Graham stumbled about amidst the thin, flaking trees, half-tripping as he zipped up his jeans. Lizzy was still on the ground, her slick, smooth, naked form partially covered by yellow and brown autumnal leaves.
“I can’t believe we did that…” she breathed, one hand to her panting, red chest.
Graham murmured non-committedly. Inwardly, he worried if he’s caught something from her; it had all happened so fast, and Josh had said that he’d had a bit of a rash the other month…
A sudden bang snapped him from his thoughts of gonorrhoea and a burst of crackling lights filled the sky, startling them both. Lizzy scrambled up, haphazardly slipping her dress back on without wasting time with her bra and the remains of her panties.
“The fuck was that?!” she cried, her hair a straggly mess; Graham could see dry leaves and brittle twigs caught in it like flies in a wed. “I thought the fireworks were cancelled!”
The realisation that they, and their tryst, could be discovered by neighbourhood kids wandering out with sparklers or other teens looking to cop a feel slowly dawned on Graham. He grabbed Lizzy by the hand and led her through the twisted, gnarled, frail trees as more explosions and a cascade of sparkles lit up the sky.
She seemed captivated by them, probably still high from the adrenaline of their rampant and lust-filled encounter, but her eyes widened in terror as they burst from the woods and beheld a gaggle of robed figures standing, chanting, around a massive bonfire.
Two or three of the cloaked figures were off at the side, setting off the fireworks and hollering in incomprehensible gibberish. The rest danced and sang, flailing their arms to the starry night heavens, their faces completely obscured from the blackness of their hoods.
The bonfire raged; a near-blinding inferno of oranges and yellows. Graham held his hand up to shield his eyes and his stomach sank when he spotted the vague figures writhing in agony within the flames. The cacophony of the fireworks exploding overhead did little to drown out the anguish from this close and, realising they were completely vulnerable out in the open, Graham began to back the two of them into the woods.
A large, boil-encrusted hand fell on his shoulder and Graham screeched, falling to the floor. A shadowy robed figure loomed over him, a rusty pitchfork in hand; the prongs glistened with blood as they protruded from Lizzy’s stomach, her gagging face awash with shock and agony.
“Another sacrifice, my brothers!” the figure called.
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