Bittersweet Candy Bowl

An aura of decay saturated the stagnant air. The boards that creaked and groaned beneath his feet were half-rotten, emitting the rank odor of putrefaction. The room was bathed in the eerie glow of the full moon, whose rays flooded the space with a bluish light. The October mists distorted the beams, causing unsettling shadows to play across the floor in a sort of morbid procession. Carson was transfixed, his eyes never wavering from the shifting shapes. The sound of scuttling feet broke the silence, shattering his mesmerized gaze. His eyes darted to and fro, in an attempt to derive the source of the disturbing noises. His ears led him to the walls, where the moldy, disintegrating plaster revealed a matrix of tiny passages, through which could be seen the occasional traversing of sleek, grotesque forms which could only be those of rats.

Carson shuddered at the idea of rats. He had always had a bad predisposition against them. As a child, he had grown up in the less privileged side of town, and the local rats had kept him up every single night until around midnight. On one encounter, he awoke to find one at the foot of his bed, nibbling at his bedspread. Not soon after that, his mother decided it was time to find a new home. Luckily, they did. But now the rats were back, and they brought with them frightful memories.

Gathering his wits, he decided to make his way towards the stairs. He attempted to pull himself to his feet, only to find unbearable pain shooting up his left leg. It must have broken in the fall, the sheer terror of being left alone masking his pain. He opened his mouth to vocalize his discomfort, but all he could manage was a low, inhuman rasp. He coughed, and began to panic. He did not – no, he could not – no, he would not be left to die here. Someone would come, yes – someone would arrive just in time to save him. He rested his back against an old stove-boiler that was rusting and falling apart, and slowly closed his eyes.

Carson awoke with a start. He had a nightmare that he had been trapped inside an old haunted house, and that it was coming down on top of him. It took him only a few seconds to realize that the dream he had was not so far from the truth. He recollected where he was, and reality came flooding back to him. He broke out into a cold sweat. He looked at his watch. It had broken during the fall from the floor above. He suddenly lashed out in anger. He hollered, coarsely, but hollered nonetheless, frustrated with the actions of his ”friends.” He thought about Mike, and Paulo, and Lucy, and…

His thoughts returned to Mike. How could he? He thought, how could Mike just leave me like that? Why would Mike treat me this way? His angry emotions gave way to sadness. He was enveloped in guilt, nestling his head between his legs. Why, he reflected, why did this happen to me? I haven’t done anything wrong! It’s not fair! Silvery tears fell like rain to the floor, making almost inaudible pattering sounds upon the damp ground. Carson sniffled, and dried his eyes with the ruffles on his skirt.

A noise from inside the stove-boiler startled him. Slowly turning around, he caught sight of an enormous rat, sticking it’s filthy paws through the grating, in an attempt to grab onto Carson’s shirt. He let out a shout, and stumbled backwards, knocking his head into a wall. He slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

When he came to, the room was shrouded in blackness. The moon had disappeared behind the cloud cover, and there was no other light source to illuminate the room. Carson could not see a thing. He groped about in the darkness, dragging his broken leg behind him. Every time he moved it, he felt a twinge of pain. He sucked it up, and put his hand to the wall. The moldy plaster gave a little, as it was soft and wet, and decomposing. The sensation was too nauseating, too loathsome to describe. He moved forward along the edge of the wall, periodically wiping off the slime that had caked up onto his hands off onto the pleats of his costume. He painstakingly made his way around the room, feeling for a light switch or a door of some sort. After what seemed like forever, his hand caught against an object placed perpendicular to the wall. He brushed his hand across the surface, noticing it’s surprising firmness. It was a staircase! His heart leapt into his chest. He had found a way up! He tested the step with his palm, then ever so slowly eased himself up on top of it. It creaked, and he held his breath. But it didn’t give. He decided to try the next step. Lugging his limp leg up, he delicately climbed the stairs, step, by step, by step. At one point, a wooden step that had absorbed too much water gave way, and tumbled on downwards. He spent the next couple minutes trying to climb around it, eventually succeeding to do so.

Once he had reached the top, he felt a door blocking his path. He reached for the doorknob, but it had long since rusted away and fallen off. He pressed against it, and determined it had been locked from the outside, as he heard the clinking of an iron chain that held the door to the frame. He let out a sigh of defeat.

No. This couldn’t be the end. He hoisted himself up onto his good leg, bracing his body against the door frame. He pulled his hips away from the door, and brought them quickly towards it again, trying to knock it down, or to dislodge the chain. He did this for some time, sporadically taking breaks to rest his tired body. At last, and after much duress, he broke it down. He took a deep breath, huddled over the shattered wooden remains.

If only it was that simple. In gaining one thing, you inevitably lose another. As Carson attempted to rise, his skirt snagged on an open nail. His momentum jerked himself over, and he tumbled back down the stairs, his broken leg flailing around madly, as if it was held on by only a handful of tendons. Filled with an excruciating pain, his nerves on fire, he falls down, down, down the stairs into the impenetrable blackness. Hitting the ground with a loud thud, he let out a startled gasp, and collapsed, closing his eyes for the very last time. His consciousness drifted away into eternity, the final thoughts on his mind;

Michael…

His body was recovered. The old house was condemned, and it was demolishednever two days later. His body was buried in the rubble, which was shipped off en masse and thrown into the town dump. Nobody looked for him. He was not missed by his mother, who was hit by a bus earlier that evening. She was on her way to the mailbox, about to send in the rent for their apartment. Neither of them knew of the other’s fate.

Their apartment was given to another tenant, and they basically disappeared off the face of the Earth. Questions that had been long asked were left unanswered. Who was Carson, really? What happened to his father? How did he become homosexual? We may never know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

yes, I realize I posted it under general, I’m sorry, okay?

Great stuff But why did he die just from falling on his injured leg? Did he compound-fracture it and bleed to death? Tell us!

I suppose his leg tore off due to the fall, and he bled to death.

You have yet to rival Love Me, but oh well

That goes without saying.

And I just realised, In the last segment, That “was” should have an “n’t” after it: Wasn’t recovered.

Aw, shoot.

very good story, I wish I could write with such skill.

wow, that was amazing, makes me want to start writing even. it was dark, i loved it! you have talent if you could make a short story out of that little debate we had earlier, maybe you should consider writing books?

I have, right now I plan on doing a short graphic novelette based on the collaborative ideas the the people I eat lunch with though up.

good on ya, the world needs more talented writers =)

You can still eat lunch with people like that round you? Stomach of steel

Thought up, not throw up. Sorry if that’s confusing

All the same

Very well done, Mr. Klaus. I think that’s definitely the problem with Love Me, every other horror fanfic is judged by the same standard. But I still loved the storyline. The plot was realistic, it gave a fantastic play on the standard fears of the dark and rodents, character development was very well explained, the only thing I could recommend would be to throw in some mourners. I know the whole “disappeared off the face of the earth” was a nice move, but to be honest I was expecting Mike to break down and go at least half insane from the guilt, leading to the entire group splitting apart. All in all, nicely done

Elliot, you will never be Maverik. Stop trying now.

Maverick is currently the god of BCB fanfics ya know.

The “How did he become homosexual” sentence is a little insulting…

It wasn’t meant to be insulting. I’d rather have phrased it differently, but didn’t have the time.

I guess I could write a sequel, where mike goes nuts.

what? what does that have to do with this?

Elliot suggested some interesting consequences that could result in another short appendix to the story.

oh ok I see now

(Wipes some tears) Bravo. BRAVO! Good job.

So sad. Poor, poor homo. You shall be missed, Carson!

I love how him and Kizuna are now posted as “Age: DECEASED ” on the “About” page

McCain was also killed when he magically appeared next to the dead Carson and pointed out that a broken leg would not kill a person in most normal situations. His biting logic distracted him from the wooden beam that fell on him, crushing his body

Awww now I feel really bad D= That would be my worst nightmare. Dying all alone and trapped in a decaying abandoned house….

You made his death not so humorous and very, very real, and I must applaud you for that.