The Defiled One – A Halloween Story by The_Technician
Experience tantalizing thrills this Halloween with 'The Defiled One' - an erotic sex story by The_Technician. Dive into a world of passion, desire, and haunting intrigue that ignites your imagination. Read now to uncover the dark seduction waiting to be explored!<br/>
Just a typical Halloween night in the psych ward, except that a dead man shows up as a beautiful nymphomaniac. , = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2012 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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“It isn’t that I hate Halloween, Mary, and no, I don’t have a wife or family that I have to be with or kids to take Trick-or-Treating. It’s just that I totally and absolutely hate being on duty at a state psychiatric facility on Halloween. That’s why at the very beginning of every year I put in for a week of vacation from October 28th through November 2nd. You approve it every year, including this year. I do that because I do not want to be here nor do I have any desire to be on call at all this week.”
Dr. Marion Hudson, director of the Madison State Psychiatric Hospital slowly shook her head and replied, “I know, Frank, I have always honored your request, but Dr. Wilson didn’t plan to have a heart attack this week either, and until he can recover or we can get a temporary replacement it is you and me to cover as supervising psychiatrists. And since I have to testify before that congressional committee in Washington tomorrow, for the next four days, YOU are on call. There is nothing I can do about it. I am very sorry that you might be called away from your Halloween party this year, but that’s the way it is.”
I muttered something vulgar under my breath about not going to any Halloween parties and walked out of the office. I haven’t gone to a Halloween party in years. In fact, ever since I started working at a mental hospital years ago as a lowly resident, I have had no use at all for Halloween. One of the reasons I bought a place way out in the country is so that I can totally avoid Halloween. Out there, I don’t have to put up decorations; I never get Trick-or-Treaters; and I don’t have to keep the porch light on. For me Halloween is a time to retreat to my isolated twenty-seven acres of land and enjoy a quiet evening at home. Unfortunately, I knew that wasn’t going to be the case this year.
Halloween brings out the worst of the delusional, the drugged-out, and the just plain weird. Some of those most affected by Halloween will end up at the facility, and some junior psych on duty will decide that he or she can’t handle it. Then they will call the attending super – me, and I will have to come in to the hospital to deal with whatever it was that they thought a psychiatric resident intern couldn’t handle. It will be messy and difficult and will end up burying me in weeks of followup paperwork. No wonder I hate Halloween.
Exactly as I expected, the phone rang at 9:30 on Halloween just as I was settling down in front of the large screen TV with a dark ale and some of my home-made chili. It was Larry, a just-out-of- school psychiatrist who looked younger than the high school boy I have help me with the yard in the summertime. “I hate to bother you, doctor Walters, but this is way beyond my pay grade.”
I hate that expression, but decided now was not the time to instruct a subordinate on not using obnoxious cliches and just replied, “Give me the summary.”
“Police brought her in about two hours ago. She was turning tricks in the back room of a bar downtown and they were going to charge her with prostitution, but she didn’t have any money on her and wasn’t charging the johns, so they couldn’t make a prostitution charge stick. Actually she didn’t have anything on her… including clothing. Once they figured out what was going on, they decided she needed to be brought here. The officer who brought her in said, quote ‘She was pulling a free, around the world train for anyone who would come into the room. She tried to take my partner’s pants off and kept waving a little notebook at us and screaming that she only needed two more’.”
“When they tried to arrest her for public intoxication as an excuse to bring her here, she went wild on them and scratched the hell out of the officer. They ended up having to call in backup and EMTs. She came in here literally wrapped in restraint belts and tied to a Gurney. She was still screaming her head off. Medics said she was maxed out on everything they could give her and it wasn’t making a dent. When she came in the door the first thing she said to me was “Fuck me. Please fuck me. I only need two more and he is coming at midnight. If I haven’t fucked a thousand men by then he will come and tear me apart and eat me.”
I listened calmly and tried not to sound too sarcastic as I replied. “So far this sounds like just a really severe Halloween delusion.” I silently added, “Even you should be able to handle this without me,” then I continued aloud, “And why do you think I need to come in ?”
Larry almost shouted into the phone, “She says that she is Harold Aldridge, and the facial recognition software gives a 62 probability so she is most likely at least a relative.”
That got my attention. Harold Aldridge was one of “The Thirteen.” He and his buddies were investment brokers who somehow had managed to keep ahead of the market regardless of what it did. They always seemed to buy just before a stock soared and sell just before all hell broke loose. The S.E.C. had investigated them upside, downside and inside out but couldn’t prove any wrongdoing. They claimed they had a secret system, but whatever it was they weren’t sharing it with anybody.
A little over two weeks ago, the police found twelve of them apparently chewed to pieces in a clearing in the woods south of town. There was barely enough of them left to identify. The gruesome nature of the deaths and the charred and blackened stone altar standing in the middle of the clearing had all of the earmarks of some sort of Satanic ritual, but no evidence of who… or what tore the men apart was found. The police were baffled. One of the thirteen remained un- accounted for… Harold Aldridge. Some residue on the altar was DNA tested and the conclusion was that it had to have come from Harold’s sister – perhaps a twin sister. The only problem with that theory was that as far as anyone could determine, Harold Aldridge was an only child.