All Hallows’ Even
Dive into “All Hallows’ Even,” a captivating gay sex story that weaves passion and intrigue under the flickering glow of Halloween night. Join two souls as they explore their desires and confront their fears in a haunted setting filled with unexpected twists and tantalizing encounters. Perfect for those seeking a sensuous escape, this tale promises to ignite your imagination and awaken your deepest fantasies.
Pelaam October 2007.
Christophe felt the tear that trickled slowly down his cheek, but was unable to wipe it away. Nor could he shout to summon help, even if any would hear or heed his cry. He was cold, alone, terrified and helpless. As evening had fallen on the night of All Hallows’ his elders, led by the itinerant priest, had marched him to be tied to the sacrificial pole outside the village. He wore only a rough shift that covered him from neck to mid-thigh. He had been bound tightly and a gag of the same coarse material as the shift, and which smelt of mould, had been affixed. It dug cruelly into the side of his mouth but, as with his tears, the youth could do nothing to alleviate his suffering.
For the last three years on All Hallows’ Even, a sacrifice had been selected from the village. Like the two girls who had preceded him, Christophe was left as an offering to the unseen and unknown evil so that the rest of the village may live safely for the rest of the year. The young man thought he had known dark, lonely days since the deaths of his parents the previous winter, but this was even beyond the emptiness he had felt at their passing. Cold seemed to have crawled into his very marrow turning it to ice. He whimpered disconsolately. None would come to succour him. They would remain warm in their homes, windows and doors locked securely, and return to mourn over his body after the sun had risen.
The village had not always had such a barbaric act. Strange to say it was only after the arrival of the itinerant priest that they had begun the sacrifices. The grey-haired man had wandered into the small village that lay nestled against the large, dark, forbidding mountains. It was summer and their priest had died the winter before. Christophe had like the old, frail man, but had taken an immediate dislike to the wandering priest. He called himself Michael and was as enigmatic as he was charismatic amongst the elders of the village. He had soon been embraced to their bosoms although Christophe was not the only one of the younger people who felt ill-at-ease in his presence. His dark eyes seemed to look at them…inappropriately. He had heard tales that Michael was to be found carousing in the tavern or in the company of the local bawdyhouse women. It was not the saving of their souls that he seemed to crave.
Within a few short months, Michael had persuaded the elders that to ensure the village prospered and remained safe from the evil rumoured to live in the mountains, a sacrificial lamb was necessary. Christophe had been just sixteen when he found that the ‘lamb’ was to be pretty little fifteen-year-old Mary, one of his few friends. Last year it had been seventeen-year-old Rachael, this year, just one scant week past his eighteenth birthday, it was to be him.
Christophe trembled in a mix of cold, fear, anger and loneliness. He would be found, as the others before him, naked, violated and dead. Taken brutally by the unnamed evil. He would be mourned as he was buried then the village would spend a year going about its normal business, until the next sacrifice was needed. He moved his head to ease the discomfort. His blond hair was now plastered to his head thanks to a light rain that was falling. He closed his normally sparkling sapphire eyes. He knew he would never experience warmth or love again and his body and soul cried out silently for the loss.
Christophe felt a different cold as he remembered the priest’s hands touching his naked body. He shuddered uncontrollably. The touches were meant as a benediction, but when the priest had anointed him with Holy oil, they had felt like a caress. They had lingered over places no one had touched Christophe before and the young man had not liked the wolfish smile when he had blushed crimson at the intimacy his naked form had endured. Just like Mary and Rachael before him, Christophe was as pure in body as he was in spirit. Although, a growing few in the village had challenged the priest, the discovery of the bloodied, broken bodies and subsequent safety of the village inhabitants ensured their voices remained unheeded.
A noise in the oppressive darkness had him whimpering fearfully into his gag. His eyes searched the night for its origin and picked out twin, red pin-pricks of light that glowed eerily and were headed towards him. Christophe screamed around the cloth in his mouth and pulled frantically at the rope that held his arms tightly above his head. He felt the blood trickle down his arms, but continued to struggle, only caring about escaping the beast that came towards him. He used every ounce of his slender frame’s strength, only to finally slump, sobbing, still imprisoned. Terrified and exhausted Christophe summoned the courage to fearfully raise his head and stared at the red-eyed figure. It had remained motionless during his panicked efforts, now it moved forward again.
“I hope you have not used up all your strength, Christophe. I want to feel you struggle as I take you.”
Christophe’s eyes opened wide in shock. He *knew* that voice. It was not the voice of a beast. He watched as the figure lowered a lamp containing two small, red candles and then pushed back the hood of the thick cloak it wore. He shook his head disbelievingly as the priest stood before him, his pudgy face contorted by a lascivious leer. He heard cold, mocking laughter.
“So gullible your elders, plus, of course, corruptible. Some liking to enjoy very…special…sessions with young girls that I was able to arrange for them. Girls that required chastisement for example. They were a little happier that a male youth was the sacrifice this year. I think I will stay just one more year before I vanish as I came. Of course, you will not be here to see that.” Michael reached for Christophe’s cheek and gripped the blond’s chin with painful tightness as the boy tried to turn away. “Mary fought like a hellion for all her tiny size, Rachael laid immobile and prayed. I did have half a mind to have you last year, but Rachael snubbed me in the village, sealing her fate and sparing you…until now. You are quite exquisite for a boy. Very beautiful,” he murmured, his face closing so that Christophe could smell his fetid, brandy-laced breath.
The words of evil spoken from a so-called man of God had numbed Christophe to his very soul. He stared helplessly at the man before him. Michael’s body was corpulent, his face ruddy and pockmarked. Although he had always found the man repugnant, it was the sheer ugliness of the man’s soul that was so repellent to the bound youth. It was as though Christophe could feel the cold aura of evil the man emanated.