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The following story is fantasy fiction about Hallowe'en spankings.  The story contains scenes of spankings with a switch and a birch.  If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.  Please take a moment to email.

Hallowe'en Betrayal – Part 1/2


Drake was up predawn to do his chores before the long walk to school this morning like every other.  The one thing that was different is that he had two bundles to deliver after school for his mother. Unfortunately, things went badly for Drake in school.  The grumpy old schoolmaster found great fault with him and the first two times called him to the front of the room to receive three cuts from his switch on his britches.  The third time he called him to the front of the room, he made him drop his britches and gave him ten cuts with the switch on his bare behind, much to the great amusement of his schoolmates.  "That should improve your memory boy." he said sarcastically.

After dismissal Drake was required to stay and redo his missing work.  By the time he left school, the sun was already setting and there would not be a moon this night.  He trudged with the parcels away from home as he was charged.  It was fully dark even before he started the long trek home after delivering the bundles.  It was still a very long walk back home even though he had chosen the route that was an hour shorter than the one through the town.

It was only as he crossed the bridge that things integrated in his brain.  He was going to pass the cemetery where the notorious birching schoolmaster was buried that his classmates had talked about this very afternoon and that it was Hallowe'en.  Hallowe'en when spirits were free to roam the Earth.  It was far too late to retrace his steps and to take the longer but safer route.  He was irrevocably committed.

As horror tales with loud howls and shrieks rampaged through his vivid imagination, Drake resolved to be brave and fearless.  He heard the howling of ghosts … or was it just the wind in the trees, the owls and coyotes.  He quickened his steps but was afraid to run on this moonless night for fear of tripping.  He wrapped his scarf more tightly about his neck to better keep out the frigid wind.  He was grateful that there wasn't any snow nor ice on the narrow, rutted road through the woods.

Then he though that he heard voices although he was surely alone.© YLeeCoyote

"The naughty boy approaches." howled the wind.

"It's birching time." hooted an old wise owl.

He was glad when he reached the fork and could turn away from the path to the cemetery gate and head towards home.

"Wrong way,  Drake." howled the wind or was it ghosts.

"He's trying to get away." sang the coyotes or was it ghosts?

Then he dashed into something – an unseen barrier – and could not go nor even see any further.  Beginning to panic, he turned around and ran back to the fork only to be blocked again so that he was forced towards the cemetery gate.  He was shaking with every howl of the wind.  The shutters on the shed banged with the gusts of wind.  Where might safety be found?

He turned and found his legs caught and he tumbled.  It seemed like there were many hands on him although all he could hear were the ghosts or was it the wind?  All went black as if a ghost had wrapped itself about his head.

"Get his britches off!" hooted the owls.

His britches were ripped open and pulled down.  A great weight held him prone.  Then … agony … as something hit him.  Over and over he felt the twigs of the birch as they struck or seemed to strike his now exposed tail.  He thought that his howls surely would scare the spirits but the blows continued.

Then it was over.  The howling continued.  The pain continued.  He got up and restored his britches.  His bottom hurt worse then when his papa had strapped him or the schoolmaster switched him.

Painfully slowly he made his way home.  The wind continued to howl.  The owls to hoot.  The coyotes to howl.  His butt was in agony.

* * * * * * * * * *

As Drake rushed towards his home, another drama started at the fork in the road.  Trent was most delighted at how he and his buddies had pulled off the evening events.  It had started early in the day when he noticed the names on the two bundles that Drake had.  The first was for a house nearby in town and the second for one south just like Drake's home was but on the opposite side of the river.  Drake's route would take him right by the cemetery.  The cemetery where the legendary birthing schoolmaster lay for two decades.  Except on this one night – Hallowe'en – when the spirits roamed the earth.  Of course, Trent did not believe in ghosts nor spirits like Drake did.  He soon hatched a plan.

It was easy to goad the usually grumpy old schoolmaster into a fouler mood than usual and to mess up Drake's stuff so that he would get into trouble.  He was delighted that Drake, himself, unknowingly cooperated with his plan by being held after the bell.  Trent and his friends dressed all in black were waiting near the fork in the road that lead to the cemetery on Drake's route.

A simple black cloth held across the road could not be seen by Drake as he ran into it.  A few howls, fortuitously helped by the regular denizens of the woods, made Drake turn and head back to the cemetery.  It was easy to throw a black hood over his head and then bring him to the ground and hold him there.  Even a child could have yanked down his britches.  Trent reserved the best part for himself and used the birch several times delighting in Drake's most corporal howls.  The group, silently, withdrew and allowed their victim to resume his trip home.

They then congratulated each other on a fine joke played on poor Drake.  Trent insisted that he wanted to "thank" the old birching schoolmaster for his help.  The others found excuses not to go into the cemetery on this fearful night.  Trent insisted that they were superstitious cowards and that he would go alone.  Trent headed for the cemetery and the rest started home over the bridge.

In the cemetery, Trent sort out the resting place of the legendary schoolmaster.  At the site, he mockingly thanked him for being a legend that allowed him to have fun.

The clouds thickened reducing the dim star light and the howling wind made Trent chilly.  A silly coincidence he thought for GHOSTS DEFINITELY DO NOT EXIST.  Trent was absolutely sure of that.  He could not explain why he was suddenly bent over a tombstone.  Nor why his britches were about his ankles.  Nor that he could not move when he tried to get up.  The owls, the coyotes, the wind and especially the ghosts all sang.  The frigid wind chilled his exposed butt.

Then a fiery pain as the birch landed and he no longer worried about the chill.  Over and over the birch hit hard caused new howls in the night.  Then they stopped.  Trent clutched his hot tail and then quickly pulled up his britches and rushed out of the cemetery.  He rushed to the bridge and continued rushing until he got home.

His family laughed at his report of ghosts especially those wielding birches.

* * * * * * * * * *

Drake and his sore butt was the first to arrive at school the next morning.  His discomfort was noted and he was immediately teased about the notorious legendary birching long dead schoolmaster.  Amid their playful but hard spanks, the others insisted that there were not any ghosts.

Thinking that it would enhance their fun, Trent's cohorts explained that they were the "ghosts" and that Drake was a superstitious fool to believe otherwise.  There were many a guffaw directed at Drake.

Trent showed up late, just as the bell was being rung.  He told that he had gotten to the grave site and was attacked by the GHOST of the Birching Schoolmaster.  Everyone laughed even Drake who was delighted that someone else had also felt the ghostly birch.

No one would believe Trent.  "Certainly your butt is sore but it is surely not from ghosts." they all agreed.  The more Trent insisted, the more he was ridiculed.  It was many years before he learnt the truth of what happened that Hallowe'en in the cemetery.

End of Part 1.  Learn the full story in Part 2

© Copyright A.I.L. October 29, 2011

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Last updated:  September 15, 2023