The Candy Man
I dare not open my eyes.
A sweet and sticky smell comes to me like the breath of a dragon, along with the sound of a crying old lady. The Candy Man yanks me in, laughing a mischievous laugh. He said I would see my worst nightmare come to life.
What did this have to do with an abominable snowman, hurling sulfuric acid-laced chocolate cream pies?
“Come, come, be not shy,” giggles the sadistic little man. “Look, look, else someone will die!”
I pry my eyelids apart. I see an elderly woman with gray hair. She's tied to a chair. She dangles from a licorice rope above an enormous vat of boiling butterscotch.
The Candy Man holds up his thick taffy suspenders with round peppermint buttons. “Your Aunt Crystal was bad. Like you, she stole candy. Makes me sad. Return what is mine! Gimme give, and I might let you live!”
“That’s not my aunt ...”
Scrunching his brow, the little fellow pulls a memo from his pocket. “Your name is Dennis Pivot?”
“My name is Marcus ... you idiot.”
Growling, the Candy Man tosses me from the room.