This story was contributed by krazydiamond
Jamie realized she made a critical error when she answered the door to three pirates and a cardboard transformer.
"Trick or Treat!"
"It's three in the afternoon," she said.
Five hopeful eyes stared up at her, as the pirates each sported an eyepatch.
"Uh, yeah, here." She fished in the glass bowl beside the door and dropped a travel size roll of tums in each of their bags. "For the candy hangover."
The pirates shared a mutinous expression, while the transformer scoffed. Thank god Jamie lived in an apartment complex. Somebody else could clean up the eggs and T.P.
"Sorry kids, maybe try again later," she said. She wouldn't be here, but they were welcome to try.
Jamie shut the door before they could react and let out a sigh. Halloween, big hairy deal; it was just a day. One she had to work, like most of the population. She straightened her fishnets and smoothed her artfully ragged gypsy skirt. Yes, it felt somewhat hypocritical to dress up for work when she harbored such disdain for the holiday, but Barry the Butthead manager insisted on it. Initially, she refused, but when he hinted at best costume earning an early closeout, she bit the bullet and searched through her closet. Costume materials weren't in short supply.
She used to love Halloween. That was before Claire. Talk about a nasty break up.
Maybe it was because she was already thinking about her ex, or dreading her evening shift at the mall, but she opened her cabinets without thinking and froze.
There it was, squatting on the shelf as if it had always been there. It might have been, she still didn't fully understand the nature of the curse, but the nonexistent contents of her stomach curdled in dread.
How could she be so careless?
A fleeting thought slid through her head, a nefarious whisper that she could get it over with and unload it onto the next hapless trick or treaters who bothered her before the sun went down, but Jamie couldn't be that cruel. Though Claire seemed to think so.
She held her breath and pinched the corner of the innocuous plastic bag, lifting it slowly out of the cabinet like it was a bear trap that would snap over her fingers. In a way, it was, a brightly colored, high fructose corn syrup of a bear trap. The familiar conical shapes left a negative image when she blinked; she'd stared at them too long. Candy corn, why was it always candy corn?
But she knew why. The memory of that teasing conversation between petting fingers and nibbled lips, the last good conversation between them before it all went to hell. Candy corn was vile. She'd joked how all candy corn in existence was the same candy corn in circulation since the 1950s, regifted over and over like grandma's fruitcake.
Nobody ate candy corn.
Somebody had to eat candy corn. Because if they didn't.... she could already feel the prick of metal against the back of her throat.
"I hope you choke on them." Claire's parting shot. Jamie's jaw trembled, wishing not for the first time, she could go back, fix things, but that wouldn't save her now. She tossed the bag in her purse. She wouldn't forget it. The knowledge of her task would tug and nudge her the rest of the day until the deed was done. She grabbed her hat on the way out the door.
Barry started in on her the second she walked through the door. The surprise candy corn threw her. She was ten minutes late, not that there was exactly a rush in the store. It was a candle shop. The busiest it got was at Christmas, where shoppers came in as long as their olfactory senses didn't blow a fuse. The store was dead, but that didn't matter to Barry.
He finally stopped berating her as she disappeared into the bathroom. Jamie stared at herself in the mirror, her pointy hat at a jaunty angle on her head.
"Time to be the witch," she said. The candy corn waited in her bag. She had nine hours to get rid of it, five of which would be spent at work. Maybe she could swing by the shelter afterward and unload it in the donations box. The very thought chipped away another piece of her soul.
Her shoulders were curled inward as she joined Barry on the floor. There was one other person on shift with them, and Sandra hadn't bothered to dress up. Barry himself wore a Gilligan costume but since he likely wouldn't reward himself, at least Jamie could count on an extra hour to unload.
That was the only high point of the day. This time of year brought out the jerks, or maybe it was the holiday. Was there a full moon tonight? Jamie didn't know, but the few customers they got were all winners. From the dude who sniffed every candle in the store and sneezed without covering his mouth after every tenth candle, to the lady who argued over her expired coupon for ten percent off until Barry stepped in and gave it to her. Jamie imagined somehow handing off the candy corn to each of them, slipping it into their bags, but they would probably throw it away. The prick of metal in her throat grew more insistent as the hours ticked by.
An hour before her shift was over, Barry hadn't mentioned a word about letting her close her register early.
"Hey Barry, Sandra didn't bother to dress up. Does that mean I win by default?"
Barry heaved a put-upon sigh. He was way too grumpy to play Gilligan; the Skipper was more his speed. Though wasn't that the point of the holiday—to pretend to be something you weren't? Jamie looked down at her witch outfit, the irony of it. Maybe it was about exposing more of what you were on the inside.
"Jamie, you were ten minutes late. I don't reward tardiness."
She gaped at him. "Seriously? I got caught in traffic! There were already kids out on the streets."
"You know what day it is," said Barry, shaking his head. "You should have planned better. Sandra managed to be on time just fine."
"She was already working at another shop in the mall!"
"I stand by my decision. And since you want to be belligerent about it, I will cash myself out earlier and you can close up the shop."
"That is so unfair," Jamie snapped. She should have known Barry the Butthead would pull something like this, reward himself for his minimal effort costume and find a way to make her miserable. He knew she hated this job, and he made every opportunity to rub it in her face.
The taste of metal coated her tongue. Jamie glanced at Barry's obnoxiously red sweater, retreating toward the back of the store and reached into her purse.
"Hey Barry, catch."
He fumbled the bag of candy corn, nearly dropped it on the carpeted concrete where it would have exploded and revealed her secrets, but his fat fingers managed to get a grip and he clutched it to his chest.
"What's this?"
"Would you believe a peace offering?"
Barry snorted. "Yeah right, Jamie, pull the other one."
She shrugged. "Neighbor gave it to me. I hate candy corn." Play it casual, play it cool. It sounded like a patented Jamie excuse, and Barry was someone who never passed up free shit.
"You're still not getting off early," he called over his shoulder. He was already ripping into the bag. Jamie didn't breathe, couldn't breathe through the sharp prickle of blades in her throat. She watched as he stepped through the swinging door to the backroom, tossing back a handful of candy corn into his mouth.
Silently, she counted in her head.
1...2...3...4...5...
The prick of metal vanished from her mouth.
Barry staggered out of the breakroom, clutching his throat. Blood bubbled from his lips. His scream was a strangled gargle, a horrible sound as he dropped to his knees and wretched. A fount of blood poured from his mouth, mixed with sickly bright globules of chewed candy corn and flashing silver razor blades, slick with gore.
Sandra screamed and fled, maybe to call an ambulance, more likely to get the heck out of dodge. Jamie sauntered up to Barry as he twitched on the blood-soaked carpet. This was the trade-off, every year. A grisly toll Jamie chose to pay because she dared to scorn the love of a witch. Of course, she didn't know Claire was the real deal at the time.
Jamie watched as her manager clawed at his ruined throat, choking on his blood. "Sorry, Barry," she said dispassionately. "Must have been bad candy."
Kristin Jacques is a speculative fiction writer with a penchant for the weird and wacky. Her contemporary mythological romp Ragnarok Unwound released from Sky Forest Press in January while her dystopic dark fantasy Marrow Charm debuted this month from Parliament House Press. When not writing monsters and mayhem, she is snuggling her gremlins and spoiling the family cats. Read more of Kristin's stories here .