The Candyman- Part 4

I remember that morning, waking up to the sound of nothing.

I knew they had gone out to get my father’s job back, but even so I had a distinct feeling of unease, like icy fingers digging their way inside my gut. I had never once woken up to nothing- my mother would always wait till I was up before running errands, and she would always be puttering away somewhere doing chores while humming a happy tuneless song.

That same feeling washed over me as before, when I saw the H&S on my way home. An empty feeling, like all the life had been sucked out.

With my parents gone, our house had no soul.

This feeling persisted even after rubbing the sleep from my eyes and taking a shower, proving that whatever this was, it wasn’t just the remnants of some fever dream or dozing fantasy. It made my stomach ache, so I skipped breakfast and walked straight to the bus stop.

Here, I thought, there would be kids, people. Friends, maybe, acquaintances, certainly. I’d get to see my pal Clark, maybe feel a little better and eat some of the potato chips he seemed to always have.
No such luck. There were still a few kids around, but many of the ones I knew pretty well didn’t show up. I tried to come up with a reason why- maybe they all just got some sort of cold or flu. It was cold season, right? Or flu season? One of those two, it had to be. Yeah.

Or maybe Old Man Trundermann had kidnapped them.

I shook my head, no, no, that wasn’t it at all. Maybe they all had some sort of event or reunion. Family trees did date back pretty far around these parts, after all.

Or maybe Old Man Trundermann had killed them.

Now, that’s enough, I told myself, what’s with all this foolishness about Old Man Trundermann? He’s called “Old Man” for a reason. He’s old. He couldn’t hurt a fly.

As it turned out, most of the kids who didn’t show up at the bus stop ended up showing at school, drowsy and winded from sleep and running; due to the widespread lay-offs many of the kids didn’t have their parents available to wake them up, as they had to search for work in other towns. Clark was one of these, and he ended up being one of the earliest, arriving only a half hour late (many of them came barely a few hours before school let out). I greeted him, and mentioned our plan, mentioned having it sooner, but he could barely hear me.

“The capital of Africa...what was it...Timbuctu! No, that doesn’t work...”

“...our plan?”

“Wait, what? Oh, that, um it’s on Friday, isn’t it?”

For a second I wondered about his reaction...of course, Old Man Trundermann wasn’t a threat or anything, he wasn’t important at all, or course not, but we’d been putting it off and goddamnit we needed to talk.

“Really, history, right now?” I tried to put on my best sardonic smile, but just ended up looking like how I felt- Really Cheesed Off.

He responded in kind, giving me that obnoxious look, the one where if he had glasses, he’d be looking over them at me.

“Just because your parents lost their jobs doesn’t mean you have to get testy. School is still going, and this test is worth 60% of my grade. Buzz off.”

And with that, he left me there, him almost running into poles with his face buried deep in that damn book.

This would be the second of many regrets.

...

Three times you will reject me job, three times
But Clark I
Three times you will reject me, your only friend
But Clark
Where are the holes in your hands, Clark, where are the holes in your hands
Where
Where
...

I’m sorry, I really am, I’ll try to stay longer this time

Up ahead, the house without a soul. That empty, hollow place reeking of nothing, ringing of echoes and aging, settling beams.

Inside, the fridge, advertising meatloaf that isn’t there.

My room, now, bed with sheets rumpled and pillow tossed on the floor.

I collapsed, then, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my parents to come back. How long had it been? One day? Yes, one, but it felt like two.

My stomach growled and shot pain up to my esophagus. I needed to eat, but the nothing without scared me more than the nothing within, so I stayed put.

I suppose time passed, but it was much like now- daylight would come and go and I seemed unable to notice, too absorbed in thoughts and day-mares of what has come and what would be. Sleep would sneak in like a thief, and my body begrudgingly allowed it, thoughts now painted in the vivid surreal glow of dreams.

I suppose this was what prevented me from noticing it at first.

The laughing.

Always, the laughing.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | END

All pictures used are created by me. This one was created in Mr Doob Harmony, a procedural drawing tool that uses HTML5 to draw pictures.