So this year we shot an amazing editorial story for Black Milks halloween collection! I have been so lucky to be apart of such an amazing company and given the opportunity to shoot with an incredible team and do what I love each and every day!

So here is a little look at our little story of Little Black Riding Hood  🙂

Devils Night: Written by the amazing AC, who is the mega talented copywriter at BM!

PHOTOGRAPHY: Bonnie Cee | CREATIVE DIRECTION & STYLING: Charli Burrowes & Madeleine Weston | ASSISTANT: Daryl Graham | MODELS: Laura Wood, Samie Robinson & Laura Wood. CLOTHING: www.blackmilkclothing.com

Trick or Treat.

Its All Hallows’ eve; a night of masks and costumes, of tricks and treats. The time when those things that make our blood run cold and draw goosebumps from our skin step out of the darkness and into the light, to be celebrated for one night only before retreating to the realm of campfire stories and the occasional nightmare. Vampires and werewolves and witches roam the streets alongside an undead horde, and even the occasional appearance of a superhero or long-dead actress can’t alter the overwhelming perception that on this night, the streets do not belong to us – to humans.

One human is out on this All Hallows’ Eve. A girl pauses outside a cemetery, dressed for the evening in a rich, dark velvet hood. She’s ready for a night filled with her favourite tricks and her favourite treats, and although the sun has not yet set it seems as though dawn will come far too soon.

A basket of apples, all red as blood, rests in the crook of her arm; gifts for children whose costumes impress (and much kinder on the teeth than candy corn and other sweets).

She’s also ready to dole out tricks to anyone who can’t find it in themselves to spare a treat for those brave enough to venture out tonight. Last year, one grouchy old man was turning kids away from his door with an unkind word and a shake of his cane. She remembers him, in his dressing gown, chasing her down the street while she laughed and white streamers of toilet paper fluttered from his porch, drifted across the hood of his car.

Smiling now and looking toward the night, the girl takes an apple from her basket and examines it closely. Flawless. Just like the night ahead – it was going to be a real killer.

Something twists in the polished skin of the apple, a reflection of movement in the trees. A crease forms between the girl’s brows as she glances over her shoulder. Nothing there, just the wind amongst the trees.

With a sigh, her smile returning, the girl steps inside the cemetery. The main street is just beyond, past the ancient tombstones, and the girl picks up her pace as the sun sinks toward the horizon. Night approaches, as do other things.

Between The Graves.

The light is fading fast now as the sun disappears behind the jagged outline of the city in the distance, lengthening shadows and rising fog trailing in its wake. The girl has just passed the halfway point of the graveyard and is taking a moment out of her walk to watch the sunset beneath a gnarled old fig tree, nestled between the oldest graves in the cemetery.

Something thuds to the ground beside her – an apple, red as blood. The girl turns her face toward the sky, scanning leaves and branches from which only figs should fall. Something moves and she freezes, her gaze locked with another in the gloom.

Glued to the spot, the girl watches not one but two fiends descend from the canopy of the tree above, crawling down the twisted bark toward her.

Her paralysis breaks and she leaps to her feet, heart racing. A split second passes, a mere quarter of a heartbeat, and the fiends launch themselves toward her with their eyes ablaze and arms outstretched.

Night Falls.

The only sound in the graveyard is the girl’s feet as she flees over dried leaves and fallen branches. With no sound of pursuit, the girl steals herself and glances over her shoulder.

The fiends are no more than ten steps behind her, hands reaching and grasping for her rich velvet cloak, eye hungry. They make no sound despite their speed and ferocity – their feet skim over the mist, never touching the ground.

Blood red apples are tumbling from the girl’s basket as she leaps over graves and dodges crumbling headstones – she is nimble and light on her feet, but it’s not enough. Dusk has come and gone and in the gloom the girl stumbles over a twisted tree root, nearly but not quite falling.

Righting herself again, miraculously without missing a step, the girl looks ahead…and her heart sinks. A fence with no gate looms in front of her – she has taken a wrong turn somewhere and missed the way out. The light is almost entirely gone, now. The sun has said its last farewells and only a few lingering rays of light remain, and they are shrinking fast.

The girl runs alongside the fence, her pace flagging now as her breath comes ragged in her lungs. She stumbles again, this time falling to her knees. The girl raises her eyes from the dirt just in time to watch the last of the sun’s rays retreat across the headstones, briefly silhouetting two advancing shapes before leaving the cemetery in darkness.

Trapped.

The fiends are moving in, but agonisingly slow. They are toying with the girl, circling her, letting her edge forward then pushing her back toward the fence again, building her hope of an escape before snatching it cruelly back.

After what feels like an eternity, the fiends leave a gap just wide enough for her to slip through. She darts forward, but it’s another feint and the fiends close on her, forcing the girl to stagger backwards. She stumbles, for the third time since setting off on her journey, dropping the basket of apples she has resolutely clung to.

Seeing her perfect apples rolling in the dirt makes anger flare in the girl, rising like a wave from her toes to her face and out to her fingertips. It’s a welcome rush, and the girl reaches beneath the folds of her cloak.

She withdraws two knives, both longer than her forearm, and watches in delight as the fiends pause. Confusion skitters across their features first, then horror.

The girl steps forward.

Happy Halloween.

Blood steams on the earth, enough of it spilled to create tiny rivulets between blades of grass. The light from the rising moon makes it seem as black and thick as tar. The girl wipes her knives on the ground, humming quietly to herself.

It is always lovely to begin Halloween this way, and each year that it happens the girl is pleasantly surprised. Even though, strangely enough, it happens every year without fail. She has lost her apples, they are strewn in the dirt, but it’s a worthwhile sacrifice.

She tilts her head back, breathing in the night air with a smile on her face. The moon is still low in the velvet sky, the night stretching ahead of her filled with infinite promise. Right now though, she’s tired from her sprint…among other things.

The girl rolls over, the dew that is beginning to settle on the grass gently erasing a drop of blood from her cheek. She buries her head beneath the hood of her cloak, and drifts off to sleep between her bloodstained new friends, dreaming of the hours left to her on this All Hallows’ Eve.

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And are a few more of the amazing images captured that day, seriously one of my favourite days of shooting ever!!

Hottest zombies I’ve ever seen  🙂

xx

bonnie