Death and Candy

by David Maloney

  I could feel tears gathering at the edges of my eyes.

  “Can you… please give it back?”

  Death cocked her head to the side again.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Wait, really? Just like that?”

  “Nobody’s stayed around long enough to talk with me like this before. Maybe it’s possible. But I want you to promise to do something for me first.”

  “A-anything,” I coughed out. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Try to remember what I said.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe it will help someday.”

  “Why would you want to help me?”

  “I’ve been doing this job for a very long time,” Death said. “There have been precious few occasions where I have arrived in time to help someone. Usually the most I can do is clean up the mess.”

  “Oh… but what if it doesn’t make any difference?”

  Death shrugged.

  “Then… maybe I can think of something better to say next time.”

  Then, without saying anything else, she twisted the cork off the bottle and I watched as the string of light twirled its way out, pausing in the air above her hand. Her face was lit by its silvery glow as she held my soul above her outstretched palm. She rounded her lips and blew gently, and the string floated like a dandelion on the breeze back into my body.

  The world around me began to shimmer and glow, the colors of reality melting like crayons left in the sun until all I could see was a bright silver sheen that overtook my whole being.

  My vision went black, and I could feel the cold steel gun barrel pushing against my trembling chin. I set the gun down, sat down on the floor, and cried until I couldn’t anymore.

  I knew that I couldn’t follow Death’s advice. Not that day.

  But I have hope that I will be able to someday. And that’s enough.

  14

  Satan Offered me a Job. I Took It

  “I’m sorry, did you say Satan?”

  The young man standing on my porch nodded eagerly.

  “Yes, sir!” he said. “We have come to spread the message of our lord and savior Satan.”

  I looked from him to his companion. Both were dressed in ill-fitting white button-down shirts and black slacks, with gelled up side part haircuts and slightly manic smiles.

  “Okay…” I said. “Well, I’m not really into the lord and savior thing so I think I’m gonna have to pass.”

  I closed the door only to find the young man’s foot obstructing it. I opened it back up and sighed.

  “Just a moment of your time, sir,” the young man said. “Perhaps a look at our literature could convince you.”

  The other young man lifted up his suitcase and popped open the latches. When I saw what was inside, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

  “Is that…real?” I asked.

  “Oh yes sir,” the first man said, “Go ahead and take a closer look.”

  I slowly reached out and picked up one of the bundles and inspected it. I’m no expert, but it certainly looked like a real stack of hundred-dollar bills to me.

  I looked from the money, to the creepy but overall harmless seeming young men, and then I waved them inside. We sat down around my coffee table and there was a moment of awkward silence.

  “So uh,” I began, clearing my throat, “My name’s David. And you two are?”

  “Oh, forgive my rudeness, sir,” the first young man replied. “I am acolyte Paul, and this is acolyte Stephen.”

  “Uh… well, would you like anything to drink?”

  “Oh no, sir. We do not require sustenance as mortals do,” said Paul.

  “…Right,” I replied.

  I picked up my half-finished beer from the night before and took a swig.

  The two young men just sat in silence, grinning at me as I drank. I coughed a little bit at the end and wiped the stale beer from my lips.

  “You said you came to spread a message, right?” I asked. “So, what’s the message?”

  “We’re really glad you asked,” said Paul. “Satan is recruiting for skilled labor positions in Hell, and we’ve identified you as a top candidate! Congratulations, sir—this is fantastic news for you.”

  My eyes wandered to the suitcase full of money.

  “And uh… what does this job consist of?” I asked.

  “Asking all the right questions,” Paul replied. “You’re a real sharp customer, David. The details are all laid out in this contract here. Stephen?”

  Stephen produced a single piece of paper from somewhere I couldn’t see and laid it on the coffee table.

  I picked up the paper and stared at it.

  “This is a contract?” I asked.

  “Oh yes sir,” said Paul.

  “What language is this?”

  “It’s written in Old Enochian, sir, the language of angels.”

  I set the contract back down on the table.

  “Well, what’s it say?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry sir,” said Paul. “I can’t read Old Enochian. We were just instructed by our superior to deliver the contract along with your signing bonus.”

  “Signing bonus?” I asked.

  Stephen popped open the latches to the suitcase once again.

  “So you’re telling me,” I said, setting down my beer, “that if I sign that piece of paper, you’re just going to give me a suitcase full of money.”

  “Yes sir, that’s the deal!” Paul said enthusiastically.

  I took another swig of beer.

  “Got a pen?” I asked.

  Paul handed me the pen and I scribbled my name messily on the bottom of the paper, which Stephen promptly snatched up and stowed away somewhere I didn’t see.

  “Wow, that’s great,” said Paul. “I guess we’d better go now.”

  “Alright,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Very funny sir,” said Paul. “Of course I meant we three had better go.”

  “What do you mean by—”

  My voice was cut off by a roaring sound as the three of us fell through the floor. Hot air rushed past us as we fell towards a distant red glow. Paul and Stephen’s faces remained frozen in their manic grins as their ties flapped up and whipped around their heads.

  We fell hard on the glowing red dirt below, sending up a cloud of dust around us. When the dust cleared I found myself in a strange cross between a cave and an office, facing a large obsidian desk behind which sat a high-backed leather chair.

  The chair slowly swung around to reveal a smiling red demon in a suit.

  “Hi David,” he said. “I’m Satan. Now let’s talk about that job.”

  15

  Fargo

  Though he wasn’t real, Fargo was the best friend I ever had. We moved a lot, sometimes twice in one year, to wherever my dad could find work, so it was hard to make any real friends. New toys weren’t a luxury we could afford, but I didn’t mind—I loved Fargo more than any kid ever loved their new PlayStation or trampoline.

  He was a breadbasket sized stuffed dog we had bought from the flea market when I was seven. He looked like a mutt, and had soulful chocolate brown eyes.

  The old woman who sold him to us said that he contained the soul of an ancient guard dog. She also said, however, that she had removed all her dental fillings so that the CIA could no longer track her, so I don’t think my parents took her seriously. Her word was enough for my imagination, though, and soon Fargo had come to life, even if I’d forgotten the stuff about fillings and the CIA.

  Every day after school Fargo and I would go treasure hunting around the neighborhood together. He led me to all sorts of amazing things: a stick that was a magic wand, a piece of glass that was a diamond, and a bird’s nest that was a king’s crown—those are just a few examples of the wonderful treasures we found.

  Fargo made me the happiest kid in the world. Until the day he got ripped.r />
  It had started off the same as any other day, Fargo had told me that there were mermaid scales down by the creek, and so we went looking for them. We had just found a big one when I heard a low rumble coming from beside me—Fargo was growling.

  He was turned away from the creek, looking at something behind me. I turned around to see a man I didn’t know. He wore a washed-out denim jacket and he smelled like cigarettes. When I looked at him I couldn’t help but get a sinking, uneasy feeling in my stomach. He smiled.

  “Hey kid,” he said, “what are you doing?”

  “Collecting mermaid scales,” I answered.

  “Oh, is that right?” the man asked, edging towards me. “Well I’ve got a whole real-life mermaid back at my house, and she’s just giving away her scales for free. Wanna see?”

  I backed up towards the creek.

  “Um, no thanks,” I said. “My mom says I’m not supposed to go off with strangers.”

  I could hear Fargo growling again, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

  “Come on, kid, you gonna pass up the chance to see real life mermaid?” he said, and his grin widened to reveal gaps in his crooked yellow teeth.

  He was still edging closer to me, and I got the sudden urge to run. I glanced around and saw I was in an elbow in the creek—the only way out was forward. I picked Fargo up and held him out in front of me like a shield. He barked and snapped at the man, but the man still didn’t stop moving forward.

  “Is that for me?” the man asked. He lunged at me. I pulled back but it was too late, he had swiped Fargo from my hands. “He’s a cute dog,” the man said.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a little brown knife. He clicked a silver button on the side, and a blade popped out. He stuck the blade into Fargo’s stomach, and Fargo let out a yelp that the man couldn’t hear. He threw Fargo on the ground and Fargo lay there whimpering, staring at me with pleading eyes as his stuffing leaked out onto the ground.

  I took another step back and felt my foot sink into the mud. I had reached the embankment of the creek. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. My heart pounded in my ears. I had to run.

  The man lunged for me again. I felt his fingers close around my wrist. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to pretend I was somewhere else. I heard a scream, and I opened my eyes again to see the man stumbling backwards, swinging his arms around wildly. A stray dog was leaping at him, barking and snapping. The dog clamped his jaws around the arm that wielded the knife, and the arm spurted blood.

  There was a loud rip, and the dog’s jaws came unglued from the man’s wrist, taking part of the denim jacket with it. The man slashed the dog across the face, and the dog yelped and fell back. The man charged, but the dog crouched down low, sending the man tumbling headlong into the mud of the creek. The dog leapt at him, and the man scrambled up and bolted, little flecks of mud flying off behind him as he ran. I could hear the dog growling somewhere behind me as I watched the man disappear into the distance. The growling stopped, and I turned around to see the dog was gone.

  I walked over and picked Fargo up. He wasn’t alive anymore.

  His little brown eyes stared at nothing, plastic and empty, and his stuffing spilled out of the rips in his belly and face.

  It wasn’t until I leaned closer and saw the little piece of washed out denim sticking out of Fargo’s mouth and the flecks of blood that dotted his muzzle that I remembered the man hadn’t slashed Fargo’s face at all. He had slashed the stray’s face. My arms prickled up with goosebumps, and I gently tugged at the scrap of denim. It slid out of Fargo’s mouth, and the seam that had always closed up his snout sealed up behind it.

  I took Fargo back to my mom, telling her nothing of what had happened. She stitched him up, admonished me for not being careful and handed him back. I held him up to my face, and his eyes sparkled with life.

  16

  The Empty Body

  When we opened the body there was nothing inside.

  No organs, no bones—nothing. We were hard-pressed to even explain how the skin retained its shape, instead of collapsing like an empty glove. We called the feds on that one—way above our pay grade, we decided.

  A pair of feds was there in an hour. They didn’t look like I expected. I thought they’d be wearing black suits, sunglasses and earpieces. Instead they were dressed in white lab coats and scrubs.

  “It’s our job to blend in with the environment,” the first fed said. “Can you show us to the body?”

  I did as I was asked, and we four stared down at the body, the feds, my technician and me. There’s something about the fluorescent lights of the morgue that makes the bodies look unreal. Their flesh is pallid and dull, like a statue from a wax museum.

  “We’re gonna have to call this in,” the first fed said.

  The second one reached for his phone, but he never got to it. The body lurched upright and seized the two agents by the throats. Slowly, the flesh of his Y-incision began to knit back together.

  The feds reached for their guns and I collapsed to the ground with my hand on my heart.

  The gunshots tore through the hollow flesh suit, but the creature continued to squeeze. The agents’ faces turned red and then purple, their eyes bulging and shot with blood. For a moment I thought that they were going to pop right off, but I didn’t stay to find out.

  As soon as I got my wits about me I bolted, smashing through the metal double doors and sprinting up the stairs to the first floor. My heart was pounding hard in my chest, racing to catch up with my breath, but my mind was focused on one thought only: Get as far away from this place as you can.

  I hoped my morgue technician had gotten out too, but I didn’t turn around to check. I jumped in my car and with shaking hands thrust the key in the ignition. I peeled out of the lot and onto the main road, frantically swerving my way through the traffic as I raced towards the police station.

  I didn’t know what I’d just seen, but I knew I had to warn someone. I arrived at the police station a babbling mess. They sat me in a room with a mirror in it and gave me some water. They told me to calm down, and there were murmurs behind my back about putting me in the psych ward for a seventy-two hour hold.

  As soon as I heard that I knew that I had to leave. But as I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, I saw something that made me stop. Four people had come into the station in lab coats: my technician, the feds, and the man who’d been on my table.

  I went out the back hallway and through the emergency exit. I managed to circle back to my car before I heard gunshots inside.

  That night I drove as far as a tank of gas would take me, and checked into a motel under a fake name. Over the next few days I watched the news reports for the town, but they didn’t report anything strange.

  Some nights I lie awake and wonder what happened. Were the police able to put them down? Did the feds come in and cover it up? Or is there a small town in the American Midwest that’s full of hollow people, just waiting for the chance to tear somebody open and hollow them out?

  I’m not sure I want to find out.

  17

  Sexual Predators

  “So uh… what do you do for a living?”

  “What do I do?” The woman on the barstool next to me cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “You’ve been staring across the bar at me all night,” she said. “You’ve bought me two drinks, I’ve seen you look at my cleavage no less than three times, and you want to know what I do for a living?”

  “Uhh…”

  “You want to fuck me,” she said.

  I wasn’t really sure what to say, but I wish I’d at least remembered to close my mouth.

  “Does it really matter what I do?” she went on. “Would you not want to fuck me if I were an evolutionary biologist or something?”

  “No, I—”

  “Good, then let’s get out of here and go fuck each other’s brains into jelly.”

  “Uh, did you say—oof!”

  She grabbed my
hand and practically yanked me off the bar stool, dragging me out the door to a black BMW sedan.

  “Oh by the way,” she said once we’d gotten seated, “you’re not a murderer, right?”

  “I—what? Why?” I said flabbergasted. “Do I look like a murderer?”

  “No, but neither did Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer or Rodney Alcala.”

  “Well—”

  “Gacy and Manson did though, so I’d say the odds are about fifty-fifty. I know Krav Maga, just so you know.”

  She didn’t wait for my response, she just threw the car into gear and stomped the gas pedal like she was angry with it.

  When we got to her place the clothes flew off so fast I would’ve thought she had at least eight hands, and it wasn’t two minutes before she was naked and lowering herself down onto my lap.

  “Ahh-” she gasped as she slipped me inside of her, rocking her hips gently back and forth. The way her body moved was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, the rhythmic, fluid contortions like some surreal dance.

  My face grew hot and my mind heavy, and soon I could no longer remember who this woman was, who I was, or where we were. There was nothing left in the world but the sensual twisting of her body.

  We reached the climax together, and the moans of pleasure turned into screams as we twisted our sweat-slicked bodies together.

  After it was over I couldn’t move. The whole world was a haze of pleasure and warm comfort—soft and silent.

  And then my lover’s face began to twist, stretching and bulging out like a rubber mask about to burst at the seams, and burst it did.

  Out of the blood and torn shreds of face emerged a large insectoid head. I willed my muscles to move, but they would not cooperate. I realized with horror that she must have done something to paralyze me.

  The insect’s jaw unhinged, stretching wide over my head, its hot breath invading my nostrils as a ragged black tongue slid up my cheek. My head slid down the gullet and its throat squeezed me down like a fleshy vice-grip. And then, for no discernible reason, I could feel my head sliding back out of the beast’s maw, the putrid stink of its insides replaced by the cool, calm fragrance of fresh air.