I never believed in the Lollipop Man. He was just one of those Boogeymen that the bullies would use to try to make us cry on the playground. Their taunt started:
“The Lollipop Man drives an ice cream van
And travels from town to town.
He offers you sweets
But if you eat his treats
He’ll bury you in the ground.”
The boys would always start that stupid song every time we heard an ice cream truck from the blacktop. It never worked on me, though. Like Bloody Mary, I knew he was fake. Only kids believed in monsters. And I wasn’t a kid anymore. I could use the microwave by myself, I had a cell phone, and I could even walk to my friend’s house by myself.
And that’s what I was doing when it happened.
I was on my way to Melody’s house to work on our science project. It was almost spring, so I chose to break out my favorite plaid skirt that day instead of those ugly khaki uniform pants. But it wasn’t quite warm enough yet, and the wind was biting my knees.
Uniforms were just one of the things I hated about St. Mary’s School. Another thing I hated was Lent. I’d given up sugar again, which seemed easy enough, but after days of no soda, no cookies, and no candy, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it to Holy Thursday. They said this was supposed to help me get closer to Jesus or something.
I could hear the circus music of the truck as it crept up the road behind me. My stomach ached, but I pulled out my phone and pretended to text, hoping it would just pass me by.
But it stopped.
“Good afternoon, little lady.” The man smiled at me. His gaze felt warm and inviting, and I couldn’t help but smile back as I caught a glimpse of his colorful clown outfit. He wasn’t wearing any clown makeup, though, which I found a bit strange. And he was strange-a stranger. I loved sweets, so I knew every ice cream man in town. But I’d never seen him before.
“Hello,” I replied politely, just as my mother had taught me. Then I looked back down at my phone and continued to walk to Melody’s.
“Do you want to buy a treat?”
“Um…it’s too cold for ice cream. Thanks.” I kept walking.
“I don’t sell ice cream, silly goose. I sell candy.” He was leaning out of the window, smiling at me with perfect white teeth.
My stomach growled, and I stopped. My mouth watered at the thought of it. I could hear Sister Agatha’s voice in my head: ‘Never fall for temptations, they always lead to sin.’
“That’s okay, thanks. Besides, I don’t have any money.” I forced my gaze back to the glowing screen on my phone and shuffled down the sidewalk away from the clown and his candy.
I did have money. That was a lie. And lying was a sin, too.
“Well, alright then. But I can’t stand to see a kid without any sweets. How about a sucker on the house?”
I looked around at our quiet suburban street for anyone who might see me break my Lent sacrifice. My mother would be so mad at me if she knew.
As if he could read my mind, he chuckled, “No parents here. It’s just a sucker, kid. Here. Have a nice day.”
He held up a bright pink lollipop the size of a large strawberry. It was so pretty and delicious-looking. I couldn’t help myself.
I took it.
He smiled as I brought it to my lips and put it in my mouth. The sweet sugar melted on my tongue. But then..suddenly…it was as if the sucker was made of glue. It stuck to my cheeks, my lips, my tongue. I tried to pull it out, but I couldn’t. It ripped at my mouth, and I could taste blood. Hot burning tears ran down my cheeks as I tried to scream, but it came out quiet and muffled.
The man reached down and pulled me up into the truck like I weighed nothing. He threw me on the floor with a thud as my head hit the metal floor, making me dizzy. Then he quickly got behind the wheel and started driving away. The circus music began to play again.
I yanked on the candy and tried to peel my lips away, but it was no use. I was beginning to see stars, and everything felt like it was fading to black, as my eyelids grew heavy.
The last thing I remember was the second verse of that horrible playground rhyme floating through my mind:
“Take one lick, and you’ll never stop.
And all they’ll find is a lollipop.”
And that’s all they ever found of me, too.
Tag: short-story
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It was Halloween night, and I was dressed in my armor, ready for battle. It was our yearly tradition: my friends and I would dress up in our favorite LARPing costumes and hold games, costume competitions, and even melee fights. It was my turn to host the party, and I’d spent the whole week cleaning out the garage and stocking up on soda and Halloween candy. I couldn’t believe my mom was cool with it. But then again, she and I had always been close.
Unlike my brother Felix. He wasn’t close with anyone. Especially not me. He was 15, only a year younger than me, but we had nothing in common. While I was always out hanging with my friends, he would be locked up in his room, doing who knows what. And even though we went to the same school, I never saw him because he was always suspended.
There was something inside Felix. Something…dark. He never wanted to spend time with me. Just talking to him would cause him to give me the evil eye. Which was why I was so surprised when he showed up at the party. He was dressed in a purple wizard’s costume with a black crystal staff. It looked professional; far more intricate than anything he could have made himself. At first, no one else seemed to notice he was there. That was, until he started to speak.
“Ambrose!” His voice reverberated off the walls, shaking my armor. He didn’t sound like himself. It was as if someone…or something…were speaking through him. “I challenge you to a duel!”
The room fell silent, and while a few of them started to whisper under their breath, or even chuckle at his proposition, no one moved. They all looked to me, waiting for my reaction.
I shook my head, “No. I’m not going to fight you, Felix. But you are welcome to join our party. Maybe I could teach you some of our board games or…”
“I’m not here to play,” he boomed in an almost otherworldly voice, “Your honor is challenged. You must fight me!”
“Felix, I’m serious. I can’t fight you. My sword isn’t sharpened, but it’s real. You see this?” I beat my chest plate, “It’s padded like a football uniform. But even with that, these weapons leave bruises. It’s dangerous. I could kill you.”
He broke out in hysterical laughter, “Kill me? Well, what about your stupid chivalric code? You can’t run from a fight, Ambrose.”
“I’m only required to fight if I’m challenged by an equal.”
“You always think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Prove it,” he hissed.
Just looking at him made my stomach hurt. I thought about going to get mom, but doing that in front of my friends would be so embarrassing.
The room started to chant, “Ambrose! Ambrose!” With a sigh, I picked up my helmet and pulled it on, drawing my broadsword.
“You first,” he sneered, holding his arms out, exposing his entire body to my blow.
At first, I couldn’t even decide where to strike him that wouldn’t land him in the hospital. The guard on my helmet didn’t help. It narrowed my vision, making precision difficult.
As I raised my sword, the room cheered. But I didn’t feel the excitement. I was pissed.
“This is so fucking stupid,” I grumbled. I swung my sword down, hoping I’d miss him altogether. But it didn’t fall. My hands slipped from the hilt, and the sword just stayed there, floating above my head. “What the hell?”
Felix was laughing. The black staff he held was glowing purple, “What? I thought you liked magic, bro. Oh, well. I guess it’s my turn.”
My sword turned and pointed inches from the eye slits in my helmet. Unsure of what to do next, I lunged for his staff, but the weight of my armor threw me forward harder than I wanted to, and I toppled into his legs, knocking him over.
His staff fell to the ground and smashed, filling the air with thick black smoke. It burned my eyes, but I could hear everyone else coughing, screaming, and running out the door. I gasped for air, and as the smoke cleared, the room came back into view. There, beside me, I saw my brother lying on his back with my sword in his chest. His clothes were soaked with blood.
“Oh, God! No! No! Felix, I’m so sorry!”
He was still alive, but only barely. With a shaking hand, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small but thick notebook, bound in leather.
“The…Reaper…find the…” he inhaled sharply, tears dripping down his face. His gaze softened, then he was gone.
“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, taking the journal and flipping wildly through it in search of the word “reaper.” The notebook was filled with dark charcoal sketches and messy cursive notes.
Towards the back of the book, I saw it:
The Reaper’s Candle
A dark, magical item capable of bringing a soul back from the dead. The Candle is found only after defeating Erebus, the guardian of the gates to the underworld. He can be found once a year, on Halloween night, walking among the dead between 11:11 and midnight.
This was like something straight out of one of my games. But it wasn’t a game. With a sickening sound, I pulled my bloody sword from his body. Felix had been right: my honor was being challenged. And this time, I wouldn’t fail.
I locked the garage door from the inside so no one would stumble upon his body. Luckily, my mother was already asleep. I ran outside and pushed through the few friends that were still on my lawn, coughing up smoke. Without a word, I jumped behind the wheel of my car, armor and all, and sped towards Hilgard Hill Cemetery.
I arrived just after 11, with just a few minutes to spare. I killed the engine and stepped out into the darkness among the rows of graves. The only light was the moon, and it wasn’t nearly bright enough to ease my anxiety as I scanned the darkness for any sign of the guardian.
For a moment, the cliche of it all brought a smile to my face, and I started to laugh. A graveyard on Halloween? This had to be a joke. Felix must have been pulling some elaborate practical joke for attention. Maybe he was just mad I didn’t invite him to the party.
“Felix, you asshole,” I sighed, getting back into the car. He was okay. He was probably just waiting for me to get home so he could tease me when I returned.
I put the key in the ignition, but…it didn’t start. I tried again, but all I got was a click…click…click.
BANG! I jumped out of my skin as something hit the top of my car. I snatched my sword from the passenger seat and stepped out to investigate it, but there was nothing there.
“Okay, Felix. You win. Come on out.” I tried to sound confident, but my voice was shaking badly.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the graveyard, and he appeared before me out of thin air: Erebus, guardian of the underworld.
His body and limbs were long and thin, covered in tattered clothes and rotting flesh. His head was a menacing jack-o’-lantern, and inside it glowed a shimmering black candle. My skin grew clammy beneath my armor, and I felt dizzy as I watched him approach me with long, silent strides. He didn’t have a weapon, but after seeing Felix’s magic, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
He stopped just inches from me, dwarfing me with his height. He didn’t move or speak. He just stared down at me. My limbs grew weak. I was no knight. I wasn’t brave. I was just terrified. I didn’t want to fight, and the gravity of the situation brought me to my knees.
“Please, Erebus,” I sobbed, “I need the Candle to save my brother. I just want to save him.”
Erebus reached down, wrapped his grimy, bony fingers around my neck, lifted me from the earth, and held me in front of his blazing orange face. He threw his head back in a piercing cry like the wail of someone who had just lost everything. He locked eyes with me, and his expression morphed into something menacing as his grip tightened, strangling me.
I tried to pry his hands from my throat, but he was too strong. As I started to see stars and my face became hot and swollen, I remembered the sword in my hand. I brought it up and swung it down with all the might I had left. This time I didn’t miss. The blade sliced through his pumpkin head with a loud crack, and he released me. I hit the ground with a thud and looked toward where he had fallen. There, covered in blood and pumpkin goo, was the Reaper’s Candle.
I sped home with the treasure, running through the kitchen and quickly picking the lock to the garage. I held my breath as the door swung open. There was still a part of me that hoped Felix would jump out and yell, “Surprise,” and we could go back to normal. But of course, he didn’t. His body was still there, dead and lifeless, in a puddle of blood.
I rushed to his side, pouring the gooey black wax into his chest. As the wax dried, he began to cough, and jerk, and cry. He suddenly shot up with a shout, and then, with a deep breath, he smiled.
“You saved me?”
I threw my arms around him, “Of course I saved you! Felix, what the hell have you gotten yourself into? What’s all this black magic about?”
He shrugged, “I guess you’re just a better person than me. And I think the better question is what have I gotten us into?”
He pointed down to my hand, and I followed his gaze. The Candle was still in my hand. It was stuck, melted into my skin. And it was starting to burn.
“Felix, help me get this off. How do I get this off?” I pulled at it, but it started to spread up my arm, burning and melding to my skin.
“A life for a life,” he explained, “Didn’t you read the page? It requires sacrifice. The one who uses the Candle becomes its guardian. Have a good night, Ambrose. Or should I say, Erebus?”
He stood, walking out the door as the clock in the kitchen chimed midnight.
“Ah, perfect timing. See you next year, brother. Maybe we can battle again. Oh, and you can keep your honor, I’d rather keep my life.”
With a wink, he locked me in, writhing in burning pain as the Candle overtook me and I faded away from this world and into my new life as Erebus, guardian of the underworld.
-
I’d been a moving man for a decade, and I’d seen all sorts of strange items that got packed away. Insect collections, taxidermy animals, jars full of old pennies, used dishes, dirty laundry, you name it. It never bothered me before, and I’d never felt scared of going into other people’s homes; at least, not until I met Old Clara.
Her case was a familiar one: an elderly woman packing up to move into a senior living community after the death of her husband. There was usually a sense of sadness in the air, but also hopes of a fresh start. These sorts of women always loved to talk my ear off while I moved the boxes and furniture into my truck, but I didn’t mind. They usually had some fun stories that kept me entertained while I worked, and sometimes they would even offer me a glass of lemonade or a casserole for my troubles.
Clara seemed to be the same way at first. I’d arrived at her house on the scheduled Thursday afternoon. Her stuff would be packed up, and then I’d deliver it the next morning. She’d said she wanted to get it there before the weekend, when they didn’t allow moving trucks at the senior center because family visits would take up all the parking spaces.
“You have any family coming to help you move in this weekend, Clara?” I’d started moving a few boxes of fragile decorations from the living room. Based on the last few items I watched her collect and pack when I first arrived, I guessed they were Precious Moments figurines. She seemed like the type.
“Oh, no. Well, not family per se. It’s just me now. I’m having one of Roger’s old friends over to help.” She busied herself with a tea kettle in the kitchen. “Roger and I couldn’t have kids. But he didn’t mind. He was always such a busy man. No time for anything else, really. It’s probably a good thing he isn’t here, though. He wasn’t exactly kind to…well, your kind.”
“My…kind…” I looked down at the dark skin of my hands, and it hit me. It wasn’t uncommon to run into this kind of comment in lower Alabama, but sometimes it still caught me off guard. The cozy house felt a little less comfortable, but I decided to stick to business and avoid asking too many personal questions from then on. “Sorry for your loss, ma’am. By the way, I also do unpacking if you need extra help. Since you already hired me for the move, I can give you half off the unpacking if you’d like.”
She waved away my comment, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m very particular. I know exactly how I want all my little knick-knacks. I’ll need someone who knows how I like things.”
With a shrug, I went back to loading the truck. Each time I entered the house to grab more stuff, she would tell me little stories about Roger and their cats, or how she used to be a travel agent back in the day. She’d explain all about the different items in the boxes as I carried them, and after the first half hour, she offered me some of her blackberry tea, which I gladly took, sitting down with her on an ugly floral couch with cushions that sank deep into the chair when you sat on them.
“Now, before you go upstairs,” she explained, gazing at me from over her thick, bug-like glasses, “I’m not done packing up the closet in my bedroom. It still has some of Roger’s things, and I’d like you to leave the closet alone until I am done packing it up. His things are very precious to me, and I don’t want them getting all jumbled up.”
I nodded, “Of course, ma’am. I won’t touch anything in that closet until you give me the thumbs up.”
“Don’t even look in there,” she snapped.
I was shocked to hear this sweet old lady bark orders at me like that. I downed the rest of my tea and hopped up to get back to work. She didn’t seem to notice the cautious shift in my body language and continued spinning me tales for a few more minutes until she disappeared up the stairs to finish packing.
I sighed with relief and tried to keep my mind clear while I loaded some of the furniture into the truck with my dolly and straps. One of the benefits of physical work is that it serves as a stress reliever, kind of like going to the gym every day.
I’d finished the main floor, so I carefully started making my way up the stairs. The house was quiet now, but I needed to find Clara and get her approval before I started moving everything down. I found her sitting on the floor in her bedroom, staring at the closed closet door. Grief did strange things to people, and I couldn’t imagine it was easy to leave behind the home that she and her spouse had shared. So, while her strange posture and wide eyes creeped me out a bit, I tried not to judge.
“Just getting ready to start moving this stuff down, ma’am. Just let me know when you are done with that closet and I’ll take those boxes down, too.”
She didn’t move or look my way. She didn’t make a sound. She simply stared at the closet door.
I went back to work, moving, lifting, sweating, and grunting. Luckily, while some of her things were heavy, she didn’t have as much stuff as some of the big families I had moved, so I would hopefully be done by supper. Once I was finished with every other room, I forced myself to go back into the bedroom and confront her again, no matter how weird she was behaving.
“Alright, Miss Clara. I think I’ve finished the rest. You ready for me yet?” I peered into the room, but she wasn’t in there. “Clara?” I called, but there was no answer.
The closet door was now partially open, and a light was on inside. I stepped towards the door. It felt as if a magnet was pulling me towards it. As I swung the door the rest of the way open, I saw that the closet was mainly filled with boxes and empty hangers. The boxes weren’t taped up, but I had rolls of it down in the truck, so I wasn’t worried about it. Relieved at the sight, I picked up one of the boxes and began moving it out, but it got caught on something. I tugged, and a long, thick rope that was partially trapped under a different box was pulled through the open flap on top of the one in my hands. The rope hit the floor with a thud.
It took me a minute to process what I was looking at. The rope was knotted at the end with a large loop: a noose. I dropped the box I was holding, spilling its contents, but I barely noticed. I grabbed as much of the rope as I could and tossed it into the now-empty box. Then I frantically started throwing the other items back in.
There is nothing to be nervous about…it was probably a Halloween decoration or used for hunting or something.
There were newspapers and desk supplies, and fliers all over the ground. There was also a book with a strange name that caught my eye as I put it back in the box. It was called “Kloran.” Suddenly, a dark shadow passed behind me. It was Clara.
“Just finished brewing some more tea. Cookies are cooling down now.”
I jumped up and tossed the book into the box, “Thank you, ma’am. I was just coming to ask if you were ready for me to finish moving these boxes now.”
“They’re all packed, but I seem to have run out of tape,” she said in a flat tone. Her face was unreadable. “Do you have any I could use?”
“Of course. Yes. Let me go down and get it.” There was a pause while she hovered there in the doorway, looking at me with a suspicious gaze before stepping aside and letting me by.
I practically jogged to my truck to get the tape. There was something about her, and about the house that made me uneasy. Outside, I could breathe again. I was tempted to get behind the wheel and drive. Instead, I took a deep breath, picked up a roll of packing tape, and went back into the house.
Clara was back in the kitchen, moving cookies from a baking sheet onto a large porcelain plate.
“I got the tape.”
“Thank you so much. You can go ahead and get those boxes taped up, and I’ll finish up this tea.”
I crept up the stairs, approaching the closet like it was a wild animal that might jump out and attack me if I moved too fast. I’d never had a client act like this about boxes before. I’d seen a lot of crazy things; there was no way anything in those boxes would scare me…right?
I taped up the boxes one by one and put them in the truck. I was tempted to peek, of course, but the stern look she gave me flashed through my mind. She reminded me of my 3rd grade teacher when she suspected me of cheating on our world geography test. I didn’t do it, but I still felt guilty of something. Once the closet was empty, I did one more visual sweep of the room, then flicked off the lights and started to head back down. But inside the closet, I could see a bit of light shining through the edges of the back closet wall, as if there was a door there with a light on inside.
I stepped back over to it, carefully tracing the edges with my fingertips. I felt a small latch on the right edge. As I pulled on it, the wall slid open, revealing another room behind it. The room was illuminated with candles. It was unfinished, and more like an attic or storage space than a room. There were beams with exposed wires hanging down from above. In the center of the room was a table with a framed picture of Roger, surrounded by more news articles, a bunch of police paraphernalia, and a white robe with a red-and-white cross patch. It was a shrine.
I quickly stepped out and closed the wall up again, sprinting down the stairs.
“All done?” she asked cheerfully.
I froze, unsure of how much to tell her. Should I tell her that there were still a few things she forgot? What if that was what she didn’t want me to see?
I tried my best to compose myself, “Yes, ma’am. I believe so.”
“Wonderful! I’d ask you to sit, but we don’t have anywhere to sit, do we? How about we stand in the kitchen and share a cup of tea before you go?”
I still felt uneasy, but nothing had happened that she knew of, and rushing out could be suspicious. Clara seemed to be back to her cheery self, so as far as I knew, she had no idea that I had seen that weird ritual room.
“Alright, but just one cup. I have to rest up to take everything out of the truck tomorrow.”
“Of course.” She poured me a steaming cup, and I sipped it slowly, trying not to chug it from thirst. Then, her smile morphed into something else, “You really are nice for a colored man.”
“Excuse me?” I put the cup down with a little too much force, cracking it as the rest of the tea spilled out onto the counter.
“You know, I know what it’s like to feel judged. Like you can’t be anything more than what they label you as. I’m just a woman. Just Roger’s wife. And now that he is gone, they want to move on without me. No more invites, no more phone calls asking for my advice. Well, unlike them, I truly believe in Roger’s legacy. I believe in what he stood for, and I will make sure they don’t leave me behind. I will take his place. And you…you are going to help me get there.”
The room began to spin, and I stumbled, trying to stand straight. “The…tea…what was….” Before I could finish my question, I hit the floor with a heavy thud. Suddenly, I could hear another person’s voice in the room—a man.
“Wow, Old Clara! You weren’t joking, huh? Alright, well, we’ll get him moved up to the new meeting room. And thanks again for agreeing to use this house as the new permanent Klavern.”
I could hear her as I started to black out, “Of course. I look forward to the vote tonight. The stuff we need for him is in the boxes in the back of his truck. It went in last, so it should be easy to get to.”
Then, darkness and silence overtook me.
When I woke up, I was sitting in a chair, my arms and feet were tied, and I could hear the mumbling of many voices around me. As the room came into focus, I could see figures around me illuminated in the candlelight. They were all wearing white robes, and all but one of them was wearing a white mask with a pointed white hat- KKK members. The unmasked member wore a red robe and stood before me. I looked up to see Clara, smiling down at me. I tried to speak, but they had tied a cloth around my mouth as well.
She raised her arms and turned to face the dozen or so people around us. “Tonight, we come together to honor my late husband and vote on our new Grand Titan to take his place. I’m wearing his robes tonight, because I believe that I am the best fit for the job.”
The men in the masks began grumbling to one another again. But she continued, while I struggled against my restraints. My heart was beating so hard it felt like it wanted to break out of my chest. The ropes around my wrists dug into my skin. I wanted to cry out as burning tears streamed down my face, but I was helpless.
“I share your pain, your fear, and your heritage. I am sickened at the way our politicians are letting these lowlifes destroy our communities. As Roger’s wife, I stood by his side as this Klub was formed, and today I ask to continue his legacy of pride in our White nation. Here is one of them. Their kind has always fed off of our wealth, raped our women, and demanded that we give them everything we’ve worked for and created while they sit on their lazy asses begging for scraps like dogs. I found this creature looking through my boxes today, hoping to steal some of my jewels, no doubt. And today I’m here to say, no longer should we wait around for them to attack us. We need to be on the defensive. If you vote me as our next leader, you will no longer have to wait for permission to defend our land and our lives. From today on, we will take action. John, the rope!”
Suddenly, one of the men threw a rope around my neck and hoisted me up to the rafters above, crushing my windpipe. My face felt hot, and I tried to squirm free, but I was trapped. I tried to call for help, but even if I could have, would it have mattered? In my last moments, my mind brought forth the image of that shrine, and the police badge that was there beside his Klan robes. No one was coming to save me, and in fact, the people who were supposed to protect me were the ones holding the rope.
As my vision tunneled into black, the last thing I heard was the sound of cheering, joy, and laughter, and that made it all the worse.
Kent Juniper 