The Candyman- Part 1

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“Rum and coke, rocks on the side,” I said, holding a couple twenties up where the bartender could see them, “Keep the change.”

The bartender hesitated, giving me a strange look before snatching them out of my hand. I didn’t blame him; this was one of the shittier towns I’d visited, and just from glancing around the joint I could tell this was the kind of place you drank at when you were either in trouble or trying to find it.

He slammed a glass down on the counter, and without looking at it too hard I downed its contents in one swig and gestured for another one, shelling out a fifty this time. He sighed and shook his head before bringing out the entire bottle of Cap’n and sliding it over to me.

“Alright.” He said, his voice taking on the tired practiced tone of gruff sympathy, “Only folks who drink and tip that much have something on their minds, so what is it?” He began to polish glasses with a ratty towel and leaned his considerable bulk against the bar, ear cocked my way.

A rehearsed moan and rub of the temples, and...go.

“Well, I got a call a few hours back from some backwoods trapper, said my old man died in some kinda freak accident. He’s the mayor, you see, and he left me the position in his will...”

“Mmm, I see,” came the bartender’s reply. I turned to look at him, and he nodded, letting me continue.

“I never really got along with him. Always rode my ass about one thing or another. Said I better behave. That the reputation of the town was on the line.”

Bitter chuckle, shake of the head, toy with the glass a little.

“Never was much for authority. I wanted to do things my way from day one. Never afraid to tell him that, either.”
He didn’t meet my gaze this time, too focused on endlessly cleaning chipped shot glasses.

“I was already at a pretty low point in my life. Literally. I’d gotten kicked out of some bar and was lying in the gutter, too drunk to move. When one of the bar patrons came out and handed me the phone, I sobered up real fast, I’ll tell you that much.”

Half smirk, sidelong glance at the bartender, wait for a reply.

“I’ll bet. Not every day something like that happens.”

“Well, it did. And now I’m here, miles from my shitty apartment in McMinnville, and it turns out I’m the mayor of the one town I never wanted to come back to.”

At this the bartender set the glass down and leaned in with both hands on the counter

“Say, you mind telling me which town you’ve inherited? I’ve lived around these parts for a good long time, so I might be able to give you the short and skinny.”

Try not to get your hopes up, keep calm, stay cool, and...here.

“The town’s name...is Hillock.”

As soon as my words left my mouth, the man’s demeanor changed. Gone was the friendly bartender, and in its place was a haggard man aged far beyond his years. I tried to look him in the eyes, but he dodged it and stared at the ground, shoulders hunched and face slack with thought.

He stayed this way for a long time, just staring at nothing, fists clenching and unclenching as he considered his next words very carefully.

Stay patient. Any wrong movement or word and I’ll get a darwin award for dying to hotel bedbugs.

I didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, but he finally exhaled explosively and ran his hand over his face before looking around, as if checking for dangerous eavesdroppers. Then he turned his gaze back to me, leaning in and glaring intently as he spoke.

“You’ve been at this a while, haven’t you.”

Easy now.

“If your old man died under mysterious circumstances and people did everything they could to avoid talking about it, how would you answer that?”

He finally broke his eye contact and chuckled, shaking his head.

“I suppose I’d say the same thing.”

“Then why don’t you-”

“Look, kid,” he interrupted, “You’ve tipped me a lot of money tonight, more than anyone this whole week, actually, but there’s really not much I can say.”

Don’t push it, just calm down, calm-

“Bullshit.”

“‘Scuse me?”

Shit, now I’ve done it. Well, seal’s broken. Here we go.

“Everyone says they don’t have information, but every time I mention the town’s name, they clam up so tight I can hear their jaws creak.”

“Look-”

“No, YOU look. I know you’re not like them. You actually give half a shit about my problem. But if you won’t tell me I’m pretty damn sure nobody will. So it’s up to you. Leave me twisting in the wind, or give me something to go on. At this point, I don’t even care. I’ve wasted enough time already.” I slammed back a good quarter of Cap’n straight from the bottle and punctuated my words with a thud as I set the bottle on the bar, then started to stand up, going for a pointedly stormy exit.

A massive firm hand landed on my shoulder and pushed me back into my chair.

“Sit down, alright?” The big man rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his eyes to the corners of the room again, once more checking for an invisible audience. “All I know are rumors, but from what I’ve heard that place is bad news. You really shouldn’t get involved, and I’m not just saying that.”

I sneered and started standing up again, but his hand stayed on my shoulder, preventing me from leaving. “Just relax, OK? I can’t tell you what I’ve heard because if I did, you wouldn’t believe a word of it.”

Try me.

“I have something better than a history lesson- I have someone who knows how to reach the town, someone who happened to witness everything.”

“Really? That’s great! Bring hi-”

The man put a finger to my lips and spoke even lower than before, bringing me to bad breath range.

“There are no guarantees. The man I’m going to introduce is not keen on human company, and it’s going to take a lot of convincing for him to agree to a tour. Just stay there and let me grab him. Shouldn’t take more than a minute.”

With that, he heaved himself off the counter and waddled through the swinging doors in the back.

That was probably confusing, so here’s some background info. My name is Lenny. Everything you read so far is pretty much true. I’d been on the trail for a long time; it took several days just to find people willing to talk about what happened, and the few who did only spoke of urban legends- stories hinting at a monster that ravished the little town of hillock and killed all of its residents. What started as a simple question, “What happened to Dad,” turned into a wild goose chase spanning more than twenty towns. As you can see, I was pretty goddamn frustrated.

But now, at long last, I was about to get an answer.

Back to the story.

A tall, thin man, brown-skinned and wrapped in a tattered fur sat down next to me, making me jump. I turned toward him but he ignored me, looking instead at the bottle of Cap’n. After a few uncomfortable seconds, he hummed his approval, killed the bottle in one draft, and tossed it into the trash before he finally noticed me.

“Hillock?” he grunted, his eyes holding a piercing gleam. I tried to speak, but my mouth dried up and I strangled on my words as his voice tugged on a distant memory.

No way...was he the one who-

“Ezekial, there you are! Why’d you take off, I was about to ask you-”

“It’s good booze you bought there,” he said, ignoring the bartender he’d cut off. I cleared my throat and choked out a reply.

“Y-Yeah.” He stared into my eyes for a few more seconds and a cold sweat began to form at my temples, unsure whether I should break the eye contact or hold it. Luckily, he decided for me, looking back over his shoulder at the bartender who was now glaring incredulously at us, a question at his lips.

“If he wants it so bad, I’ll let him see it,” he said, “his old man and I were good drinking buddies back in ‘Nam. Plus he let me take the rest of his booze, so I at least owe him that much.”

The bartender shut his mouth with an audible click before he could object, but I could tell that the fact that Ezekial and I were already on good terms didn’t suit him one bit.

“Sun’s a bit too low in the sky for my liking. Keep up unless you wanna get real close with nature; I don’t do babysittin’.”

Without another word, he jumped off his seat, slung his leather knapsack over his shoulder, and walked out.

Charming.

I thanked the bartender and shook his limp hand before tucking another fifty in his shirt pocket. Up ahead I saw the strange man disappear into the woods and broke into a brisk job; despite not being a stranger to the wilderness, having grown up surrounded by it, a night alone in the middle of the woods didn’t sound like my idea of a good time.

The sun was still above the trees as we hiked up the fading trail, but the shadows cast from its orange glare were long, proving Ezekial right- it wasn’t long till dark. The crickets had already started chirping, and the warbling and flutters of birds had started to die off as we walked, replaced by the rustles of wolves and foxes in the underbrush.

It was about two hours into the hike when my guide stopped in the middle of the trail. I sighed in relief and sat on the ground, my legs burning from the unexpected exercise.

The trapper, however, had not relaxed, not one bit. In fact, if anything, he seemed even more tense than when we started off. When I looked closer, I saw his nostrils flare as he sniffed the wind.

Something wicked this way comes.

“Ummm...is there something wrong?” I asked, put off a little by his strange actions.

“Shhh - you hear that?” he asked. I quieted my breathing and closed my eyes, listening, but heard nothing but the whisper of branches in the chilly breeze that had begun to blow in from the mountains. I felt a chill come over me as I replied, “I don’t hear anything.”

They say animals have a sort of sixth sense, oftentimes sniffing out trouble long before humans. Typically, they shy away from areas they know are dangerous.

There are no birds there are no bees there are no fish swimming in the seas

“Come on. There’s only a half hour left. Let’s get moving.”

He then turned back around and started off at an even faster pace than before, leaving me scrabbling to pull myself up.

The final stretch felt more like several hours, not a half of one, but I finally saw the break in the trees ahead indicating the town’s outer limits. As I approached, though, I didn’t feel welcome at all.

The breeze had a sickly sweet smell to it, making my stomach turn. Something felt wrong, something in the air. Something perverse and filthy. Then we got closer, and my blood ran cold.

Up ahead in the light of the low-hanging sun, I saw a single, thick plume of smoke.

The burning in my legs forgotten, I surged ahead of my guide, ignoring his cry of surprise and slapping his hand away as he fought to keep me near him. I started out walking, then running, then sprinting as fast as my legs could carry me as my mind began painting nasty images on the inside of my eyelids. As I drew closer, the smell drew stronger and stronger, and my skin prickled as I realized what it was.

Funeral pyre.

When I was younger, our dog got spinal cancer and we had to put him down. At first we wanted to bury him, but after watching star wars we thought it’d be cooler to give him a cremation, like a jedi. Of course the movies don’t prepare you for real life, and after we went through an entire bottle of lighter fluid and set him on fire, we realized just how bad this idea was.

This was nothing compared to the carnage I saw in the town plaza that day.

A massive pile of what had to be hundreds of bodies lay in a rotting heap. Each one of their faces were twisted in expressions of fear and agony, their flesh melting and warping into a sick approximation of their original form as the fat and bones of their comrades provided the fuel for the rest of their twisted bonfire.

Despite warning bells and sirens going off in my head, my eyes remained locked onto the grisly display, inexorably creeping upwards toward a single figure more horrible than all the rest.

A little girl lay at the top of the bonfire, impaled through the stomach by her own splintered femur.

Her little blue dress was now black at the edges and soaked through by blood and bile. Her arm was stretched towards me in supplication, her mouth forming a silent, bloody scream as the fire licked her pale, dripping legs.

I stumbled backwards, tripped over a rock, and fell against a nearby car as the remnants of my lunch came out in a steaming heap all over the ground next to me. The smell of my own vomit and of the burning bodies in front of me caused my belly to lurch again and again until nothing but burning agony poured out my trembling lips.

Finally, my stomach settled, no doubt realizing that there wasn’t anything left, and I just sat there, vision swarming with black spots and mind still reeling at what I’d just seen.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard a throat clear next to me, and saw Ezekial perched on the hood of the car, face wrinkled in concern.

“You done?” he asked. I was about to snap off something sarcastic, but heard the worry in his voice and just nodded. He sighed and looked down at the ground, and for the first time I could see the years painted on his face as he thought for a long moment.

Then he looked up, and his face hardened, his eyes twin fires of burning resolve.

“Let’s head on over here, away from this mess,” he said, hopping off and nodding towards a small copse of trees at the edge of the clearing, “It’s storytime.”

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This was part 1 of an unpublished story I started, but haven't had the time to finish yet. I figured I'd start out my content creation on this platform by posting one of my more recent stories rather than my old, cringy content from the creepypasta wiki (yes I was one of those. Yes, it's probably as bad as you're thinking). There will be more on the way- most likely 1 chapter a day until all of the first section is up here.

I currently have 2 more sections planned, making this my first novel, technically (although it's more of a serial novel where each part is from different perspectives at different times).

Let me know what you think of it in the comments below, and upvote if you enjoyed! I'll see you tomorrow for part 2!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

All cover art is my own work, done in Mr. Doob, a procedural drawing tool, on my Chromebook.