michael saw was their pleased smiles as they stood at the threshold of their home before shutting the door.

"Wow," he breathed.

"It was a little overwhelming," Anne agreed.

"I really didn’t wanna go," Carrie piped up. "They were so nice."

"Yes, they were very nice folks," Peter added. "It’s nice to see such nice people in our new neighborhood, isn’t it, sis?"

Michael felt his mouth drop open in shock. Carrie’s reaction was so unusual he was dumfounded. Anne however was obviously happy with her brother’s obvious pleasure at meeting the old couple. If she noticed Michael’s bemusement she made no mention of it. Michael shook off his surprise. They had spent more time than he thought at the Smith house—the sky was now fully dark. They could see other kids garbed in costumes moving from light to shadow and back again as they mobbed the sidewalks. Soft calls and whispers of laughter were carried on the air towards them. Michael looked around. The porch lights were still on at the Smith house—presumably they were hoping for more visitors. He grinned and shook his head again.

"Well, it’s getting dark," he said. "We’d better go back."

"Do we have to?" Carrie asked. "We’re just starting to have fun. Can’t we stay out a little longer?"

"We can go to my house. I got a Playstation," Peter offered.

"Hey, that’s great," Carrie replied. "What kind of games you got?"

"I got all kinds. Would you like to play some?"

"Sure," she replied. Both she and Peter turned on their heels.

"Hold it," Michael snapped. "Where do you think you’re going?"

"Oh, Mike, can I go to Pete’s house? Please? I promise I’ll be home before Mom and Dad get in. It’ll be all right. Please?"

Michael could not imagine his shock getting any stronger than it was. Where had his snappy, Peter-hating sister gone to? The new Carrie looked utterly downcast as she pleaded. He turned to Anne.

"Is it okay with you if Carrie goes with Peter?" he asked. Anne shrugged and grinned.

"Sure, why not. Mom’ll be home by now. Everything will be fine."

"Please, Mike?" she said. Michael surrendered to his bewilderment and nodded.

"Yahoo," Carrie shouted. "C’mon, Pete, I’ll race ya."

"Take it easy," Michael called out as the two children broke into a run. They continued to race around the corner and back up the block. Michael felt so confused he debated sitting down on the curb to gather his thoughts.

"What’s wrong, Mike?" Anne asked. "You looked concerned there."

"I—nothing, I guess," he replied uncertainly. He shook his head once more, violently enough to cause a few hairs to fall in front of his eyes. He brushed his hair back and stared down the way Carrie and Peter had gone.

"I dunno," he muttered. "Carrie surprised me. It must be a sugar buzz or something."

Anne giggled. "She’s very nice. I’m glad Peter made a friend so quickly—moving was really hard on him." She took Michael’s arm in her own again and used it to turn him in the direction the two kids had gone. She smiled up at him. "I’m glad to have made a friend so quickly, too."

Michael’s concerns about his sister’s inexplicable change in behavior were quickly placed on the back burner. Memories of Sandra quickly faded away and he felt a real smile cross his face. They walked slowly together, following the path blazed by the two smaller kids.

"Strange," Michael murmured.

"What was strange?" Anne asked. She gave his arm a meaningful squeeze.

"Oh, just Mr. Smith’s joke. It’s funny that he exactly what you did—I was dressed like James Dean. Maybe I should slap on some of my Dad’s Vitalis and go for it."

Anne laughed, a full, pleasant laugh that seemed to enrich the air around them. Michael thought about putting his hand on top of Anne’s, but restrained himself—he did not want to risk being too forward and spoiling his new friendship with this attractive, beautiful girl. Without realizing it he had slowed their pace. As they approached a nearby streetlight Anne looked up at him again. Even in the harsh glare of the lamp she looked wonderful.

"I think you look fine," she replied. She did not look away. As Michael smiled back at her he felt her press her hip against his thigh. Her hand caressed his upper arm and her eyes half-closed as if she were expecting a kiss. His heart thumped so hard he thought it would leap out of his chest. He leaned closer to her, his side pressing against her elbow as he accepted her unspoken invitation to kiss her. A lump in his jacket pocket distracted him. Michael muttered a soft apology and dug his hand into his pocket to retrieve Excalibur Smith’s parting gift.

"Oh," he said. Anne looked at the candy in his hand. Their coming together had pressed it out of shape. She laughed apologetically and Michael stifled a chuckle of his own.

"Your treat got squished," she said. Michael grinned.

"That’s okay." Michael squeezed the candy back into a rough approximation of its former shape. Anne dug into her dress pocket and retrieved her own treat. The golden wrapping glinted in the light of a nearby lamppost.

"I wonder what it is," she said as she turned the confection over in her hands. An impish grin appeared on her face. "I think I’ll open it up and take a look."

Michael smiled in return as she swiftly broke the wrapper and unfolded it from around the candy.

"Michael, look," she said. He looked down at her hands. It didn’t look like a candy at all. Rather, it looked like a small cake frosted with pink icing and gaily decorated with white and red sugar striping. Printed across the top in bold sugar candy letters were the words EAT ME. Michael began to laugh.

"Now, that’s amazing," he said. "You’d think they made that especially for you tonight."

Anne was surprised, and it showed. "I guess you’re right. They must have made it for me. I think I’ll try just a little bite."

Anne bit delicately at the treat. She chewed for a second, then swallowed.

"Oh, Mike, this is terrific!" she exclaimed. "It’s melt-in-your-mouth good."

She took a full bite of the cake, leaving a little less than half of it in her hand. She murmured in pleasure as it went down. "That is good." She quickly crammed the rest of the cake in her mouth.

"I hope mine tastes as good as yours," Michael said as he watched her finish the cake.

"Hmmm, that was really good," Anne said. "You should try yours, Mike."

"I’ll have it for a snack later. Anne, I had a very nice time tonight."

"I did, too, Mike." Anne squeezed his arm again. She looked about. "Looks like we went past my house."

Michael turned his head and saw that they had indeed gone past the her home.

"Yes, we did," he agreed. He looked down the street. "There’s my home. I’d like to stay out a little longer, though." He looked into Anne’s eyes. "I really like the company."

Anne grinned, then her grin faded. She stopped abruptly, pulling Michael to a halt as well.

"What’s wrong?" Michael asked. Anne had bent forward to look past her skirt at her shoes. She straightened at Michael’s question, a peculiar expression on her face.

"I don’t know. My shoes—they suddenly feel tight for some reason."

He watched Anne blink. She patted her chest with her free hand, then shook her head and began to walk again.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No, I’m not. My shoes—they’re killing me. Wait a minute Mike—ouch!—I have to get these off my feet."

Anne’s gait had dropped from a slow walk to a hobble. Michael saw her face was etched with pain. She stopped and seated herself quickly on the sidewalk, her hands grabbing for her shoes. Anne grunted with effort and pain as she slowly tugged off one shoe, then the other. Michael stood beside her, puzzled. With both her shoes off Anne breathed a loud sigh of relief. She looked up at Michael, grinning in embarrassment as she patted with her hand at her chest again and wiggled her toes.

"Whew, that’s better," she said. She continued to thump her chest. Her motion drew Michael’s eyes. He couldn’t help notice just how curvy she looked in her simple Alice costume. It was strange, but it seemed that there was more of her under her dress than he remembered. Anne picked up her shoes by their straps. She looked up and saw him staring. She grinned again. Michael offered his hand and helped her to her feet. Anne brushed at her backside.

"Oh, that feels better—" she began, then stopped again. Something made her stop patting her chest and look down. Michael began t feel real concern now.

"You sure you’re all right?" he asked. Now it was his turn to stop. Something seemed different about Anne. She looked—bigger? Michael straightened his frame. Even in the half-darkness he could see that her dress and blouse were pressing tightly into her body. With every breath Anne took he could see the bulge of her cleavage push against the cloth of her top. He forced his eyes away from her front. Anne began to look concerned, even frightened. She sipped one finger under her collar and tugged at it.

"Mike? Mike, something’s happening," she said. "I-my clothes feel so tight all of a sudden. What’s going on? I-I feel funny. What’s happening to me?"

 

Before Michael could form a coherent reply a small, ripping noise suddenly came from Anne’s dress. Her hands instinctively grabbed at the seam at her waist. Another popping noise heralded the failure of another seam, then another. Michael’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head. Anne was definitely bigger now than she was a few moments before. As he watched he saw her head slowly, steadily rising up into the air before his eyes. He looked down. The hem of her skirt had been down to her shins. Now he could see her knees pressing into the stretched, sheer fabric of her white stockings. A small, panicked sound escaped her, drawing his attention. Anne looked mystified and afraid—and she now stood eye-to-eye with him.

"Anne? Anne, I think—I think you’re growing. Getting bigger," he blurted out. Anne tugged at the collar of her blouse again. This time the top button snapped off, rolling down her front to fall on the sidewalk. Michael felt his mouth drop open as he saw the gaps between her buttons steadily widening.

"Mike? Mike, what’s happening to me? Why is everything shrinking on me? It’s cutting off my air," Anne gasped. First one strap of her dress, then the other suddenly popped free, snapping back over her shoulders, dropping her bib front down to her waistline. One of her shirt buttons popped free, doubling a gap in her shirt, leaving the pale skin of her breasts in plain view. Anne grabbed at the two front panels of her blouse and tried to pull them back together. Her effort only broke off two more buttons, opening her shirt from her collar to her bra—a bra which was filled to overflowing and then some. As Michael watched her beasts slipped out of her cups completely—and they were still growing.

"Oh, what is happening to me," Anne moaned. "My clothes are crushing me."

Michael tore his eyes from the wealth of her engorging bosom and looked up to meet her eyes—and up, and up. Anne now stood a full head taller than he. Another ripping sound told of the starting of another seam in her dress. Anne’s hands suddenly went from trying to keep her blouse closed to her waist and hips. She began to pinch at the now-tight cloth of her skirt. Michael realized she was trying to grab her panties through her dress. She began to wriggle, shaking her hips up and down. A staccato series of popping noises filled he air as the side seams of her dress gave way completely. Her white blouse had pulled free from the waistband of her dress, and Michael saw the skin of her belly suddenly press out of the gap in her skirt. The gap popped wider, revealing more of her skin.

"Ouch! Ow! My clothes are digging into me!" she cried out. The waistband of her dress gave way completely. The ripping sound was astonishingly loud. Michael found his eyes running from her ankles up to her head and back again. Anne had to be over eight feet tall now and if anything she looked like she was growing faster. She whimpered in fear and amazement as she continued to rise higher into the sky, her hands clutching at her disintegrating clothing. Michael tried to moisten his mouth and failed. He choked as he heard a twanging noise and saw the sudden jerking under the cloth of her blouse—her bra must have finally surrendered. As if it were a signal, her breasts finally tore away the last button of her top and sprung out into view, exposing her nipples. And they looked like they were swelling out even faster than before. Another sound, and her pantyhose suddenly slipped down her legs. Michael saw a small bundle of twisted white cloth mixed with the distorted nylon—her pantyhose must have pulled her panties off when they slipped down her thighs. He gulped again.

"No! No! Stop! Oh, please stop!" she cried. Michael winced at the sheer volume of her voice—it was growing along with the rest of her. He heard a nearby door slam. As he spun on his, orienting on the noise, he saw porch lights coming on around the neighborhood. Anne’s cry must have drawn the attention of the entire block. He turned and looked back up at Anne. She had heard the door slam, too.

"Mike, what—what am I going to do?" she panted as she looked down at him. Michael watched as she grabbed at the shredding fabric of her dress in an effort to keep herself covered. "It’s not stopping. I’m getting bigger."

Michael stared. Anne had to be over ten feet tall and she was still rising up. He dropped his eyes and tried to think of what to do. Another ripping sound announced that Anne’s costume had split from around her burgeoning body. She squeaked in surprise and grabbed at the fabric that still covered her private places. Michael tore his eyes away from the spectacle and looked around wildly, seeking inspiration. Another door slammed nearby. He heard loud adult voices calling to one another. Anne was still growing. She was already so big she must be visible to anyone who happens to look this way.

"Anne, come on," he called up to her. "Let’s get out of the light. Quick, this way."

He darted around her onto the property bordering the sidewalk. He ducked into the deep shadows of a tall, thick hedge. Anne followed, her steps small and uncertain. Michael suddenly found his footing more difficult—it felt like the ground under his feet had been plowed or disturbed. Anne tried taking a bigger step. Her foot found the loose plowed soil and she slipped. With a very loud cry she fell sideways into the hedge, then face forward. Michael turned on his heel at the sound. Out of the light all he could see of her was a big, dark shadow moving on the dark ground. A flash of light caught his eye. Some of the neighbors had come outside with flashlights and were looking around. He saw one light jolting in their direction and more voices.

"We’ve got to get out of here," he said. He saw Anne’s shadow rise up and heard her gasping for breath. She must be levering herself up on her elbows. He felt a shiver run down his spine as his eyes told him just how big her shadow was. A strange, muted zipper-like sound made itself heard nearby. The sound repeated itself, then he heard Anne sigh in relief. It occurred to him that he had just heard her pantyhose ripping from around her legs. She still must be growing.

"I know where we can hide," Michael said. He extended his arm. "Here, give me your hand. Let’s get away from the street."

Anne’s shadow stretched towards him. A massive hand clamped down across his palm and down his wrist, gripping him painfully. Michael exclaimed in pain and the pressure lessened, then a new weight pressed down strongly on his arm, almost throwing him off balance. Anne collected herself, rising first to her knees, then her feet. Michael felt the weight on his arm cease, then he was suddenly jerked off his feet into the air—Anne was lifting him as she rose upright. He sucked in his breath at the jolt of pain, then he was abruptly released, losing his foot as he dropped back to the ground.

"Oh, Mike, I’m-I’m sorry," Anne said. Her voice was loud, almost reverberating off the walls of the nearby homes. Michael looked up. His mouth fell open as he beheld her, standing beside the tall hedge high above him. Anne’s blond hair was in disarray, partially draped across her forehead to hang in front of her eyes. Michael’s eyes gravitated to her huge naked body. Anne’s skin was pale under the patchwork of stains and dirt she had acquired in her fall. Her breasts were gargantuan, rounding out from just below her shoulders to near the bottom of her ribs, her long, long arms pressing their flesh together to create a canyon of cleavage. Her broad, flat belly bulged in and out as she sucked in air. His eyes continued down her frame, following the broad curve of her hips. Only the shadow cast by the tall hedge beside her kept him from seeing her most private place. As Michael watched, a hint of her blond pubic hair appeared in the light as her body stretched further into the air. God, she was still growing! Anne looked at Michael, then down at herself. Squeaking in surprise and embarrassment, she quickly wrapped one forearm across her nipples while her other hand stabbed at her crotch.

"Mike! Mike, help me," she pleaded. "Don’t look at me. Please, please help me."

Michael shook his arm experimentally, then rose to his feet and dusted himself off, his eyes never leaving Anne as she continued to grow before him. She had to be over twenty feet tall—and she was visible to anyone standing in the street. Voices suddenly made themselves heard, louder than before.

"What’s that?" a bass voice shouted. Anne looked over her shoulder. Michael saw her eyes widen, and she ducked down, trying to get back in the shadow cast by the hedge. The effort was futile—she was already too big to hide there, and he could see her naked back rising slowly into the light.

"Anne, listen," he called. "Follow me. I know a place where you won’t be seen."

He quickly oriented himself towards the rear of the property they stood on. There was another tall hedge, but he dashed for it without hesitation. He dropped to his hands and knees, searching for a gap in the plants. To his relief he found one and squirmed through. Once clear through to the other side he jumped up and turned around. His breath caught in his throat as he saw first one of Anne’s immense legs, then the other swing over the top of the hedge—she was able to step over an eight-foot planting like it was a small bush. She had put out her arms to help her balance on the uneven ground. She saw Michael looking at her and her hands stabbed back to cover her private parts.

"Will you stop looking at me?" she shouted. Her voice made his ears hurt. Michael waved his hand defensively.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Anne. Don’t shout like that, you’ll draw the attention of everybody in the entire neighborhood."

Anne seemed to realize the same thing simultaneously—she had clapped her own hand over her mouth for a moment, then jerked it back down between her legs.

"I’m sorry, Mike," she replied in a softer voice. "Please, help me. I’ve got to hide. I don’t want people to see me."

"Follow me," he said.

 

With only memory to guide him Michael slowly made his way into the dense, wild woods of the empty lot behind their block. In the total darkness he found himself stumbling and falling repeatedly as roots and branches found their way under his feet or on top of his head. Behind him he heard Anne utter a very unladylike curse as she stepped on something that cracked loudly.

"You all right," he called back over his shoulder.

"I-I guess so," Anne’s voice replied from high over him. "Something stuck me in the foot."

"We’re almost there," Michael replied. He took another step. A tree root slipped over his boot with all the evil ingenuity of its tribe, tripping him. He crashed face down onto the ground. The impact was painful and he cursed fiercely.

"Mike? Are you okay?" Anne asked. Michael groaned as he rose to his elbows.

"Fuck me," he grunted. "Ah, that hurt. Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just let me get back on my feet." He hissed in pain as he tried to put weight on his knees. "But then again, maybe not. Just give me a minute."

"Let-let me help you," Anne said. Michael suddenly felt a broad, warm surface slip around his chest and belly.

"Hey!" he called out in surprise as he felt himself first turned upright and then lifted into the air.

"Did I hurt you, Mike? I’m sorry," Anne said. Michael’s heart suddenly tried to pound its way out of his chest as his feet left the ground. He sucked in air to ease the discomfort.

"Mike?" Anne asked. He shook his head to clear it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay," he said. He turned around to face her. "Ah, thanks for the assist—"

"Don’t look at me!" she exclaimed. Michael ducked at the sound of her voice and looked away.

"I’m sorry," he said. He felt the warmth wrapped around his middle tighten slightly. Over his head he heard Anne sigh, softly and long.

"I’m sorry, too, Mike. Thank you for trying to help me with this—this thing that’s happened to me. God, I can’t believe it. So, where to now?"

Michael looked around. It was hard to tell where they were but the dense mass of limbs and branches at his eye level told him they were well within the empty lot he had been searching for. As he tried to make out his surroundings a pale light grew around him. He looked up and saw that the moon had come out from behind a cloud. It was a full moon, radiantly bright. With its light he could see better. He nodded to himself.

"We’re okay. This is the undeveloped part of the town. Nobody should see you now."

He looked down. Anne’s hands completely encircled his torso, holding him neatly. He looked down. He hand to be almost two stories off the ground. He touched the soft warmth of Anne’s gigantic fingers. Above him she made a small noise in her throat. Automatically, he looked up.

"Don’t look," she warned. Michael ducked back down. He felt his heart start hammering inside his chest again. Anne must be holding him close to her belly just under her ribs. He had caught a glimpse of two huge, round breasts immediately over his head, rising and falling as she breathed. Each of them looked as big as his entire body was wide. He swallowed hard. Something told him that Anne had stopped growing, but the sheer size of her hand showed she had to be some thirty feet tall. He then caught a whiff of something very unpleasant. It came from a broad dark stain on Anne’s skin right behind his head. There was another stain on the back of her hand. He brushed it with his fingers. It felt slimy and the smell was stronger.

"I know," Anne suddenly said. Mike started to look up, then stopped himself. He felt her sigh again. "I’m a mess."

Michael thought for a moment. He tried to remember where they were when Anne first started growing. As he turned over his memory of those few moments (how long ago did it happen? He couldn’t be sure), he suddenly realized exactly what they had both fallen into.

"Anne," he began, "I, ah, don’t know how to tell you this, but…"

"But what?"

"I know what we fell in. That was Mr. Lundeen’s house. He, ah, just put in a new septic system, and I think it wasn’t done right."

"What?! Oh, no," Anne moaned. Michael exclaimed as her grip on him loosened suddenly, then tightened again—she nearly dropped him in her surprise. "Sorry. Oh, this is awful! I’ve got to get this stuff off me. What am I going to do?"

"Wait. I’ve got an idea. Anne, can you lift me higher?"

Michael suddenly rocketed upwards. The motion made him dizzy enough to protest.

"Sorry. I’ve never a guy in my hands like this before," Anne apologized. Something in her voice almost made Michael disobey her injunction and turn to look at her. Was there a subtle hint of excitement in her tone? A brief return of the smell on her hand called him back to the present. He looked around.

"There," he said. Anne turned herself to face in the direction his arm pointed to. "Go that way."

"What’s there?" she asked.

"The Sherwins," he replied. "They live in an estate up the road. They always take a trip to Europe this time of year so nobody should be around. There’s a swimming pool on the property."

 

Anne kept Michael in her hands as she made her way through the lot. With the moon out the traveling was much easier, but not smoother—Anne kept finding sharp objects with her feet and her jerky, mincing gait jostled him repeatedly. Michael found himself curiously relaxed in the grip of her hands. The septic smell notwithstanding, there was a strange, exciting allure to be held by Anne in this way. Her grip around his middle was strong enough to hold him firmly yet not so strong as to cut off his air. He touched the smooth warmth of her skin with both his hands. It was amazing, to see and feel such a massive hand under his palms. He heard Anne sigh again. Her other hand suddenly came up under his rear end, supporting his weight, while the hand around his middle loosened and slipped down into his lap.

"Better?" Anne’s voice asked over his head.

"It’s—it’s fine. It really is," Michael replied. "Thanks."

"Don’t mention it," she replied. Again he heard a curious excitement in her voice. Despite himself he felt his attraction for Anne return in full force, and then some—suddenly his manhood began to assert itself against the restraint of his denims. Inside of a minute he found himself trying to wriggle as little as possible in her palm to improve his comfort against the surging erection in his pants. To his total embarrassment he felt Anne’s palm press down into his lap momentarily, then lift up again. It was a relief to see the tall wrought-iron fence that bordered the Sherwin estate come into view.

 

"Promise me you won’t peek," Anne’s voice said.

Michael tried to squelch the sense of awe he felt as Anne had carried him onto the estate. He could remember how the ten-foot tall fence around the property had represented an impossible challenge to him when he was a small child trying to sneak onto the property for a surreptitious dip in the pool—but it had only come up to just over Anne’s knees. She had crept along the grassy border until they found the pool by the moonlight. She had bent down to put him on the ground—moving much more deliberately this time, so as not to make him dizzy—and now held him in her hands, pointing him away from the pool.

"I promise," he replied. Her gentle grasp eased from around him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her huge, bare foot move as she turned about to step into the pool. Michael could not help himself. He looked quickly up to see if she was watching him. Her head was turned away. In the light of the moon he could see that her hair had grown more than the rest of her—it now fell almost to her buttocks. His eyes followed her hair down and he stifled a gasp. Her derrière was round and perfect and huge, looking like two huge balloons pressed together behind her broad, curvy hips. She took one broad step into the pool. Michael’s eyes darted between her legs. He felt himself flush to his hairline at what her spread legs revealed there. His erection surged even more strongly, pushing painfully against his jeans. He turned away from the sight of Anne’s huge, curvaceous body, wriggling in an effort to relieve the tension between his legs.

The sound of slopping water interrupted him.

"Oh, wonderful. It’s even heated," He heard Anne sighed. "Okay, you can turn around now."

Michael stopped jiggling his leg and turned. Anne filled the pool from one end to the other. She had sunk herself fully into the pool, her hair dripping from a ducking. Even in the deep end Michael could see the two small round islands that were her breasts above where her chest must be. She moved her feet, splashing water out of the pool. Each of her feet had to be almost as long as Michael was tall—they half-stuck out of the shallow water. Michael saw Anne’s slow, hesitant smile. He felt himself smile back. For a few moments neither of them spoke. Anne waved her hands through the water, the motion rippling its surface.

"I feel a little better, now," she said softly. "Thank you Mike."

Michael nodded. He saw her eyes dart down his form, then up again. Embarrassment inflamed his cheeks at her frank appraisal of the obvious bulge in his pants. She smiled again and looked away. Michael sighed in gratitude.

"This is the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me," she said. "I just can’t believe it. I must be thirty feet tall." She looked down at herself. Almost unconsciously she lifted her hands clear of the water and caressed her breasts for a second. Michael’s jaw dropped as her big hands pushed up more of her flesh from the water. Anne suddenly realized what she was doing and dropped her hands, sending full-sized waves rolling across the water’s surface.

"I’m-I’m bigger, too," she added almost as an afterthought. She looked up at Mike. "It’s incredible."

Mike found himself nodding even as he renewed his struggle with his demanding manhood.

"It’s unimaginable," he agreed. Anne looked at him. He thought he saw her give the tiniest shake of her head.

"I did imagine it, once," she said. "Mike, promise you will never tell anyone, but I used to fantasize about growing really big and tall. Every Halloween I dress up like Alice because it’s my favorite fantasy—growing bigger. I just never imagined it could come true." She looked down at herself. "But it did and then some. ‘Magic Candy’—it really was magic."

"Yeah," Mike replied. He could not help the hoarseness in his voice. Anne looked at him again.

"Thank you for sticking with me," she said. "You’re very brave, Mike."

Her compliment made Michael’s embarrassment even worse. He found himself waving a hand.

"I wouldn’t have stayed with me," Anne continued quietly. "I would have been too scared. But you stayed."

"I couldn’t leave you," Michael replied. "You needed help, and—"

"And?" Anne asked. Her voice had dropped below a whisper. Michael dropped his hands to his sides and faced Anne directly.

"And—and I really like you, Anne," he said. "I really like you a lot. In fact, I think I’m in love with you. I know that sounds really stupid, especially since we’ve just met, but-but that’s what I feel. You’re so pretty, and you have the most beautiful eyes, and you’re a nice person, and—"

Michael ran out of words. He was blushing so badly he could feel the pounding of his heart in his cheeks. Anne stared at him intently. His blush deepened still more.

"Even now?" she asked. Michael nodded.

"Even now," he replied. He bit nervously at his lip. Then a huge, brilliant smile slowly spread across Anne’s face. Michael felt the doubt and nebulous fear of rejection vanish from inside him. He thought he saw the glimmer of tears filling her eyes. Anne began to laugh and cry at the same time.

"I love you, too, Mike," she said. "I fell for you the minute I saw you. You’re nice, and handsome, and shy and cute and I love you."

Anne lifted her hands out of the pool. Michael obeyed her silent invitation and stepped into them. He felt the warmth of her hands flow deep inside him. It felt good. He found himself smiling an idiot’s smile as she gently lifted him off the ground to bring him in front of her face.

"And don’t think I didn’t feel you poking my hand back there," she continued, her tone gently teasing. Michael thought his heart would burst. Anne was so unlike—what’s-her-name—that it was like night and day. He squirmed in embarrassed relief and affection.

"I couldn’t help it. I-it feels good, to feel your hands around me like this."

"Really? It does?" Anne seemed deeply surprised. Unaccountably, she blushed, too. Michael was startled to see so much skin change color. Anne brought him closer to her. Even in the light of the moon her green eyes shone. He found himself lost in them.

"I have to tell you a secret," she whispered. "I have another fantasy, and you fulfilled it for me."

"I did?"

"Yes. I’ve always wanted to be gigantic, and hold my lover in my hands."

Michael felt his heart leap into his throat. "You’re-you’re lover?"

"Yes," she whispered. She began to lower him towards her mouth. Michael saw her inches-thick lips pucker up. She hesitated. He leaned forward, brushing his hands across her cheeks as he pressed his face into those huge, waiting lips. They were soft and plush and tasted a little like chlorine—

 

Michael choked as water rushed up his nose. He floundered for a moment in a panic, then air slapped his face. He opened his mouth and gasped in one breath, then another. As his heart stopped thudding in his ears he heard splashing and choking nearby. He opened his eyes to see Anne treading water beside him. She spat out a mouthful and choked some more.

"Anne? You okay?" he asked. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Mike?"

"You okay?"

"Yes, I think so. What happened? What—Mike, I’m back to normal!"

Michael climbed out first, then turned to offer Anne his hand. He averted his eyes as he helped her out of the water, then shrugged off his jacket.

"Here, put this on," he said, turning his back.

"Thank you," Anne replied. "You can turn around."

Michael turned around. He almost choked again. Anne held his jacket in her hand—she hadn’t put it on. Mike looked away again.

"Ah—I—you should—" he stammered. He felt a gentle hand touch his cheek, pressing, making him turn his head back. Anne had stepped close to him. In the moonlight her naked body was awe-inspiring.

"You’re entitled to look," she said. "I love you, and I’m going to have you—Mike, are you slouching?"

"No," he replied. Anne looked puzzled. She looked down at herself.

"Mike, I think I’m bigger than I was before," she said. She looked up at him again. Michael abruptly realized she was right—she must be almost six inches taller (and several inches bigger up top and down below, if his eyes were right) than before. She smiled shyly.

"Well, I guess I get to keep a little of my fantasy," she said. She shivered a little in the cool breeze that sprang up. Michael saw her quiver and took his jacket from her hand.

"Here, put this on," he said, drawing it over her shoulders. Anne struggled her damp arms down its sleeves, pausing to smell the scent of Michael’s cologne. She smiled again.

"I love you more and more, Michael Hanes," she whispered. She angled herself against him after zippering his jacket closed, tilting her chin up towards his. Michael did not hesitate this time. Her lips were smaller, but no less enticing. He ran his finger along her jawline as she nibbled at his lips, murmuring delightfully under her breath.

When they both came up for air Michael rubbed his bare arms and looked at his watch.

"Whoa, it’s late," he muttered. "We’d better get back ."

 

Fortunately for them both the locks on the Sherwin estate gates only worked one way. Michael led the way back to their neighborhood, never relinquishing his hold on Anne’s hand. At her new height his jacket was too short to cover her fully zippered shut and Anne had improvised, opening his jacket enough to pull the sleeves down past her shoulders, offering her private parts bare protection from observation at the expense of revealing her expanded cleavage.

Getting home took quite a bit longer—Anne no longer had fifteen-foot long legs to carry them. At their neighborhood pandemonium reigned—Michael saw the strobe lights of two police cars, dozens of flashlights and much confusion. He managed to find the rear entrance of Anne’s home and got her inside without anyone seeing them.

Anne led him into her livingroom, angling herself for the stairs.

"Anne?" A voice called out. Anne stopped dead in her tracks.

"Yes, Mom?"

"Where were you? Peter and his friend came home an hour ago."

"I just went out, Mom with my friend." Michael felt a thrill as she squeezed his hand. She turned and gave him a quick kiss, then loped up the stairs.

"Well, who’s your friend—" her mother asked. She turned a corner from her kitchen and caught sight of Michael. He felt himself flush and offered her a weak wave in greeting.

"Hi, Mrs. Llewellyn," he said. "I’m Mike, Mike Haynes. I live a few doors down the street."

Hrs. Llewellyn looked keenly at him. She had the cold eyes of a casino pit boss and an intimidating manner. Michael shifted from one foot to the other, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He found his candy in one pocket and a slip of paper in the other.

"Mom, did you meet Mike?" Anne came bouncing back down the stairs, dressed in a sweatsuit. Her mother looked at her as she stepped up to Michael and grabbed his hand.

"Ah, yes—yes, dear I did. Do you two know anything about what happened outside tonight?"

"No," Anne said quickly. "What happened?"

"Well, there was a prowler at the Lundeens, somebody tore up two shrubs at the Connors, and Mr. Haynes—is he your father, Mike?—just told me the police reported a break-in at the Sherwin estate. It seems that someone is taking Halloween too seriously tonight. Anne, dear, are you sure you’re all right?"

"Of course, Mom," Anne replied. "I’ve never been better." An impish grin formed on her face again. "Now, Mom, remember Mike, ‘cause you’re going to be seeing more of him."

"Oh? Is that so?" she said. Michael resisted the urge to run and hide. Anne, kissed her mother on the cheek and grabbed Mike’s hand again, dragging him into the living area.

"You promise you won’t tell?" she whispered. Mike nodded. He pulled out the slip of paper in his pocket. To his surprise it was the gold wrapper from Anne’s candy.

"Well, how did this get in my pocket—" he began.

"Did you pick it up?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Wait—there’s something written on it."

Michael spread out the damp, glittering wrapper. He felt the warmth of Anne’s face as she put her head next to his. They both looked at the wrapper together.

"’This special confection will be a unique taste experience. Savor its flavor. Warning: don’t eat all at once’," Michael read aloud. He snorted and looked into Anne’s eyes.

"That’s what the problem was—we didn’t read the instructions," he said. They looked at one another. Both of them broke into guffaws. Michael dug into his other pocket and pulled out his candy. He quickly broke open the wrapper and looked for any writing.

"Huh," he muttered. "It says the same thing."

"So, what’s your fondest wish?" Anne asked. Michael felt himself blush but he did not break eye contact with her.

"I already got it," he replied. Anne pecked him on the cheek.

"Me, too, Mike."

"Mike?" Mrs. Llewellyn leaned into the livingroom. "Is that your sister upstairs with my Peter?"

"Yes, ma’am," Mike replied. A brief wintry smile crossed the woman’s face.

"She’s a very nice girl. I’m glad to see Peter’s made a friend already. Anne, it looks like you may need a new sweatsuit. The one you’re wearing looks like it shrunk in the wash."

Anne blushed and tugged at the hem of her shirt. Doing so only pressed the cloth more against her bigger breasts. She grinned and kissed Michael again.

"So, are you going to save your magic candy?" she asked. Michael smiled in reply and broke off a piece. He stuffed it in his mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed.

"Hmm. You’re right, it does melt in your mouth," he said. Anne looked at him, her eyes round with anticipation. Michael looked himself up and down. Suddenly he felt a curious tingling sensation in his belly, which quickly spread throughout his frame.

"Mike? Are you all right? You’re—oh!" Anne said. She stared at his chest, then his arms. Mike looked down. He was growing, but not the same way Anne did—muscle was sprouting on his arms, filling out his shoulders, pressing through his shirt. He felt his manhood surge again. He saw the bulge grow there—and grow, and grow. The lump was far bigger than he had ever been before, and it was still growing, competing for room with the engorging muscles in his thighs and legs. He looked up. Anne was staring fixedly at his crotch. She raised her eyes to meet his. Her smile returned.

"Save that candy, Mike," she said. "I want what happens when you eat the rest."