The Last Hallow's Eve

By Jean Maxwell

When government legislation puts the kybosh on Halloween forever, where does a budding graphic novelist go for gothic inspiration? To a haunted mansion of course! The level-headed and sex-starved artist Joanna Mitchell thinks she's seen it all in the world of the macabre and is not about to be frightened off by tales of the mysterious and decrep

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clearcom Enterprises
• Release date: Apr 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781778053139

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An Erotic Halloween Romance

by Jean Maxwell

Copyright© 2022 Jean Maxwell

Ebook Edition ISBN: 978-1-7780531-3-9

Cover Art: ClearCom Enterprises

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, with the exception of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Get it before it’s gone, dearie, the witch-face said. Joanna Mitchell snatched her hand away from the latex mask she’d been touching as it delivered a maniacal cackle to underscore the statement.

The witch’s mask hung on a wall in the Fright Night Boutique, alongside numerous other grotesque and hideous characters. Goblins with green noses and purple warts, Werewolves and Horned Devils with blood-red lips and dead-pool eyes all gazed back with baleful stares.

Shit, Joanna cursed, angry with herself at being startled by a talking mask. Well, she thought, if you’re going to stand around in a Halloween shop on the last Halloween night in history, you deserve to be scared. But she refused to be intimidated by a bunch of last minute markdowns.

She turned her nose up at the insolent plastic sorcerer and moved down the aisle to browse the remainder of the merchandise.

Not buying today? the same hag’s voice said. Joanna stiffened and did an about face. The proprietor stood there flashing a semi-toothless grin, looking every bit as Halloween-y as her wares. Not much time left, she said with a throaty chuckle. Sale ends at midnight. Then, she waved her hands in the air. No more Halloween!

I’m aware of that, Joanna said, amazed that the old bag would feel the need to state the obvious. I’m not here to shop. I’m here to document.

The woman tucked a wayward strand of her gray hair behind her ear while regarding Joanna suspiciously. Document? she clucked. What’s that mean? She dismissed Joanna with a shake of her head. Either you’re buying or not. Everything’s on sale, cheap.

I’m an artist, Joanna replied, not meaning to offend the proprietress. "This is an historic day, the last All Hallow’s Eve. A tradition handed down for centuries is