Death and Candy

by David Maloney

  He opened his mouth and howled, a low, chilling sound that gripped my bones and shook them, and the stars exploded into silver fireworks and I fell, forever, into oblivion.

  When I awoke I was naked, and the fire had long since burned to ash which the winds had scattered, leaving only a faint black spot in the dirt. I must have been out for days, maybe weeks, and unease crept in as I realized that I was alone.

  Orin was gone, and the rest of the cult too. The Beast was nowhere to be seen.

  I did not know why the others had abandoned me, nor how I had survived alone in the desert while wandering through the drug-induced psychotic haze that exists beyond the grasp of memory.

  The only half-formed plan that my muddled mind could seize was to get to higher ground, so that I might be able to find my bearings.

  I sighted a canyon in my distance, and over the next two hours I made the grueling hike. My feet were bloody when I reached the top, but my heart was light with joy, because on the distant horizon I saw salvation—our cult’s bus, The Beast.

  It was mid-afternoon when I came upon it. I sprinted to the bus with rising spirits, ready to see my friends. They were there, alright. The insides of The Beast were painted with their blood and viscera.

  The world tilted and spun, and I had to grip a seat to stay upright. I felt my guts heave in protest, and then the torrent of hot vomit exploded from my throat.

  I stared at it in horror as I realized how, during my time unconscious in the desert, I had not starved to death.

  On top of the pile of blood red vomit, I saw a partially digested human toe.

  40

  Welcome to Hell, Please Take a Number

  It never ceases to amaze me how much trouble my daughter can get up to in the milliseconds a day I’m not watching her like a hawk. I once left her alone for two minutes to take a phone call and I came back to find she had somehow stripped naked, opened the front door, and gone outside to use the front lawn sprinklers as a shower.

  Kids, right?

  Still, I don’t know what I’d do without her. She just started the fall semester of third grade last year, and the house felt strangely empty without her. My days were calm and without incident, and I grew to miss the very things that once drove me crazy. I missed the Legos hidden in the carpet, how every doorknob was somehow sticky, even the crayon drawings on the wall.

  But something I’ve learned about parenting is that you are only allowed a few brief moments of calm before another disaster arises, and unbeknownst to me, I was about to face the biggest disaster of them all.

  The problem began with Ms. Robinson. Ms. Robinson was my daughter’s homeroom teacher, and a woman who harbored an enduring obsession with two things: the army of stray cats that besieged her home year-round, and the yuletide season. So, at the beginning of last November, Ms. Robinson decided that it was high time to begin her Christmas-themed lesson plans, one of which was writing letters to Santa Claus.

  Harmless, right?

  Sadly, no.

  As Ms. Robinson’s teaching abilities have never quite matched her enthusiasm for cats and candy cane flavored liqueur, the students’ letters got sent out with some spelling errors. As far as I can tell though, my daughter is the only one who sent her letter out to Satan.

  That shouldn’t have been a problem—just another funny story to add to the highlight reel of hijinks that gets told when the family gets together at Christmas. The problem was that we got a letter back.

  It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and I was napping in my recliner when I was awoken by an urgent knocking at the door. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and pushed myself out of the chair to go see who was at the door and what they could have possibly needed that was so urgent.

  Yet when I opened the door, nobody was there.

  I leaned out and scanned the street, but it was empty. There were no people around, no running cars—even the birds were quiet. I was about to write it off as a prank when I noticed an envelope sitting on my doormat.

  I bent down and picked it up, staring at it as I carried it inside my house.

  The envelope was black and smelled faintly of charcoal. ‘Sarah,’ my daughter’s name, was written on the front in blood red ink.

  My first instinct was to wonder what kind of person would hand-deliver a letter to a five-year-old girl. Turning the envelope over, I slid my thumb under the seal and tore it open.

  I pulled the paper out with care. It looked to be at least a hundred years old, and I feared it might crumble in my hands at any moment. The letter was written in loopy cursive with the same blood red ink that was on the envelope.

  I felt a growing sense of unease in the pit of my stomach as I read the letter, the contents of which I will replicate for you here.

  Dear Sarah,

  Thank you so much for your letter. Almost nobody takes the time to write me anymore. I usually only get letters from Satanists, and they are an awfully strange group of people. I have carefully considered your request for a ‘life-sized, living and breathing teddy bear’ and I believe that our scientists down here have been able to put together a reasonable approximation of your request. Franken Teddy is scheduled to arrive at your doorstep shortly after you receive this letter.

  Yours Truly,

  Satan

  I must have looked rather stupid as I stood there staring at the letter in my hands, my mouth hanging open as I tried to put my thoughts in order. Yet I wager I looked even stupider when I turned around to see a seven-foot tall teddy bear standing behind me and I screamed like a little girl.

  Franken Teddy seemed unfazed by my reaction, and judging by his appearance, I’d guess that he was used to such receptions.

  He had matted brown fur that was patched together with various bits of ragged cloth and covered in what looked suspiciously like blood stains. One of his eyes was a little black button, and the other looked like a glowing ember set somewhere deep in the back of his head. He spoke in a booming monotonous baritone that made me wonder if his vocal chords had been singed by Hellfire.

  “I….AM FRANKEN TEDDY,” he said. “I AM HERE…. TO LOVE YOU.”

  I tried to force my mouth to form words, but all that came out was a small squeaking noise.

  “ARE YOU SARAH?” Franken Teddy boomed.

  “I uh, no. I’m Sarah’s dad,” I replied. “Listen, I don’t really think that—”

  “WHERE IS SARAH?” said Franken Teddy.

  “Well, she’s at school right now and—”

  “THEN I WILL GO TO SCHOOL SO THAT I MAY LOVE HER.”

  “Wait a second. School is over now and she’ll be home any moment. But you can’t—”

  “THEN I SHALL WAIT HERE,” Teddy finished.

  He promptly turned around and made his way to my couch. The couch groaned and sagged under his enormous weight.

  He turned towards me.

  “DO YOU HAVE ANY SOULS OF THE DAMNED?” he asked. “I MUST CONSUME SOULS OF THE DAMNED TO SUSTAIN MYSELF.”

  “Er, no,” I replied. “I’m afraid we don’t.”

  He made a vague grumbling noise in his throat and said, “CHEETOS ARE ALSO FINE.”

  “Oh, well we do have those.”

  “I’LL HELP MYSELF.”

  I looked back down at the letter as Franken Teddy wandered into my kitchen, and saw that there was a customer service number written on the back. I got out my phone to call it, but before I finished dialing I heard a scream sound out from behind me.

  I turned around to see Sarah standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open as she stared at Franken Teddy rummaging through our cabinets and throwing things on the floor in his search for Cheetos.

  “Sarah, honey, don’t be scared,” I said.

  But Sarah wasn’t scared in the least. She shot past me like a bolt of little blonde lightning and leapt on Franken Teddy’s leg, wrapping herself so tightly around it that she was lifted off the ground whenever he took a step.

  “He’s perfect, Daddy!” she screamed.
“I can’t wait to take him to show and tell!”

  I was flabbergasted.

  “Wait, really?” I asked.

  “Of course!” Sarah squealed.

  “Oh,” I said. “But you can’t bring a monster teddy bear to—”

  “ARE YOU SARAH?” Franken Teddy’s booming voice cut me off yet again.

  “Yes!” Sarah shouted.

  Franken Teddy took a knee.

  “MY LADY,” he said. “I HAVE BEEN ENLISTED BY THE DARK LORD SATAN TO SERVE AT YOUR PLEASURE. I SHALL LOVE AND PROTECT YOU WITH MY LIFE, AND I SHALL TEAR YOUR ENEMIES TO SHREDS NEED BE.”

  “Cool!” Sarah shouted. She leapt to her feet and began hopping around Franken Teddy in circles. Not knowing what else to do, I finished typing the customer service number into my phone with shaking hands. The line rang once, and then a tired female voice answered.

  “Hell customer service,” it said, “how may I Hell you today?”

  “Listen, I—wait, did you just say how may I Hell you?”

  The voice on the other end sighed.

  “It’s not my joke,” she said. “It’s just something management forces us to say.”

  “I uh, okay,” I replied. “Listen, I think there’s been some sort of mistake.”

  The woman sighed again.

  “All Heaven and Hell placements are final,” she said. “The appeals process is really more of a formality.”

  “What?” I said. “No, I’m talking about the seven-foot tall monster teddy bear that just showed up at my house.”

  “Oh,” the woman said, her tone relaxing a bit. “You must be the Rogers household.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I replied.

  “Satan wanted to let you know that he hopes your daughter enjoys the gift. He regrets to inform you, however, that he will be out of the office until next Wednesday, so he won’t be able to check back with you until then.”

  I turned and watched Franken Teddy open a family-sized bag of Cheetos and dump its entire contests into his mouth. Several handfuls fell onto the floor, and Sarah trampled them into dust as she hopped around in excitement.

  “Well, can I maybe return him until then?” I asked.

  “No,” the woman said flatly.

  “So I’m stuck with a giant monster teddy bear until Satan calls me next week?”

  “No, of course not,” the woman said.

  “Oh thank God,” I replied, somewhat regretting my phrasing.

  “Satan won’t be calling you,” she said. “He has you scheduled for a face to face.”

  My throat tightened up and my mouth went dry. I tried to tell her that wasn’t necessary, but all I could get out was a few squeaking sounds. She muttered something about ‘humans with no manners’ and hung up the phone with a decisive click.

  I turned back around to see Sarah screaming with laughter as Franken Teddy tossed her up and the air and caught her over and over again. Her hair had fallen over her face and her eyes were bright with joy. I couldn’t help but smile a little despite myself.

  Still, the problem remained of how I was going to keep a seven-foot tall teddy bear hidden from the rest of the neighborhood until Wednesday. And that was a relatively small problem compared with deciding what to do when Satan himself showed up on my doorstep.

  Yet as I watched Franken Teddy tear apart my kitchen, the most pressing issue became clear. I was going to have to buy more Cheetos.

  About the Author

  Not much to say here. I sincerely hoped you enjoyed my stories.

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  Also by David Maloney

  Welcome to Hell, Please take a Number

  Coming Soon! If you enjoyed the final story of this book you definitely want to check out the novelized version that will be out later this year.