Poe Little Witch Girl

Greetings, Gentle Reader.

This is the tale of Lenore and Annabel Lee, who had the misfortune to encounter the diabolical Jack Scratch. Like most Jack Scratch stories, it's tricky to separate truth from exaggeration. Often, as we sit reading tales in the warm comfort of our cautious lives, we choose not to believe the more horrific implications of those stories. Let me assure you, dear reader, that the chilling substance of this story is all too disturbingly true. So, settle in. Pour yourself a warm beverage. Position your blanket over your shoulders or knees. And then — should you dare — read on.

Early morning, the day before Halloween in Chicago, a blood red sun glared between the leaden horizon of Lake Michigan and an endless shelf of looming clouds. Elevated above the city in her exclusive condo, Lenore was as isolated as a goddess on Olympus. Before going to her wildly successful law practice, she started every day with yoga. She preferred to pose and stretch in the nude, feeling liberated, powerful, unstoppable. Since she faced the biggest case of her career, she needed help to feel as dynamic as possible. She stripped off her black camisole and stepped out of her black panties.

Her long, dark hair hung thickly to her large, shapely breasts. She had long, lithe legs below narrow hips. Her waist was narrower still, and more than one lover had encircled her waist with his hands. She kept her pubic hair trimmed short to encourage random, wayward tonguing, and kept her lips moist to suggest wantonness.

She stretched her angular arms as she stepped into the expanse of her living room. The room had a wall of windows overlooking the lake, and a wall of windows showcasing the north view of Chicago. No other condos were built as high, so she had privacy from all eyes, except the occasional news/weather helicopter.

With Edgar asleep, she thought she was alone -- until she entered her living room. There she found two surprises.

First, Lenore found six erotic scarecrows positioned lewdly in her living room. The scarecrows had sexual parts made of pumpkins, small gourds and elongated squash. One surprised, busty farm girl had two hefty pumpkins splitting open her checkered blouse. Another scarecrow farm hand with a long gourd penis humped a milk maid bent over a hay bale, exposing the two pale pumpkins globes that poked from the back of her lowered overalls.

"Edgar!" Lenore thought. "It's too early for this nonsense."

Second, she noticed a large black bird, perched on the wet railing of the balcony outside, staring with blood red eyes.

"Damned ineffective scarecrows," she muttered.

The magnificent raven ogled Lenore from its perch on the railing. She had never seen a raven in Chicago, nor any other creature studying her so calmly in the blustery October winds. Instead of facing out toward Lake Michigan, the raven followed her as she opened the slats covering the north bank of windows. Like the Lake view, the northern view was unobstructed.

At least until her curious ebony-feathered admirer arrived.

The raven cocked his head to get a better look at her pale nude body.

"Go ahead and gawk, you bastard."

The early morning sun suffused the condo with a carnelian glow and turning Lenore a rosy, peachy hue. She arched, sticking out her peach ass, feeling the pull in her lower back. Some ex-lovers thought her ass was too small, but most men found each buttock to be a proper handful. When she danced in skin-tight jeans, she could swing her tiny butt back and forth until every man's tongue was aching to lick her. Now, she leaned forward to grasp her toes. Her hair fell forward to drape her feet.

Tap-tap-tap.

The raven tapped to get her attention, rapping at her sliding door. With his long, narrow beak, the magnificent bird motioned for her to lift her arms. Lenore placed them above her head. Her body looked deliciously vulnerable as she slinked forward toward the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony. The raven hunched its wings, and cawed plaintively.

"Go ahead and gawk, you bastard."

Her pale image leaned toward the glass. Her hair fell softly past her shoulder to the top of her breasts, and by raising her arms she could feel the tips of her hair tickling her areolae. They stiffened, extending to within millimeters of the glass, and she exhaled slowly, sensually.

She felt the raven's eyes on her, studying her shoulders, hips, and thighs. It stared at the small dark patch covering her pussy. The raven grinned, though she knew better. Ravens' beaks were too heavy to smile. The thought of arousing a pure force of nature appealed to her erotic playfulness. She spread her legs so her pussy was more exposed, keeping her arms raised and her breasts high. A smile played on her own lips as she turned around to give a view of her too-small, too-tight buttocks. She touched her toes again, exposing her bottom.

Despite the stormproof windows, she heard the bird sing out its strangled cry. She recognized the anguished moan of sexual frustration. She had been responsible for more than her share of men's sexual disappointment. It was a necessary element of her feminine power.

She faced the window again, forearms leaning on the glass, her tits nearly grazing the glass, her legs spread apart, feeling warm and wet between her legs.

An unexpected arm snaked around her waist from behind.

Suddenly she felt a poking,

As of someone gently stroking,

Poking at her tight behind...

Only this and nothing more.

"Oh, my God! I want you right now!" Edgar groaned.

If Edgar didn't sleep so late, he could enjoy this vision every morning he stayed over. But Edgar was not an early bird. If anything, he was a slow and steady tortoise who scores in the end. The rapping, tapping had awakened his curiosity, and eventually his sleep-addled brain.

Lenore held her pose. How long he had been watching she could only guess from the desperation in his voice. She turned her head sideways, looked up at him with her deep violet eyes, through her long dark lashes.

"More!" he said.

"Never!" Lenore struggled in his grasp.

"More," he insisted.

"Never!"

"More!"

What, Dear Reader, did the raven glean from this exchange? We may never know.

The magnificent bird, its blood red eyes burning, fell from the railing, down until it was cradled by a supporting updraft. The sun, which had recently flamed behind the bird, disappeared behind the shelf of clouds. In its place, a news/weather helicopter hovered. Its pilot had a camera pointed at Lenore's condo. She recognized its pilot Jerry, who gave her a grateful thumbs-up. She flipped him the bird. Jerry piloted the copter toward another jammed intersection.

With the sun blocked, the apartment turned a sepulchral gray. Lenore's skin turned pale and tiny goosebumps dotted her soft flesh.

"You must be freezing -- Your skin is so pale! Come here. Let me warm you up, put some blood in your veins." Edgar opened his arms to pull her to him, but she blocked him.

"Don't touch. I'm running late."

Edgar kissed the top of her chilly left shoulder.

"Thank god your shower's big enough for us both!" He tore off his t-shirt, and began dancing out of his boxers. His penis swung like a heavy pendulum while he stripped off his socks.

Lenore was tempted, but enjoyed teasing him more. "No, I'm late. I don't have time for a splash party right now." She kissed his cheek while giving his cock a playful tug.

"Promise you'll wait for me?" She knew he would. She walked her special nude walk past him, and into the master bathroom. Then, with a smoldering look over her bone-china shoulder, she locked the door.

"We have to do this more often," Edgar called through the door.

"I'm up every morning before work. You should try it sometime," she called back.

She opened the door, so he could watch her dry off, and apply powder and makeup. Her lipstick lingered on her luscious lips longer than necessary. She slipped a silky black dress than clung like oil to her curves. She wore no bra, and only the briefest thong, so that nothing destroyed the line of the dress along her body.

"You can't wear that! You're supposed to be working. You are going to work, right?

"You need a job," Lenore said.

"I have a job," he protested. "I'm a writer."

"Hah!"

"Screw it. Stay home with me, Lenore. You don't have to obey everything old man Tamerlane says. I can ring your bells for you." He swung his pendulum for her benefit.

"I do I want. I'm the most powerful attorney in Illinois." Lenore gave him a smirk, tossed her thick hair over her right shoulder, then finished applying her makeup.

"No, you're the scariest attorney in Illinois."

"Well, Mr. Writer, I'm a lawyer with an impossible case to win. Out of my way. I can't be late."

With a pucker and an air smooch, she was satisfied with the intense blood red of her lips. She stepped into 4-inch stilettos, and admired the taut shape it gave to her lissom legs.

"Don't wait up for me. I've got to finish the Usher Estate briefs and my argument for tomorrow's motion. What will you be doing?"

"I'll be at the Halloween Fair for homeless kids tonight."

"Tomorrow's Halloween, Edgar. Why are you volunteering tonight?"

"It will keep my mind off you, Lenore. Otherwise lust might drive me mad." He moved to grab her, but she was too quick.

"You'll smear my lipstick. Stay."

He desisted, with a slight whimper. It may have been feigned, but she liked it nonetheless. Then grabbing her ebony raincoat, her briefcase and her clutch, she left for the office. Outside, that the weather was warmer than she expected for late October in Chicago. The raven hovered above the avenue. It glided effortlessly, and occasionally twisted its ebony head to shine an red eye in her direction.

"Later, you bastard."

Let me lead you, Gentle Reader, to Lenore's corner office in the law firm run by old Mr. Tamerlane. Her office contained gaudy mementoes of her many court victories — newspaper headlines, pieces of defective equipment, miniature buildings. Still there was room for a table, chairs and a overstuffed couch that could, and did, serve as a great place for love-making. Her conference/war room was attached through a side door.

Old Mr. Tamerlane opened her office door without knocking, a privilege he claimed as the founding partner. His stooped form leaned into the office, narrow and lupine. Gray hair flowed back from his temples. His long pointed ears lay tightly against his head. He wore a bespoke dark suit and shirt so white it hurt your eyes. Long, narrow fingers draped from his cuffs, tipped with yellow tapered nails, so pointed they might have been sharpened. His teeth were yellow and small. When he smiled, there was no warmth in his face, only hunger. He couldn't help looking for opportunities to pounce on his vulnerable prey.

Tamerlane loved Lenore, because she was not vulnerable. She was dangerous, vital, and sexy. She took charge of her cases and her life. When she first started at the firm, she had been aggressive in coaxing successive orgasms out of his already aged cock. Her words in the courthouse were nearly as impressive as the tongue she used to warm his cockles. Although he loved her naked breasts, Tamerlane appreciated that she dressed to emphasize but not reveal them. As he grew older, he appreciated the theatre of the mind she created with her wardrobe.

"Lenore," he said.

She didn't look up from her file. She was established now, and no longer needed to blow his withered member. Still, she sometimes entertained him, just to see whether his old ticker could survive the erotic excitement.

"I'm worried, Lenore," Tamerlane said. "The clients are worried that you won't be able to deliver the lakefront property that they need."

"It's no easy job" Lenore said. "That's why we're charging them our highest rates. The lakefront is protected from development — usually — unless this development is in the interest of the people of Chicago. Not easy, sir, but you know that."

"Yes, I do," Tamerlane said. "Even so, the stakes are too high to fail. You have a motion for summary judgment tomorrow, I see."

"I'm trying to win the case early."

"Yes, yes," he said as he prowled her office, trying to get a better look at her barely-contained figure. He was fascinated by the way her black dress clung so tightly to her shoulders, her chest, her waist. He wondered how long it took her to get into that dress, and how quickly he could strip it from her body. "Even so, I've decided that if you lose the motion tomorrow, I will need to take you off the case. The client will expect that kind of action."

Lenore swallowed the words she would like to say. She didn't need additional pressure. No one wanted to win that motion more than she did. She glared at Tamerlane's greedy eyes, and he smiled a wolfish smile back.

"Don't worry, my dear," he snarled. "I'll think of other ways you can service the firm. Your reputation among our partners is titillating. I mean that in the best way."

He gave her his most voracious smile. In return, she took a deep breath to emphasize her sizable breasts, licked her lips slowly, and smiled.

"I can service our client, sir. You know I can."

Tamerlane nodded.

"I'll leave you to it. Carry on." He closed the door behind him. She flipped him the bird with both hands several times. Now, time to get back to work.

"Annabel! Annabel! Where the hell is that child?" Lenore shouted, and the near offices went quiet. From a small room down the hallway, a petite woman in tortoise shell glasses, carrying a bundle of papers, notes and her laptop, came running as fast as her small legs could carry her. Her coffee-colored hair piled casually on her head, with a pencil sticking out. She barely made it to the war room before spilling the pile of papers on the glass-topped table

Annabel Lee, a Chinese-American attorney who had been sworn in just the past July, served as Lenore's assistant. No other attorney had lasted as long with her. Ms. Lee was unique in her capacity for absorbing abuse.

"What are you wearing?" Lenore sniffed. "Orange? You look like a carrot in pumps."

"Not even for Halloween? It's playful."

"It's hideous. What have I told you? If you want to be a respected female attorney, you need to play to others' fantasies. Be a lover, mistress, a dominatrix, a minx, a coquette, but for God's sake, not a carrot!"

"Lenore, I'm not you. You can wear something so sexy that men want to rip it off your body. I'm not like that."

"Of course you're not me! I don't want that. But you could be a little freer. You have a lovely figure. Use it. Your thighs! My God, don't you see the men watch you walk -- no matter how you try to cover them? That's just the point. Why cover them?"

Annabel blushed. "Can we discuss your fashion suggestions tomorrow? I'm having trouble finding any precedent to support your case."

Lenore exploded, shouting obscenities that included Annabel, the case, the client, the courts and every lawyer ever born.

I'll spare you, Gentle Reader, from the worst of her nasty tirade.

"Nobody wins every time," Annabel said quietly, but Lenore heard her. Lenore leaned heavily on the table.

"I win every time. That's what I do. That's why clients pay our firm. I don't know how we'll do it yet, but we will win this case tomorrow."

Gentle Reader, you've heard the old saw that if the law is on your side, you pound on the law; if the facts are on your side, you pound the facts; and if neither the law nor the facts were on your side, you pound the table. Given Lenore's poor legal position, she would need to set the table on fire.

"Find me everything you can about our opponents, and by everything, I mean the stuff that's not on-line, that's not in the newspapers. Talk to their attorneys, their law clerks, especially the ones they've fired. Something will turn up."

Lenore worked all day, evening, and until five minutes until midnight. Annabel Lee stayed with her until 11:45 pm, and was excused to go home and sleep. Lenore wanted her to be fresh in the morning. Lenore hated to leave the office, even for sleep, so she disciplined herself to always stop working just before the stroke of midnight.

Outside her office, the high-pressure sodium overhead lamps drained the streets of any color but ghastly, somber pewter. Lenore thought she was walking into a rainstorm, but the warm gray overcast was without a hint of moisture.

Five ravens clung to five separate lampposts surrounding the office building doors. Lenore shivered when she saw them, and huddled deeper into her autumn coat, her head focused on the pavement. She was not afraid to walk alone at night, since she was a quick, determined walker and quick to shout if anyone approached her. But she was shocked when she bumped into a tall, dark figure.

Where had he come from? She hadn't see him before she plowed into him. The collision knocked her to the pavement. Perhaps he hadn't seen her either, because he was running from three ravens strafing his longish hair. His arms were raised, ready to smite any bird that came too close. Lenore bounced back up and angrily confronted the man, who was still distracted by one last raven. He was tall, at least 6'4", and built like a CIA-trained mercenary. His eyebrows protruded over deep bloodshot eyes, separated by a strong straight nose. Lenore was almost frightened by the anger she saw in his red eyes, until he hitched his mouth into a smile. His teeth were large and bright; his chin was strong, though a little narrow for Lenore's tastes. He looked ready to laugh when he saw the angry look on her face.

The raven screamed, and caromed to another light post. It was smiling.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I should have been looking." He began to brush her ebony coat until Lenore pushed him away. He backed up, his hands raised defensively.

"Are you okay? You're coat is going to need cleaning, maybe mending. Please allow me."

"If you would watch where you're headed, you wouldn't have to pay to clean up the mess you made." Lenore was just warming up to really light into him, when she saw that smile again, so bright against the deep recesses of his eyes. She reconsidered.

"It's alright. Just be careful next time."

"You're right, ma'am. If you're sure I can't help you further, I'll go. Can I get you a taxi? Uber?" He flashed that smile again. And Lenore was in a mood to be distracted from the disaster that awaited her in the courtroom in the morning.

"No cab, thanks. I'll be fine. A girl could use a drink, though."

"How about a rain check. I stay out of bars after midnight. At my size, I attract trouble and drunks who are hoping to prove something."

"Sure. You could come to my condo, if you're not afraid of attracting trouble." Lenore gave him her most provocative smile.

"No, thank you. You're most generous, considering it was my clumsiness that caused our meeting. I'm heading to my place. I do have a piquant Amontillado waiting."

"One more reason you can't drink in a real man's bar?"

He laughed, a rich, warm, encompassing laugh. "That's true. When I order sherry, I get the strangest glances. Look, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I hope to meet you again under better circumstances."

Lenore shrugged off her ebony coat to offer him a good look at her, before insisting that they drink together. It worked, she could tell. He had a hard time looking only in her eyes, and he swallowed with difficulty.

"I don't think I've ever had an Amontillado," she said. "And I'd love to keep you company."

"Then follow me, ma'am."

"It's Lenore."

"Lenore, then."

His place was just around the corner from her office building. It was converted from commercial to residential, but not as high end as Lenore's. Still he did have the penthouse, and the space ran the length of the building and at least two floors high. In the foyer, the ceiling was hidden in darkness.