The Witch with the Sharp Bloody Teeth

A man discovers that his grandmother's stories about a witch that 
eats dicks may be actually true.

back to index

        THE WITCH WITH THE SHARP BLOODY TEETH
                       by Enoch

I remember the story that my grandmother used to scare me
with as a kid.  She used to babysit me until I was three months
old because my parents were still young and wanted to get out
and do things.  That was when my parents both died in a car
crash and then I went to live with her.  She had some funny
ideas about raising children.  Her stories would definitely not by
approved of now as fit for telling impressionable young minds. 
Where other children were scared with the bogey-man, I got
stories about the witch with the sharp bloody teeth.  She would
“get” me if I misbehaved, talked back, got lost in the woods out
back of Gramma’s country house, etc., but what she most
disapproved of was masturbation.  Heck, when Gramma
“caught” me that time, I wasn’t even old enough to really
masturbate, I was just “discovering my body” as they say.  But
that’s when I was first told that if I played with myself, the
witch with the sharp bloody teeth would get me for sure.  And
unlike other kids who could only imagine what would happen if
the bogey-man “got” them, I knew all too well.  

The witch lived in the woods and looked like a beautiful woman
without any clothes, and she would appear and tempt boys to
sin.  She could look like any woman, so you had to be careful. 
Anyway, if you “sinned against yourself” (Gramma’s words)
she would “smile and show her mouth full of sharp bloody teeth
like a shark’s and then she’d bite off your pee-pee and eat it all
up and then you won’t be man nor woman and you’ll have to
go live all by yourself in the woods and do whatever the witch
says for the rest of your days.”  She assured me that this was a
fate worse than death.  I sometimes drew childish pictures of
the witch bent over me, biting me, with lots of red for blood. 
One was seen by a teacher which resulted in some concern over
my state of mind and some phone calls home, and spankings by
my Gramma.

Needless to say, this screwed me up sexually for years.  Any
time I got horny, it was accompanied by profound feelings of
terror.  I never masturbated until after I’d left home and went
off to college.  As a teen, I often had nightmares about the
witch with the sharp bloody teeth.  The funny thing is, these
were also wet dreams.  She was the most beautiful woman I
could imagine, but very pale, with long raven hair down to her
ankles, enormous breasts, long red fingernails (or claws?) and
blood-red lips.  In my dreams I could never resist her and she’d
always “get” me.  I’d wake up screaming and when I felt the
wetness down there, I’d always think it was blood first.  She
would kind of look like my mother, who I only remembered
what she was like from old pictures.  I guess some would say
that’s some kind of Oedipal complex at work.  

The odd thing is that once I started dating, I was only interested
in girls and later women that resembled her in some way.  I got
very interested in horror, especially movies and TV with dark,
vampy women: Morticia, Elvira, Vampyra, Lily Munster, Theda
Bara, even Frasier’s wife Lilith from “Cheers”.  In college, I
naturally fell in with the Gothic crowd.  This was where I met
the girl who took my virginity, very much my type.  She even
claimed to be a practicing witch.  I thought we were in love, so
eventually I told her about my fears about castration and the
story behind it.  She took to teasing me about it during sex,
acting like she was going to bite my dick off while giving me a
blowjob.  I always got angry about it afterward, but it made me
blow my load every time.  Eventually I broke up with her over
it.

Just before I graduated, my grandmother passed away and I
was the only heir.  I decided to move back in, maybe fix the
place up.   The house felt spookier than ever with me all alone
in it, especially knowing that the woman who’d taken care of
me for so long had died here.  I packed up a lot of Gramma’s
old clothes to donate to Salvation Army, as well as some of the
bric-a-brac and religious paintings and icons (the walls were
covered with them) that I didn’t care for.  I was going to turn
the house into a shrine to horror, something my grandmother
definitely wouldn’t have tolerated had she been alive.  

I also did some poking around and exploring in places I wasn’t
allowed to before, the attic, the basement, and... drumroll
please... the LOCKED ROOM!  I found the key on Gramma’s
key-ring.  When I opened it up I discovered that this latter had
been my mother’s room when she grew up there, after her death
converted into a kind of a shrine to her memory, with
everything exactly as she left it.  I looked through everything,
trying to find out more about her, and underneath a loose
floorboard I discovered a dusty shoebox.  Inside I found several
items that Gramma probably never suspected her darling
daughter would ever possess.  

First there were some Polaroid snapshots of her nude in various
provocative poses.  I wondered who took them, perhaps my
father?  She was gorgeous, with big tits and long black hair, and
I felt my penis growing in my pants.  Intellectually I knew she
was my mother, but since I never really remembered her, I
guess I was reacting to her more as a beautiful woman more
than most sons would in this situation.  I set those aside and
went on to the other items.

The second thing that caught my attention was some kind of
object wrapped in red velvet and tied with a ribbon.  I
unwrapped it and when I first saw what lay there, I dropped it
to the floor in shock.  It was a man’s severed penis!  I
wondered how it could still be rock-hard and preserved all this
time.  I poked at it gingerly and then started laughing at myself. 
It was a dildo, very lifelike, made from hard rubber.  It was
huge, I guess Mom was a size queen.  I sniffed it, and imagined
that I could still smell some of her cunt odor on it after all these
years.  I wrapped it back up and turned my attention to the last
item in the box.

It was her diary, bound in black leather with silver clasps.  I
flipped through it.  My jaw dropped open.  Mom had been a
wild child.  It began with her 16th birthday and started with her
sexual fantasies and descriptions of masturbation sessions. 
There were notes like, “Today I came 15 times!”  She
progressed into all kinds of sex, with boys her own age, with
girls, with older men, with groups, and even the family dog! 
When I read that entry, I looked over at the picture on the
dresser of her with her arm around King, a large German
shepherd.  Looking closely, I could tell that the dog had an
erection.  If Gramma only knew, I thought.  

What really got me going was discovering that she had been
interested in the occult and formed a coven with some of her
lovers with herself as high priestess.  It was mostly an excuse
for sex orgies in places like graveyards and the woods at
midnight.  My dad was part of it, and she described in detail
how on Halloween they’d done some chanting and fucking and
then this weird storm came up in the middle of it all.  I did some
mental calculating and realized that that was probably the night
I was conceived.  Later, she found out that she was pregnant
and a marriage was hastily arranged.  She was fairly sure the
man she married was my real father.  The entries stopped
shortly after that.

All this was too erotic for me to ignore.  I lay out all the
pictures in front of me and read choice bits from the diary while
I masturbated for the first time in this house.  I finally came
looking at the dildo and imagining it inside her.  I came into one
of her panties I’d gotten from her drawer.  It was incredible, the
best orgasm of my life.  I finally felt free of my grandmother’s
inhibitions.  I was utterly drained and fell asleep on my mother’s
bed.

During that night, I had an erotic dream.  It was my mother, or
the witch appearing as my mother, and she had entered the
room and was looking down at me.  She pulled aside the covers
and looked at my cock.  She licked her scarlet lips and went
down on me.  The feeling was exquisite.  As I came into her
mouth, she started to bite... and then I woke up.  It was
morning, and I’d had another wet dream, the first recurrence
since I’d left home for college.  I cleaned up and went to put up
the items that had scattered on the floor, but found they were all
neatly replaced in the shoebox.  I must have done it just before
going to sleep and forgotten it.

This was the start of a new life of sexual freedom for me.  I was
horny all the time and masturbated constantly, to thoughts of
my mother and the witch with the sharp bloody teeth, which
had merged into one for me.  I knew it was sick, but that was
part of the attraction.

I had majored in creative writing in college and had sold some
horror stories to some magazines already.  Once back in my
spooky old house, I had plenty of inspiration for my writing,
and became pretty well-known and made a good living at it. 
I’m no Stephen King, but I’ve had novels in the top 10 of the
best-seller list and a couple optioned for film rights.  When I
first started out, I decided to start a Horror Fan Club in my
home town.  I’m the president and though it started small and
stayed small, my friends in it have been both loyal fans and
ardent critics, which has really helped me develop my writing. 
But strange as it may seem, I never wrote anything about the
witch with the sharp bloody teeth, which is why on one
Halloween meeting in my house, when we were telling each
other ghost stories, Peter Frost, the treasurer, asked, “Have you
heard the one about the woman with the sharp bloody teeth?”

I was stunned.  I said that I had, but thought it was just
something my grandmother made up.  I asked to hear his
version, in case it was different.

He started, “OK, there’s like this couple on their way to this
party on Halloween...”

Denise Fox, one of the two female members (the other couldn’t
make it this time), chimed in, “I heard it was on prom night, and
they were on their way back home.”  At this point I should say
that Denise and I had gone out a few times, though we hadn’t
had sex yet.  I was hoping that perhaps after the party was over
and the others had gone, that might change.

“No, I remember these were newlyweds.  It was Halloween,
just like tonight.  The guy’s driving and he’s real horny so he
takes his dick out.  The girl starts playing with it, then she drops
her head down and starts blowing him.  Then something
happened, something ran out in front of them or he just lost
control of the car when he shot his load, but they run off the
road and smack into a tree.  The girl’s jaw clamps shut and bites
off the guy’s dick at the base.  He bleeds to death and she
chokes on his cock.  They are found like that in the morning.  It
was a big scandal, right here in this town.  Anyway, now her
ghost roams the night, looking for more dicks to bite off.”

Denise chimed in, “I heard she came back as a zombie, but not
the kind in the movies that eats brains, if you know what I
mean.”

“In the version I was told, she’s more like a vampire,” said
Melvin Bates, a nerdish guy with glasses who was the club’s
vice president, “but not the kind that sucks blood.”

“No, man.  She like turns into a werewolf when the guy starts
shootin’,” was the opinion of Bill Williams, an 18-year-old high
school senior.

I threw in, “I heard it was a witch.”  My brain was racing.  MY
parents had died in a car crash.  Was this story about them?  

But I was thrown for even more of a loop when Jim Spector,
the group’s secretary said, “No, you’ve got it all wrong.  The
girl didn’t die.  That’s just a lie put out by her family who was
ashamed of her.  My dad works at the county insane asylum and
heard the real story.  She didn’t choke.  She was trapped in the
wreckage, her face pressed into her husband’s bloody crotch. 
She couldn’t move, couldn’t spit his dick out.  To breathe, she
had to eat her own hubby’s cock.  That and being trapped all
night drove her nuts.  But they didn’t know it at first.  She
became a real slut, letting guys pick her up at bars and stuff. 
She’d offer to give ‘em a blowjob, and then... CHOMP!  She
did that to about twenty guys before she got caught.  She had
to be locked up where my dad works.  They discovered that she
had filed her teeth into points like some cannibals do.  Then an
orderly who was molesting the patients but apparently didn’t
know about her got his dick bitten off one night.  She took his
keys and escaped.  And every so often, you hear about some
guy ending up “deboned”.  They say it’s a jealous wife or
crazed hooker, but it’s really her.”

“Give me a break, the ‘escaped mental patient’ is the oldest
cliche in the book,” said Melvin.

This got me to thinking.  It was all unlikely to be coincidence.  I
stood up and stared out into the woods.  I remembered as a
child once hearing a beautiful female voice calling my name
from the woods.  As I started to go toward it, my grandmother
grabbed me from behind and carried me into the house.  She
gave me a spanking and a scolding, and said that the witch with
the sharp bloody teeth lived out there.  Then I remembered
reading in my mother’s diary how much she loved the woods,
climbing the trees, how she could walk in them for hours.  If my
grandmother had made up the witch story to keep me out,
presumably to protect me from getting lost or attacked by
animals, why did she let her daughter spend so much time
there?  Then I thought about her trapped in the wreckage, that
had to give her a severe case of claustrophobia that the
institution could only have worsened.  So of course she’d want
to live someplace wide open.

I turned to the others and said, “How’d you guys like to go on a
witch-hunt?”  They all agreed, and I told them how I suspected
that the woman with the sharp bloody teeth lived out in the
woods behind my house.  I’d done things like this before,
running a scavenger hunt, fixing up my house with “jump out at
you” special effects, so I’m sure they thought this was just this
year’s version.  (In reality, I’d just rented some scary videos this
time.)  They went along with it, expecting some surprise.  We
got together some bottled water and snacks, and found a
compass and flashlights for everybody.  Some had crucifixes,
others asked if I had any garlic, holy water, or silver bullets
around.  I had none.  I left the back porch light so we could see
our way back and we all started traipsing into the woods.  

The moon was full, which added some illumination through the
leafy canopy above, but also got me thinking about what had
been said about her being a werewolf.  We walked on for about
thirty minutes, laughing and joking, when someone heard a
noise off to one side.  Our flashlights showed the reflective
green eyes of something low to the ground and definitely not
human.  Suddenly the canine shape burst out of the underbrush
and ran off.  Not a wolf, just a coyote.  We all laughed and
decided that it was time to call it quits, having had one good
scare.  

But then we noticed that we were short one person.  We came
close together and determined that Jim Spector was the one
who’d disappeared.  The others looked at me as if I and Jim had
cooked this up.  I started yelling, “Jim, if this is a joke, it’s 
not
funny.  Come out.”  There was no answer.  We all swung our
flashlights around.  He was nowhere near.  I said, “We’re going
back now.  If you don’t come out we’ll leave you behind.”  Still
no answer.  The others looked very worried.  Soon we had
spread out again, each calling, “Jim!”  

We searched for about 15 minutes, spreading out no further
than we could see each other’s lights.  Then on the other side of
the search party, I heard Melvin calling, “I see a flashlight!  I
think it’s him!  It’s north of here.  Wait, stop!  Jim, come back! 
I’m going after him.”  I started running towards his voice, but
was the last to catch up to the others.  They were gathered
around Melvin’s glasses, which must have fallen off in the
chase.  Otherwise, there was no sign of him.  

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” said Peter.

“Yeah, I’m scared,” replied Denise.

“What do you have to be afraid of?  She only gets guys,”
snarled Bill.

Peter said, “Let’s just get the hell out of here, OK?”

I said, “I think we’re lost, Melvin had the only compass since he
had some orienteering experience.”

Bill snapped, “What do you mean, ‘We’re lost’?  These are
your woods, right?  You should know them like the back of
your hand.”

“Sorry, my grandmother never let me play out here.”  It would
have been funny if things hadn’t been so serious.  “Let’s just the
four of us stick together and go back the way we came.  We’ll
probably end up back at the house and Melvin and Jim will
jump out and yell ‘boo’ and we’ll all laugh about it.”

Everyone agreed and we started in the direction we thought
was the right one.  After a while, we came across some clothes. 
It looked like Jim’s and there was some blood on the pants and
underwear.  We got really scared then because we knew Jim
wasn’t going to be out here naked.  We heard a rustle above us
and put our flashlight beams up towards the top of the tree all
the clothes were around.  It was Jim, naked, limp, with one arm
hanging down and where his genitals should have been, a
ragged bloody wound.  I thought of a nature show I’d seen on
big cats that drag their prey up into the trees, and then of my
mother’s love of climbing.  Denise screamed.  

Pete was standing near another tree and I was looking right at
him when suddenly some THING reached down and with
inhuman speed pulled him up into the air.  I redirected my
flashlight and then saw HER for the first time.  She was naked
and wildly beautiful, exactly as I’d dreamed her.  She was
obviously my mother, though with gigantic breasts and longer
hair than in any picture I’d seen of her, and she apparently had
not aged since the accident.  Perched on a branch about 30 feet
up, she held poor Pete by the neck like a rag doll with one hand
while the other grabbed his pants and underwear and with one
motion roughly tore them from his body.  The torn clothing fell
a few feet from me.  I watched helplessly as Pete struggled in
vain as she raised him to her ravenous mouth.  Her tongue
darted in and out like a snake’s as his erection grew even
though he surely knew his fate.  She bore down on him
relentlessly and within seconds his moans of ecstasy became a
scream of agony and despair.  I felt a spot of hot blood hit me
on the cheek as she drew back with her prize.  She spit it out in
her hand, I noticed it was still mostly hard, and then stuck it in
her gaping cunt.  She masturbated with it much as I’m sure she
did the dildo I’d found.  I shook myself out of my
shock-induced paralysis and took off running.  The other two
were far ahead of me.

I ran until I could run no more, and was still not out of the
woods.  I’d lost sight of the others, and looked around fearfully,
knowing she could strike from any direction.  I was alone and
completely unarmed.  I looked around to take stock of my
situation.  

I had emerged into a sort of clearing.  The full moon high above
made my flashlight unnecessary for the most part.  I switched it
off to save its batteries.  There was a shallow pit full of ashes in
the center, I thought it must have been a camp at some time. 
But then I found the crude altar and what looked like old
bloodstains on it.  I realized this had to be the meeting place of
my mother’s old coven.  I turned the altar over and tried to
break it up, hoping this would diminish some of her power
somehow.  

As I did so, I noticed underneath where it had been a badly
weatherbeaten wooden box with symbols on it.  Gingerly, I
opened it up.  There were no pictures inside this time, but there
was a wrapped bundle (which I didn’t want to look at, knowing
it had to be a “snack for later”) and another book.  It looked
similar to her diary, but had a strange symbol roughly carved
into the cover.  I knew from my witch girlfriend in college that
this was a Book of Shadows.  I skipped over the early writings
to what she’d written since the accident.  I was sure that the ink
she’d used was blood.  Much of it was illegible, the writing of
someone who was clearly insane, but what I could read terrified
me, a writer of extreme horror.  

One passage made me drop the book in disbelief.  It said that
this clearing was surrounded by her slaves, watching, waiting. 
As I turned to run from this accursed place, I noticed that the
trees had a strange aspect.  They had two trunks that merged
into one which had two large branches on each side with a bole
on top that looked eerily like men’s faces.  There were at least a
hundred of these weird, stunted trees.  I broke a small branch
that looked like an elongated finger off one.  Not thick sap, but
thin red blood oozed from the wound.  I thought about Frazer’s
“The Golden Bough” and the mysteries of Attis and Cybele, the
eunuch priests, the Day of Blood and the effigy of the god in
the form of a tree.  

Then there was a creaking and rustle of leaves, and I felt a
rough, powerful arm wrapped around my throat.  I struggled to
free myself and to breathe, but I could not break its grip and
lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was being held by the tree.  I was not alone. 
Near me were Bill and Denise, each held by a tree as well.  We
were all completely naked.  Bill and I both still had all our parts. 
My mother, the witch, stood before us.  Seeing her so close up,
my dick shot up like a rocket.  I noticed Bill was erect as well. 
Denise, who I was pleased to discover had a very nice body and
good size tits, though nowhere near the size of my mother’s,
had erect nipples, though that may have been from the cold.  

The witch approached me.  There was blood on her mouth, chin
and breasts.  With a voice husky from lack of use she said, “My
son.”  Then she kissed me on the mouth.  I felt her tongue enter
my mouth and I kissed back passionately.  I thought briefly of
what Denise must be thinking.  She pushed my lips down to her
left breast and bade me give suck.  The fluid that spurted into
my mouth was hot and burned my throat, but I almost cried
when she finally pulled away from me.  I thought that the
expression “cold as a witch’s tit” was as wrong as it could be.

She went on to Denise and said, “I knew your mother.  She
used to dance here.”  Denise looked as surprised as I by this
information.  My mother then kissed Denise as she had me, then
moved Denise’s head to her right breast.  I was surprised to see
how eager Denise seemed to be.  Then, at a gesture from the
witch, the tree released Denise, who fell weakly into my
mother’s arms.  She drew Denise towards Bill and put her down
on her knees.  She first pulled Denise’s face between her own
thighs and I watched my girlfriend go down on my mother. 
That sight itself almost made me shoot my wad.  Mother had
several orgasms in just a few minutes.  Then she pushed
Denise’s questing tongue away and forced her down on Bill’s
erect penis.  “Eat,” the witch commanded.  Bill suspected what
was going to happen, and appeared both attracted and repulsed. 
My mother then pulled a severed cock from her own cunt and
began fucking Denise’s pussy with it.  It went in easily, she
must have been highly aroused.  With her other hand, she
pressed Denise’s head down so hard into Bill that there was no
way she could breathe with his dick in her mouth.  Bill’s upper
body reddened with a sex flush.  Then he moaned with the
ecstasy of orgasm, just as Denise bit down hard, severing it with
one bite, changing his cry into one of pain.  She must have
enjoyed it, as I saw her cunt spasming around the dick she was
being fucked with.  She apparently needed no coaching to finish
it, because she was chewing with gusto.  Satisfied, my mother
pulled her once-living dildo from Denise’s cunt and started
eating it, evidently savoring the added flavor of their mingled
cunt-juices.  When they finished, they then turned their attention
to me.  I think I fainted then.


I woke up in my bed.  Sunlight streamed in through the
window.  It was a beautiful day.  All that I remembered was just
a nightmare.  I felt a warm female body next to me.  It was
Denise, we must have gone through with it last night after all. 
She was turned away, so I decided to wake her up by rolling
her over towards me.  Then I saw her mouth, chin and breasts
were stained with blood.  She opened her eyes and smiled at
me.  Her teeth were long and sharp.

Author’s Note:  I thought I’d try to get the jump on everyone
and be the first to come out with a Blair Witch inspired fantasy. 
For those of you who are curious as to what the heck the
narrator’s mother was supposed to be, she comes closest to the
“wild woman” type of forest spirit.  They are found in legends
all over the world.  I retain the copyright to this story, so don't 
repost without getting permission first.  (Contact me by leaving a 
message in the story feedback forum.)