50 Shades of Bodice-ripping Halloween Cheese

Here be a Halloween short tale to ever so slightly chill the blood yet warm the cockles of your hearts, me dearies. Late-night fun and frolics in the bedroom? Bodice-ripping yarns and things that go bump in the night? And with generous slices of cheese!

It’s all happening in yet another audacious episode of Six Sentence Stories

And this week’s cue word is…



Madge knew something was terribly wrong that Halloween night when she awoke to the bedroom lights switching on of their own accord, and the Teasmaid kettle (which she and Victor had received as a wedding gift in 1978) started spluttering out a liquid which could only be described as blood, and when her collection of porcelain dolls began spinning their heads and cackling: “Die Mama, die!”, and the flowery patterns of the wallpaper Victor had put up last spring changed into grimacing spiders and slithering snakes … and she half expected the reassuring tones of Victor who was sleeping next to her to say: Go back to sleep, Madge, it’s just a bad dream, but Victor remained asleep, blissfully unaware of the drama playing out in the bedroom.

Perhaps it was all just a horrid dream, Madge supposed – a nightmare brought about no doubt by that generous wedge of Wensleydale cheese she had foolishly indulged in before bedtime, and on Halloween of all nights, and what with her overactive imagination… and so she swiftly fell back to sleep and thought no more of the nightmare.

Moments later she was woken by Victor’s fingers caressing the back of her new black nightie she had purchased in the summer sales, and his heavy and sultry breathing which he reserved for impending amorous moments – usually on anniversaries or Valentine’s Day, but rarely – if ever – on Halloween.

“Mmm, stop that, Victor… it tickles, you saucy devil you,” she purred, and she turned over to meet him, the warm tingles inside her blossoming with the promise of a slow seduction followed by a hot and full-blooded 60% Cotton 40% Polyester nightie-ripping romp… but… oh… my… how quickly Madge’s passion dissolved into horror… for next to her in bed was a man with the face of Victor – yet gaunt and deathly pale, as though he had smothered his features with her foundation; and with crude black lines like scars etched across his sunken cheeks, like he had criss-crossed himself with her eyeliner; and then the vulgar red circles ringed around his eye sockets, like he had smeared himself with her new lipstick (Ripe Red Rosy Applesβ„’, an environmentally friendly brand she had discovered recently on Amazon Prime).

“Victor!” she yelled, “You’ve been possessed by some kind of Voodoo magic, I’m calling an exorcist!” and at which her husband awoke with a start, and the Teasmaid kettle stopped spluttering blood, and the porcelain dolls stopped spinning their heads, and the creepy designs on the wallpaper turned back to pretty flowers, and her husband said: “Victor? Who the Dickens is Victor? I’m Harold for goodness sake. You’d think after forty years of marriage you’d get my name right! Go back to sleep. You’re having a nightmare.”

“Sorry, Harold,” said Madge, “I don’t know what came over me. I knew I shouldn’t have had that slice of Wensleydale before bed on Halloween.”


“As writers it is our duty, nay, nay, and thrice nay, our spiritual calling, to explore every literary genre available to us, dammit, even if that means delving into erotic suburban romance.”


W.A.E.R. Hobbe-Spaniel,

author of: Rubbish Quotes and Rubbish Invented Genres and Other Such Rubbish Rubbish andΒ Pulling Faces at The Flying Egg which Cried Crocodile Tears in a Thunderstorm in a Japanese Tea Cup in Timbuktu.

Editor’s note: I really wanted to write a rampant stonkingly good bodice-ripping erotic suburban romance sex jamboree, pulsating with pent-up passion and lingerie and blindfolds and riding crops and gliding throbbery notched up to eleven. However, I ended up mostly writing about cheese.

Happy Halloween πŸŽƒπŸŽƒπŸ˜„

21 thoughts on “50 Shades of Bodice-ripping Halloween Cheese

  1. And I always thought eating Trix cereal before bed gave you the worst nightmares. lol.
    Little did I know it was cheese!

    “and when her collection of porcelain dolls began spinning their heads and cackling: β€œDie Mama, die!” Love it 🀣 Spider thing. Wallpaper. Damn. Nice touch 😁

    Fun romp of a Six, V! I daresay you fulfilled your “spiritual calling” πŸ˜‰

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, D. Yes, trying to avoid late night cheese snacks… but a bit addictive.
      Trix? Had to look that up – brightly coloured fruit-flavoured corn pieces advertised by a rabbit! haha, can see why you mentioned nightmares now πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks so much, Julie πŸ™‚ They say titles are sometimes the hardest thing to come up with, and I’d mostly agree, but this one just, erm, rolled straight off the tongue and onto the page πŸ˜„
      I think I read somewhere that if you add the word ‘cheese’ in a title more people will read you, but I might have just imagined that πŸ€”

      Liked by 1 person

      • It’s true. Almost every reference to writing whether that be an article, blog post etc advises that the headline or title should be the last thing you write because it’s the hardest thing and one of the most important aspects of your article to get right. This one is a winner lol πŸ™‚

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Fab beee oh!!*

    Damn my turophobia!**

    “…followed by a hot and full-blooded 60% Cotton 40% Polyester nightie-ripping romp.
    lol… nothing like dimming the lights and lowering the volume to set up the Reader.

    Actually I totally enjoyed the suburbiana touches in the settings

    Fun Six, yo

    er… ‘gliding throbbery’?!? lol

    surely he is to ‘bodice ripping’ as Bon Jovi to arena rock
    ** not, technically afraid of cheese, cept in something like a Disney cartoon of multiple marching Swiss wheels, ala Fantasia, more a case of not enjoying the consumption of cheese that isn’t Cheetos (which I suspect is some kind of oxymoron). I just wanted to use the cool word… Latin they name is ‘Whoa! Intellectual fellow, pardon me.’

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, and LOL πŸ˜‚ too funny, and had to go grab a slice of Chedder then come back and read comments again (it’s late here, and never learning the lessons of one’s own current six)

      Right, where to start?

      Turophobia. Bon Jovi. Fantasia. Cheetos…. Bam! Right there is the making of a future story!

      Earlier I was watching Bowie and Reznor’s video for ‘I’m Afraid of Americans’, and I was still in my cheese mood, and wondered if there was an American from a certain State or city that David was particularly afraid of… and I thought of Philadelphia… which is also a name for a brand of cheese!

      Erm, yes, ‘gliding throbbery’, I just don’t know…


  3. Hi TVTA, I was gonna have some ham and cheese Ghosties….I mean Toasties for my supper – I think I’ll hold off them for now!

    And just for a fleeting moment when you mentioned Wensleydale I thought we were gonna read about a few Were-Rabbits! Great share once again.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks FT, and lol at the ‘ghosties’. You could always try a fraid egg?
      And of course – you’re right… Wallace and Gromit, and cheese! I saw one of their live shows in the late 90s – absolutely brilliant.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. That was great, although I’m thinking the image of cackling, head-spinning dolls is going to stick with me for a while. Yay for Harold and Madge, though.

    I can understand the diversion to cheese. Perhaps the sex jamboree (lol, what a phrase) will present itself some other time. πŸ˜‰

    Liked by 1 person

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