Mrs. Moore Gives Full-Size Candy Bars

Content Warning (click to expand) 

body horror, children in sexual situations, grooming, misogyny

 

by Martin L. Small

The hypocrites liked to pretend Mrs. Moore’s cottage didn’t exist.

It sat back in the woods.  A half-mile dirt driveway connected it to the streets of the neighborhood, winding past the swamp and around an enormous boulder dropped by a glacier millennia ago.   No one ventured up there except on Halloween.  All the kids knew that Mrs. Moore gives full-size candy bars on Halloween.  But their parents said no when they begged to go up there.

The older kids, of course, didn’t ask.

In pairs and trios, kids would trudge up the drive and use the antique knocker on the old, oak door.  It would creak open, and Mrs. Moore, always in a scarlet dress and headscarf, would smile down at them with her too-white teeth and hand each one a candy bar like you’d find in a grocery store checkout line, not the minis that only come in the big bags from Costco.

Lewis O’Donnell outgrew trick-or-treating before his father stopped going with him, so he’d never been up the dirt driveway before.   When his best friends Ethan and Jacob suggested that they do like the other sophomores, come up with costumes, and trick-or-treat until all the porch lights go out, Lewis was down for it.  He wrapped himself in toilet paper, whited out his face, grabbed a pillowcase, and the three boys snaked their way through disorganized masses of little kids to collect their bounty.

Lewis stopped as Ethan, dressed as a vampire, and Jacob, in a costume best described as Thor-meets-surfer, turned up Mrs. Moore’s driveway.  “Do you think we should?” he asked.

Ethan didn’t stop, just slowed and looked back over his oversized shoulder pad.  “Why not?”

Lewis kept his feet firmly on the pavement.  “My dad always said we should stay away from Mrs. Moore.”

“Why?” Jacob asked.  Actually, it was more like “Vie,” but Lewis ignored the silly accent.  “Mrs. Moore gives full-size candy bars.”

Lewis pondered the question for a moment.  “I don’t know.” he said at last.

“Then come on!” Ethan barked.

Lewis shrugged, and they trundled up the muddy drive.  A late-season bullfrog leapt across the dirt in front of them, crashing dramatically into the swamp to their right.  As the drive turned uphill, the boulder loomed.  Only as they got around it did they see the tiny porchlight of Mrs. Moore’s cottage.

Jacob ran the last few paces and thumped the knocker.  Lewis and Ethan were still climbing the wooden steps when the door creaked open, all three shouting “Trick or treat!”

Lewis’ jaw dropped.

Mrs. Moore was hot!  She had enormous breasts, cleavage poking out above the scarlet dress that clung to her curves.  She had a deep tan and full lips which were a shade of red that had to be lipstick but looked natural.  A scarlet headscarf concealed her hair.  She stood with her hips cocked, left arm on the door, right arm holding a bowl of every conceivable chocolate bar.  “See anything you like, boys?”

“Yes!” Lewis blurted.

Jacob and Ethan both backhanded him.

Mrs. Moore smiled, inclining her head forward slightly.  She propped the door with her left knee and took three candy bars from the bowl with her left hand.  She dropped them one at a time into the boys’ pillowcases.  Plop.  Plop.  Plop.

“Thank you!” Ethan and Jacob shouted, dashing off the porch.

Lewis stood transfixed.

“Lewis, come on!”  Ethan ordered, slowing to a stop as he realized Lewis wasn’t following.

Mrs. Moore smiled.  “You look like you’d like to learn more about my people.”

Lewis nodded.

Mrs. Moore shifted her weight and leaned against the doorjamb.  “You boys run and tell Lewis’ dad that he’s here with me, O.K.?”

“What?” Jacob said.

Mrs. Moore swung backwards.  Lewis, never taking his eyes off her breasts, followed her through the door.  It creaked shut and clicked with finality.

The cottage was tiny.  The back wall was a kitchenette with a toilet and shower, all of which looked antique but pristine.  A single bed lined the right wall, covered in a heavy quilt.  A sofa sat against the left wall.   There was no T.V. or any other sort of electronics in evidence.  Wall sconces provided a murky light. The pale blue walls were decorated with images of monsters.   Lewis wandered over to one that showed a snarling woman’s face atop a wasplike body, rendered in orange against a black background.

“An early depiction of Stheno,” Mrs. Moore said.  “In later versions, she had wings, but the body became more human-like.  Note the hair, though.  The hair is consistent through most depictions.  Always the thick curls.”

“I’ve never heard of her,” Lewis said.

“Fierce.  Immortal.  Or so she thought.”  Mrs. Moore looked off into space for a moment.  “Feared by all who encountered her.”

“Is there a Mr. Moore?” Lewis blurted.

Mrs. Moore smiled sadly.  “Not any more, no.”

“Do you ever have sex with trick-or-treaters?”

Her smile became amused.  “I’m not sure what your father has told you about me.”

“Nothing!” Lewis blurted.  “It’s just that you’re… you’re…”

“And this one.”  Mrs. Moore pointed to a photograph of a marble sculpture of Medusa, snakes curled atop her head in an angry rage, hanging over the bed.  “Medusa.  Do they still teach her in school?”

“A little bit,” Lewis said.  “Turned people into stone.”

“Just by looking into her eyes,” Mrs. Moore said.  “Yes.  Raped by a man.  Punished for being the victim and withdrew into a cave.  And yet, still they never left her alone, did they?”

“I mean,” Lewis said, “maybe just let me see your tits?”

Mrs. Moore chuckled slightly.  “Why don’t I make cookies?”  She swept into the kitchenette.  Lewis sat on the sofa to wait.  She never stopped prattling about ancient mythology.

The cookies where just coming out of the oven when there came a pounding at the door.  “Catherine!  Open up!”

Mrs. Moore smiled, her teeth glinting in the dim light.  “Your father got here quicker than I expected.”  She moved over to the door.

“No, don’t—” Lewis protested, but she released the latch anyway.

Mr. O’Donnell burst into the cottage, shoving Mrs. Moore aside as he stormed into the center of the room.  “What are you doing with my son?!” he demanded.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lawrence,” Mrs. Moore said, motioning him toward the sofa, where Lewis sat, a throw pillow on his lap.  She swung the door shut behind him, and the latch clicked into place.

Mr. O’Donnell stormed over and grabbed Lewis violently by the arm.  “What has she done to you?!”

“Ow!  Nothing!”  Lewis squirmed and tried to get free, but his father held tight.

“I told you never to come here!” Mr. O’Donnell screamed.

“Would you like a cookie, Lawrence?” Mrs. Moore asked.

Mr. O’Donnell pivoted and pointed directly at her breasts.  “I want nothing from you, you… monster!”

Mrs. Moore licked her lips and cooed slightly.

“Come on!”  Mr. O’Donnell yanked Lewis’ arm, but his grip slipped and he came out of it with just a handful of toilet paper.

Lewis folded his knees up to his chest and scooted back in the sofa a little.  “Dad, no!  She’s nice!  She’s baking cookies!”

“Don’t you eat anything this monster gives you!”  Mr. O’Donnell roared.

Mrs. Moore closed her eyes and shivered.  “Oooooh, there it is.”

Mr. O’Donnell pivoted and put himself between her and his son.  “Catherine!  Don’t you even—”

She pulled off her headscarf.

Scarlet hair — far too much to have been under that piece of fabric — fell down in thickly curled locks all the way to her waist.  And then her hair writhed.

“Lewis, run!” Mr. O’Donnell instructed.

Lewis didn’t move.

Neither did Mr. O’Donnell.

The scarlet hair heaved and then sprang up.  Thousands of hairlike tentacles snaked around her head as if alive and dancing.

“You leave my son alone!” Mr. O’Donnell shouted.

Mrs. Moore still hadn’t opened her eyes.  She sucked in deep breaths through her teeth, mouth contorted into a rictus.  “Your son is useless to me, Lawrence.”  Her voice had changed, become deep, menacing.  “His lust is sincere, and he wears it openly.  I feed on the hypocrisy of men!”

Her hair leapt forward.  Tendrils wrapped around Mr. O’Donnell’s arms and waist.  Tendrils caressed his face.  Tendrils attached to his temples.  He whimpered pathetically.

“I was good enough for you, but you prohibit your son the same pleasure?”  Her body undulated as she spoke.  “You pretend you never came here, yet you fight to keep him away.  I will feed on your life-force while you rail against yourself!”

“Lewis,” Mr. O’Donnell gasped.

“You still want me,” Mrs. Moore cooed, “and you still think that’s wrong.  That conflict in you, it’s delicious!”

Mr. O’Donnell had grown pale.  His knees gave out and he collapsed deeper into the mass of writing hair.  “Lewis, help me!”

Mrs. O’Donnell opened her eyes and looked directly at Lewis.  “If he stays here, if he still wants it, he will die.  You can pull him away, as his friends did back then.  Leave him crying on my front porch, begging to come back inside, lusting for the pleasure I give him.  They had to interve on him like a drug addict.”

Mr. O’Donnell collapsed onto his side.  The hair enveloped him even more.

“Or he can decide he doesn’t want it after all, or that it’s O.K. to want it, and I’ll be done with him, won’t I?”  The hair continued caressing his face.  His eyes had gone glassy, and foam was forming at the corner of his mouth.

Lewis pressed his hand to his crotch.

Mrs. Moore laughed.  “There it is!  Now!  You want him to die!  You want to be free of him!  You know that’s wrong!  Now you want me!”

The hair dropped Mr. O’Donnell.  He hit the floor with a thud and moaned.  Mrs. Moore stepped over him.

Lewis sat transfixed.

Her hair reached out and touched his face.

He whimpered and closed his eyes.

More tendrils of hair reached out, gently caressing him, reaching under his toilet paper.

“Oh… my…” Lewis whispered.

“Yes,” Mrs. Moore whispered.

Lewis began to twitch.  “That feels… that feels…”

The cookie sheet rang like a bell as Mr. O’Donnell hit Mrs. Moore over the head with it.  Chocolate chip cookies exploded in every direction.

Mrs. Moore roared and turned.

Mr. O’Donnell looked at the floor.  “Lewis!  Don’t look at her except in a mirror!”

Lewis swooned.  “There’s no mirror, Dad!”

“Get to the door!”

Lewis didn’t move.

“NOW!” Mr. O’Donnell shouted.

Lewis snapped out of it enough to scramble off the couch.  Mrs. Moore turned back to him.  The hair shot forward again.

Mr. O’Donnell hit her with the cookie sheet a second time.  She cursed in an unknown language. 

Lewis yanked open the door.  The cool air hit his face and he paused.

He turned to look back.  The hair was entangling his father again.

Lewis growled, reached in, grabbed his father by the arm, and yanked.

Then they were both outside, collapsed on the porch, the door shut behind them.

Mr. O’Donnell gasped weakly.  “You’d rather have me dead and out of your life?”

Lewis rolled off the porch and onto his feet.  “Well, maybe if you weren’t such a dick!”

“I’m a dick?  I’ve been keeping you safe!”

“Well maybe I don’t want to be safe!”

“You were in there with the goddamned Gorgon!”

“I didn’t know she was a Gorgon!  What’s a Gorgon?”

Mr. O’Donnell staggered off the porch and lurched down the driveway.  “How the hell do you not know what a Gorgon is?  Have you ever considered doing your homework for once?”

Lewis followed him.  “You wouldn’t know!  When was the last time you even looked at the bullshit they’re assigning us?” 

And they walked home, screaming at each other the whole way, communicating like they hadn’t communicated in years.

And Mrs. Moore sat down on her bed and closed her eyes.  She was still hungry, but she could let them go.

There were plenty of hypocrites in town.

And the hypocrites never believed the ones who escaped.

About the author and the piece (click to expand) 

Martin L. Small is the pen name of an editor who does not like to admit that his work has also been rejected all over the place.

 

©2026 by Martin L. Small. All rights reserved. May not be used for A.I. training.