Female Inflation

The cardboard sign read “Haunted House” in black magic marker with an arrow pointing down the street. It was nearing 10 o’clock; our bags sagged from so much free candy and our limbs were sore. A haunted house adventure sounded like a perfect ending to Halloween. We mustered the strength to hurry and resisted temptations to continue begging houses for candy.

Orange and purple lights strung along its walls shone through the artificial fog belching from concealed machines. Spooky sounds and eerie music emanated from the open door; strobe lights illuminated the entrance.

A waft of burnt pumpkin followed the moonlight between the curtains. As the cool, white light crept across the carpet, its iridescent glow glinted off ceramic straighteners and boxes of makeup. Eventually the moon lowered enough to beam over the large double bed in the middle of the room. As the light crawled across the covers, the slender figure occupying the bed shifted to face away from the window.