Candy Man
by Rebecca M. SeneseLewis hated candy.
He despised liquorice, either strand or cubed, with its chewy texture. Abhorred gumballs and sticks of chewing gum that exploded with fruit flavor through his cheeks. Couldn't tolerate jawbreakers or toffee that danced on his tongue. Turned up his nose at jube jubes and gummy anything, tart though they were. He sneered at all chocolate bars, from the thin crispy ones to the thick gooey ones that melted on his fingers. Cookies and wafers as well deserved his disfavor. All of it, he hated.
For most this would not be an obstacle, but for Lewis it was disastrous. He owned a candy store.
One afternoon Lewis sat behind the counter, staring at a muscle magazine. One hand plucked fitfully at his overstretched belt while he nibbled on the nails of his pudgy right hand. Surely if Lewis hadn't been cursed with a hypothyroid condition he would look like these men instead of like a pregnant hippo. His muscles would ripple and bulge through his shirts instead of his stomach overflowing his belt. It was all genetics, unfair. Never mind how much he ate; a man needed a lot of food. He glanced up at the shelves of candy and scowled.
Just as he returned to the magazine, he noticed a head peering over the counter top. Not a kid; a bald patch was discretely covered with combed-over hair, and when the face smiled, wrinkles cracked the skin around his eyes.
"Good morning," the short man chirped. "Could I speak to the owner of this fine shop?"
"Yeah, whadda you want?" Lewis said.
The little man blinked. "Sir, I represent the Choose Nature Candy Company. We're a small local company of healthy candy and we'd like to arrange to have a display in your store."
Lewis yawned, stifling it with one chubby hand. "So?"
Obviously the little man was determined to take any response as positive. "We want to give you free samples of one of our new products. It's a delicious candy called Fat Reduce that is not only fat free, but actually reduces your body's ability to store fat."
Just then a red haired, pimply-faced boy interrupted. "Where's the liquorice?"
"Second aisle, third shelf near the back," Lewis said automatically, never taking his gaze off the short salesman. He'd had his share of candy crackpots, but this was a new twist.
"Let me get this straight," Lewis said. "You make a candy that makes people lose weight."
"Well, it's in the way the molecules are structured," the man said. "First the fat is such that people can't absorb it. Then it releases an enzyme..."
"Oh, really?" Lewis sneered.
"Of course, you don't need the technical explanation," the little man said. "You're more interested in a practical demonstration. You're a businessman, no time for nonsense."
Lewis pursed his lips. This wasn't nonsense already?
The little man heaved a large black case onto the counter top. Flicking open the buckles, he rummaged around and then pulled out a plain brown box.
"This is a sample of our first batch," he said. "A prototype. Feel free to give them a try. I'll come back in a few days to get your opinion of them. I'll also leave you my card."
He slapped a light green business card down on the box. A gold leaf embossed the left side with the elegant lettering of the Choose Nature Candy Co. Smaller black letters on the bottom right spelled out Charles Lindrick.
Lindrick dragged the case off the counter. It landed beside him with a thump.
"I'll see you in a few days," he said to Lewis, bowing his head. Lewis watched him lug the case through the door, then glanced back at the box. He stuck it on the shelf under the counter.
"Whatever," he said.
The box lay forgotten for several days until one afternoon when, as Lewis groped under the counter for a paper bag, he stubbed his fingers on it.
"Shit," he snarled. The little boy in front of the counter giggled. His mother frowned with disapproval.
Lewis found a bag and shoved her candy into it, ignoring her expression. If she didn't like his attitude, tough. He charged her double the regular price. When the woman left, giggling boy in tow, Lewis poked his head under the counter to see what he'd jabbed his fingers on.
The box didn't look familiar until he noticed the card stuck on the end. The shrimp with the losing weight candy. He pulled the box out. Beneath a thin sheet of paper lay rows of neatly wrapped candies. The paper listed the ingredients and claims about the candy. Crap, thought Lewis. Probably tastes like that diet shit, no flavor. Couldn't sell it to save your life.
He unwrapped a spongy piece the color of wet dirt. Geez, couldn't they at least make it look more appealing?
"What the hell," Lewis murmured. He popped it in his mouth and viciously chewed - his way of punishing candies. If they insisted on being flavorful, he would demolish them in his jaws, then dissolve them with his stomach acid. Sure enough, it had all the flavor of a rat turd, he thought, chomping - then a wave of flavor assaulted his taste buds. His saliva washed it through his mouth, tasting sweet one moment, sour the next. A medley of fruit flavors peeked on the tip of his tongue: sweet strawberry, crisp citrus, true blueberry, real mango, dying with a lingering of chocolate like a lover's kiss in the night, without any hint of gluey residue.
Lewis slumped in his stool, dazed. He swallowed the last bit, feeling its soft, spongy texture slide down his throat. Lewis had eaten a lot of candy, but this was delicious. His fingers twitched to unwrap another piece, but instead brushed against the paper. He grabbed it and scanned the ingredients. Most were chemicals he'd never heard of, all "ese's" and "ay's." Then the usual bullshit about the wonders of the candy, right down to suggested eating amounts to reduce fat intake. Right, he thought. Nothing so scrumptious decadent could be non-fattening. Maybe one more piece. Maybe two...
He closed up early. From the back room, he gathered his water bucket and rags; damned kids shoving candy in their mouths left everything a mess. By day's end, sticky fingerprints covered his counter and slimy goo coated the shelves. Little animals, he thought, scrubbing away. They chewed with their mouths open, all teeth and candy mush. Ice cream was the worst. No matter how fast the little buggers inhaled it, they still managed to smear it all over themselves and the shop. Grimy footprints tracked mud on the tile floors to mix with spilled candy bits. Lewis used to make the part time help clean up, but they were so lazy. He always found the odd piece of bubble gum cemented to the underside of a shelf or stickiness along the top of the popsicle cases. Now he did it himself.
Finishing the shelves and counter, he returned the soiled rags and bucket to the back room. After dumping out the water, he refilled the bucket and added floor cleaner. Grabbing the mop, he headed for the front of the shop. He only mopped the floor occasionally, but it had rained in the early afternoon, so naturally the kids had tracked in mud.
Lewis bent to the task, grunting. You'd think with all this labor, he'd have some of those muscles like in the magazines. But fat was his great leveler, reducing any tone to bulging flab.
Time to replace the worn floor, he noticed. He could check out the discount place, get a deal. Take a small carving knife with him and scratch up some of the tiles clandestinely, then demand a lower price. He grinned.
Finally finished, Lewis returned the mop and bucket to the back room. He washed his hands, drying them on a towel. Working hard made him hungry. Turkey sat at home just waiting to be made into sandwiches, but he craved something else. Something sweet.
He found the Whoppers on the second shelf of the third aisle, near the front. Grabbing four bags, he returned to the back room. He tore open one of the bags. Pulling out five, he crammed them in his mouth. Savagely he crunched down, not allowing the flavor time to erupt, to seduce him into enjoying the candy. Even the malt flavor disintegrated under the pounding.
Swallowing the first handful, he filled his mouth again. This was the only way to subdue food; make it submit to him. He could not allow the smooth chocolate to seduce him. He could not savor it, not allow it to gain the upper hand. Grinding it down fast was the only power he exercised; it made him crave it, but he decided how to ingest it.
Soon he finished the first bag and plunged into the second. A bit of plastic bag got caught in his hand, but that didn't matter. He was an eating machine, devouring the world. He swallowed the scrap without even noticing.
Normally the five bags were enough to satiate him until he got home. Tonight it merely wet his appetite. But he didn't want any more Whoppers, now he wanted ice cream.
He slid over to the refrigeration units and grabbed a large container of premium ice cream. A wooden spoon hung underneath the front counter for just such occasions. Tearing the lid off, he sat on the floor to gorge himself.
The container emptied fast, leaving him licking his lips. He should be filled but only felt a yawning emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He would have to get more to eat; no way could he make it home like this.
Crawling along the back wall, he reached the chip rack and pulled down several bags. Fiercely he ripped into them, flinging chips and bag into his mouth. Mixed flavors assaulted his tongue; barbecue, sour cream and onion, salt and vinegar. He finished the shelf and lay against the wall, panting. The hollow inside him still hadn't diminished. Now he was thirsty.
Opening a two liter bottle of soda, he poured it into his mouth, not caring how the liquid splashed over his cheeks and ran down the front of his shirt. He swallowed and swallowed, letting the coldness of the drink wash away the salt of the chips and the gumminess of the ice cream. Maybe finally he would be full. Swallowing the last drop, he tossed the bottle away and wiped his mouth. Better.
As he trudged toward the back room, a pain stabbed him in the stomach. Groaning, he fell to his knees. His stomach felt aflame. Shit, he'd eaten way too much, but he hadn't been able to stop. It had been a fever, a fire he had to quench. Now he had a different kind of fire to contend with.
Don't throw up here, Lewis told himself. Christ, he didn't want to have to clean it up, and the smell would take forever to dissipate. The customers would smell it tomorrow for sure. With effort, he forced himself to crawl into the back room. There was a toilet off to the right, but it was a step upward, and he didn't think he could make it that far. With a moan, he collapsed on the floor. The room began to spin, the shelves stocked with supplies whirling round and round until they blended in a mass of streaking color. The sight made him feel even sicker, dizzier. Lewis closed his eyes. As he slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing he felt was his skin tingling.
Lewis woke groggy and disoriented the next morning. It was early, just after six. He was lying on the back room floor. He'd never made it home. Dimly he remembered eating candy last night, but it all seemed hazy. What was he doing?
Well, it didn't really matter. He would have to open up today, so he'd better hurry and change. Fortunately, he'd always keep some extra clothes here just in case some stupid kid spilled something on him.
He dragged himself to his feet and then looked down in astonishment as his pants slid down his legs to pool at his ankles.
He could see his feet. He hadn't been able to see his feet for ten years. And his shirt looked huge. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the light.
A stranger looked back at him from the mirror. The face was pudgy, but not nearly as round as before. His chin was almost defined, without several fleshy parts hanging off it. Slowly he unbuttoned the shirt and let it drop to the floor. He stepped back from the mirror, to get a better look.
He didn't look like the men in the muscle magazines, but he was no longer a walking hippo. His body looked normal, a little pudgy, but the flesh didn't droop off his bones in great rolls. Incredible, he thought. Those chocolates. Incredible.
No way could he wear his own clothes. He found some rope and tied the pants on, letting the shirt hang over so it wouldn't be noticeable. He couldn't open the store until he was able to get some new clothes. He opened later in the morning.
He spent the day studying the ingredients list of the Choose Nature Candy Co. chocolates. The customers were more of a distraction than usual and he scowled when they interrupted him. They snatched away their candy and hurried away, leaving him to stare at the paper.
Finally, around four in the afternoon, he had a second piece of the chocolate. The same thing happened: it started out tasting bland, but then the flavors exploded in his mouth. He swooned under the spell of the citrus and blueberry.
Carefully, he portioned out another three pieces until the end of the day. The ingredients paper cautioned against eating more than ten candies in a 24 hour period, and he'd already had six pieces, including the pieces he'd eaten yesterday. Lewis wasn't sure when the 24 hour period was up, but he didn't want to take any chances.
Again that evening when he locked up the craving for sweets overwhelmed him, sending him careening through the aisles, shoving candy into his open mouth. He collapsed on the back room floor, the dizziness not so bad this time, until finally he fell asleep.
The next morning he'd lost more weight. Not as much as the day before, but definitely noticeable. His skin was tighter, more defined over his body, as though it had shrunk overnight. Lewis opened as usual and lasted until noon before his first chocolate. Hell, it had to be more than 24 hours. He could indulge.
Pulling the box out from underneath the counter, he set it on his lap and opened it. Odd; he knew he'd finished the top layer, but it looked full. Maybe he hadn't eaten as many as he thought. Who cared? He scooped a chocolate out, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he bit down and waited for the flavor explosion.
Throughout the week, Lewis rationed out the candies, binging every other night on the store supplies and falling exhausted into sleep. By Friday, he had to contact his suppliers and arrange for extra shipments. They arrived early Saturday. Lewis even helped unload a box or two. He noticed the delivery men staring at his bulging arms beneath his t-shirt, at his rippling chest, even his well-defined legs beneath the cotton pants. Lewis wanted to laugh aloud. In less than a week he'd gone from being a grotesque, obese lummox into a svelte, muscular man. Those chocolates were a miracle.
And the box never seemed to shrink. By now he'd eaten enough to empty it, yet it was still filled to the brim. May he should worry about it, but if he worried about that, then he'd have to think about how he'd changed. He was not going to think about.
Instead he thought about what the shrimp, Lindrick, wanted. A display. Not thinking big enough, Lewis thought. He knew of a better way. He could be a spokesperson, a living example of the chocolates' success. Of course, he'd be handsomely paid to do it. Insist on it. It was only natural. On Saturday night he was thinking about the new club on Richmond as he locked up. The women were supposed to be hot, he'd heard, and he was dying to try out his new physique. A knock sounded on the front door behind him. Lewis turned. A small figure waved at him.
"I'm closed, kid," Lewis snarled. Stupid brat. But the figure knocked and waved frantically. Lewis snorted his disgust and returned to the door.
As he drew near he realized it wasn't a child, but the Choose Nature Candy Co. salesman. Eagerly, Lewis opened the door and ushered him in.
Lindrick looked Lewis up and down with an appraising glance. "I see you've been enjoying our chocolates."
"Sure have. That's quite a chocolate you've got there."
The little man bowed his head, acknowledging Lewis's compliment. "It's still in the prototype stage," he said. "There's a small problem with speed, but that's easily fixed. Minor adjustment to the recipe."
"Don't go changing them too much," Lewis said. "The kind of customers I'm thinking of would like the speed."
Lindrick clapped his tiny hands. "Does that mean you'll let us set up a display?"
"Not so fast," Lewis said. "We'll have to discuss percentages. I'm a living example of the effects of your chocolates. You can't buy that kind of advertising, but you can rent it."
"I don't understand," the little man said.
"It's simple. You give me a percentage off the top, you get a display and my testimonial. Everybody benefits."
Lindrick's mouth worked without sound for a moment. "But...but we created the chocolates. We did the research. Why should we pay you anything over the display charge?"
Lewis smiled as his hand closed on the neck of Lindrick's shirt. "You'll pay me or I'll pummel you into the floor. I need to replace it anyway."
Lindrick's fingers tried to pry Lewis's hand open. "Let me go," he squeaked.
"Oh, I don't think so. I think I'd like to hear some agreement."
"Let go," Lindrick sputtered. His face began to turn red. "I won't give you the antidote."
"What?" Lewis asked but the little man just clawed at his hand. He let go; Lindrick dropped to the floor, coughing. After a moment, he looked up. The color in his face slowly returned to normal.
"What are you talking about?" Lewis demanded.
"You are an ungrateful, despicable man," Lindrick said. "After what I've done for you." As Lewis took a menacing step forward, the little man raised his arms.
"All right. I told you these were the prototype. We had to see how it worked on an extreme case before we could gage the effective level required."
"Required for what?"
"For the metabolism change that precipitates reproductive production. The candy is designed to use the host's excess fat as energy and raw materials for the spooring phase."
Lewis grimaced. "What the hell are you talking about?"
The little man struggled to his feet, rubbing his neck.
"You've become a candy factory," the little man said. "The candy enters your DNA and writes new instructions. It then instills a gnawing hunger to force you to eat, providing raw material to be used in the production of more candy. After feeding, the candy induces a coma-like state while replication is initiated and spooring takes place. "
Lewis stared at him. "You're crazy."
"Am I? Have you not gorged yourself almost every night and then fallen asleep?"
How could he know about that? Lewis shook his head. It didn't matter. This was crap. The candy did something, probably souped up his metabolism so he'd burn lots of fat, but he didn't spoor. Whatever that meant.
"So what's this antidote?" "It's an enzyme that we haven't added to the prototype. It would kick in after a certain level of the candy is present in the subject. It would stop the reproduction process. If the process isn't stopped..." The little man shrugged.
"If it's not stopped," Lewis prodded but the little man shook his head.
"Why should I tell you?" he said. "You have been rude and ungrateful. I give you something that will improve your life, not to mention your business, and you try to take advantage."
Lewis clenched his fists. He was the one being taken advantage of, and he'd show this little twit what he thought of it. He took a step forward, glowering down at the little man. The little man scrambled away, rushing down the central aisle. Good, toward the back room where no one would see anything and the mess would be that much less to clean up. Lewis advanced, his face splitting with a snarling grin. Candies marched past him on the shelves, the M&Ms, the Whoppers, the Smarties... Suddenly the hunger was burning in him, more demanding than the rage. Lewis stopped, staring at the shelves. In front of him, the little man stopped.
And waited.
Lewis's binge lasted almost half an hour. Several times Lindrick had to scurry out of the way before Lewis's grasping hands, his chomping mouth. The little man had never actually seen the frenzy before; it was quite interesting to watch. Finally he settled on top of the front counter. He picked up a muscle magazine and began flipping through the pages.
Lewis came rushing forward, eyes wild. Drool dribbled down his chin. He stared at Lindrick, his hands reaching out.
"Make it stop..." he pleaded. Then his eyes rolled back and he fell. Lindrick closed the magazine and leaned forward.
There might be time for the antidote, he thought briefly. But this man was so miserable. What would be the point?
Then it became too late.
First the skin on Lewis's arms began to ripple, like a kitten under a blanket. Then it moved down his chest to his legs. Soon it looked like he was caught in a strong wind, his skin a thin fabric. On his right thigh, part of the skin puckered and popped. A chocolate shot out, a miniature volcano spewing forth, with a dribble of blood and pulpy, fatty tissue as lava. Another chocolate erupted from the palm of his left hand. On his face, a large bubble bulged. Lindrick watched, horrified as it burst. A chocolate bounced out. Blood and mucus trickled down into Lewis's ear, which also started to bulge. Soon his body was bulging all over. Chocolates littered the floor around Lewis, and still he spewed forth more. Lindrick thought he could glimpse bone through the blood and gore that now covered his body. This would be the last spooring, he realized. There would be nothing left after this one. He watched as a section of Lewis' lower intestine bulged and spewed forth another perfectly formed chocolate.
The little man sighed and shook his head. He hadn't wanted it to turn out this way. The company would be disappointed; they really wanted a display site, and now he would have to start searching again. At least the boys in R&D would be happy.
Lindrick opened the muscle magazine again to wait for the spooring to finish. He was sure he had a box in the car big enough to hold all the pieces.
©Rebecca M. Senese
Based in Toronto, Canada, Rebecca M. Senese writes crime fiction, horror and science fiction, often all at once in the same story. Garnering an Honorable Mention in The Year's Best Science Fiction and nominated for numerous Aurora Awards, her work has appeared in TransVersions, Deadbolt Magazine, On Spec, The Vampire's Crypt, Storyteller and Into the Darkness, amongst others. Check out her website here.