The Candyman- Part 7

I see a dark figure on the other side.

I hear a voice, too, soft and raspy and accented. European, I think, maybe German?

It’s just a little less dark outside than it is in here. His form is just barely visible, only a shadow, hunched and wizened.

And then there’s that voice again, like rough fabric over skin.

So this is what the Devil sounds like

“I apologize for how rudely we’ve treated you,” Satan says. I smirk and rub the sleep out of my eyes, still too tired to say anything.

The Devil doesn’t seem like such a bad guy

“No, no, we won’t harm you any further. Here, what kind of candy do you like?”

There’s the Devil I know. Giving candy to children. Well, fine. I’m not picky. I’ll even take candy corn-

“Taffy, you say? Ah, yes, that’s one of my favorites, too.”

Taffy, but that’s

“Here, run along, now, verflixt kind, I’ll see you soon.”

A large, familiar form passed by, and before I could speak, was gone, like a breath of taffy-flavored wind.

And now, that same, wizened form walking slowly, painfully forward. Closer, closer, until the only thing I could see out the crack of the door was a single, gray, rheumy orb gazing in at me.

“And you, heilig kind. I haven’t forgotten about you.” For a brief moment, he said nothing, and I could swear his eye blinked away a hint of wetness. But the harsh tone at which he uttered his next sentence took away any sense of humanity that might have been present in his frail body.

“You are not welcome here. When I am through speaking, you will open the closet and you will walk out of this place and never come back, do you understand? You are not allowed back, even as a customer. And if I DO catch you back here, well...” he stopped speaking for a bit, as his breathing had become erratic, as if holding in some strong emotion or urge. .But when he spoke next, his words were softer, more carefully placed.

For some reason, this frightened me much more than anger.

“I’m doing this for your own safety. If you come back, I will not be able to stop Them. They have agreed to let you go, but just this once. This-” again, that labored breathing, again, the unshed wetness. “This is your one and only warning. This, what is happening right now- it’s much bigger than you think. Much bigger than just you or your parents, or your friend, or even this town. And, and, mein toricht kind, and-”

Blink blink shudder

“Und I can do nothing to stop it. Now go. Get out.”

The hunched figure, covered in shadow, stepped back as I opened the door. His eyes, they were closed, and his head was turned and bowed as if in morbid respect.

The front door was open, no, HELD open, by the librarian, and he grinned at me around his share of taffy as I passed.
I ran.

I ran all the way home, and didn’t look back.

It was all a dream, I thought, all a dream and if I return to my bed and go to sleep, I will wake up and it will all be OK. My parents, Clark, everything would just be swell, everything would be dandy, it would all be OK, wouldn’t it? Everything would be fine, right Ezz? Everything will be fine, and I’ll wake up and go back to school and-

...

I had to have been asleep.

That’s what I told myself that day, was that I was asleep.

I had been hit by a car or something, and was still in the hospital bed. Or maybe I had died and gone to hell. But what I saw that day, it can’t have happened. Not a chance.

When I woke up, my parents were laughing. They wouldn’t stop. I tried to talk to them, to wave my hand in front of their faces, tried slapping them, shaking them, but they just sat there, laughing. Laughing and staring, staring right into me with those empty orbs.

The sound didn’t fade when I walked out the door, no, far from it. Instead the sound grew louder, as every neighbor, even the postman sat where they fell, laughing and laughing and laughing until their faces grew red and they sobbed for air.

I shook, cried, screamed, grit my teeth, but they just wouldn’t fucking stop, they wouldn’t stop. I tried to think of something, anything, to get them to close their damn mouths, but nothing I tried worked.

They just kept laughing, laughing at a joke I would never get.

I don’t know how long I wandered those lifeless streets, past the bus stop with no bus, past the children that would never grow up. I don’t know what alleys I took, what streets I stumbled down, but eventually I made it to my school, five miles away.

I was a mess at that point, crying and sweating and stumbling on overworked feet. There was the gate, crossing guards just smiling, not saying a word. The courtyard, now, filled with teachers, mascara dripping into their open mouths and dribbling down their chin.

The principal was rocking back and forth on the ground in front of the staff lounge, eyes trembling at something invisible in the distance, mouth stretched into a manic grin.

But only one thought remained in my mind at that point, the one refuge that would keep me from joining them in their mad laughter, the one thing that kept me above these desperate fools.

Clark.
Clark.
CLARK.

A scream rang out across the campus.

As if on cue, every last one of those things rose up as one and stood, swaying back and forth as if hypnotized. Slowly, inexorably, they began to stumble towards the source of the sound, and despite myself I found my feet beginning to move, too.

...

A blue dress.
That’s the first thing I remember, was that she was holding a blue dress.

...

She held it out, away from her, because the blood, it was dripping down her chin and she didn’t want to get it dirty.

“You could have been one of us, sourpuss, you could have been Chosen, but you wouldn’t join.”

A ring had formed around them, now, and a few giggles shuddered through the audience.

“Please, I just want to go home, it’s my sister’s birthday-”

The punch the speaker sent landed with a sickening crack through her nose, but the blood, it never landed on the dress. The poor thing, she kept holding away from her, a present with a recipient of no-one.

“Don’t you get it, sourpusses don’t get birthdays. They don’t live that long. But I’m feeling swell today, it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Ha-ha, it’s a wonderful day to

Get cancer

Join.”

The crowd began to part, then, and for the first time since the fight started, I could clearly see Them.

The group is horrifying, of course, faces grinning madly, eyes black and soulless. But this was not what caused me to pale, what caused me to lose the last scrap of sanity that kept me from falling into that pit of madness.

Behind the group that had beaten up that poor girl, behind them walked a familiar figure, one that I’d never expect to see.

His eyes wandered about, taking in the leering faces, the dripping mouths, as if he were searching for something
Then his eyes met mine, and he stopped. For just a second, I thought I could see just the tiniest bit of him left in those eyes, those sad, resigned eyes.

Then he smiled, and popped another piece of taffy in his mouth.

...

Blue.
The blue dress.
That’s the next thing I remember, is the blue dress, and my burning throat.
I remember hearing a scream, long and inhuman, and I wonder whose it is, because I want them to stop, because I want to stay asleep. But then the voice breaks and I taste blood and realize it’s me who’s screaming.

...

The memory comes back in pieces. Please, bear with me for just a little while.

...

There was a lot of running and stumbling, and falling on my face. The girl from school, she was there, somewhere, I remember her. She didn’t have the dress this time, and her face was no longer hers, it was Theirs.

I remember seeing someone who looked kind of like her, though, but younger...her sister. Yes, it must be, because she was wearing a blue dress and

Oh no, your dress, little girl, it got dirty

Those guys, they were there too but Clark wasn’t with them this time. But the dress, it’s not blue, it’s red, and the girl isn’t a girl anymore, it’s broken and in a heap underneath.

A voice, raspy and hysterical, and it’s saying good thing it wasn’t you, good thing you’ve got such a good friend, good thing it’s such a beautiful day today, such a beautiful day to get cancer.

I’m running now, running to tell a police officer but it’s a clown with a red nose, laughing and stumbling around in its big shoes. He points me to the phone booth and I don’t have a quarter but it’s OK because someone answers anyway. Sourpuss, they tell me. Sourpuss, they say.

I’m just a sourpuss, and I will never be chosen.

Branches, grabbing desperately at my jeans. Water, cold, washing away the warmth I feel spreading at my crotch and
There are no birds there are no bees there are no fish swimming in the seas

No, there is nothing, nobody home, nothing now but ratty canvas and a note advertising a Clark that isn’t there.
I sit inside for a long time, a long long long time, and I listen, I watch, and I wait for someone that will never arrive.

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

All cover art is drawn by me in Mr.Doob Harmony, an online procedural drawing tool.