Read Online Sour Candy by Kealan Patrick Burke - Free Book Online Page A

of his front teeth and breaking his nose.
Dazed, he’d crawled back to the house, where he found the boy
waiting for him on the stoop, holding out—what else?—a piece of
that infernal candy. Maddened by the pain, he took it, swallowed
it, and passed out. When he came to, it was morning and his nose
had healed, though it was slightly crooked now. The teeth were
still chipped. Not that it would matter. Three weeks later they’d
fall out on their own.
    The fifth and final time,
earlier this evening, he had gotten drunk and forgotten his fear
long enough to flee, an all-out staggering sprint down the street.
He hadn’t even bothered to be quiet or to close the door behind
him. He made it three quarters of a mile before he saw, or thought
he saw, one of them . It was standing behind a dumpster in the alley beside Ming’s
Chinese restaurant, its head tilted back as if in ecstasy, though
as far as Phil could tell, it was alone. He could hear its horns
scraping against the brick wall. As he drew abreast of it, that
deer skeleton face turned in his direction and an involuntary
scream escaped Phil’s throat. For an instant, it had felt as if
those hands were inside him again, tugging hard, and his guts had
seemed to shift outward in all directions. He fell to his knees in
agony, hands clutched to his chest and belly, but just as he drew
in the breath to power another scream at the sensation of dozens of
fishhooks rending him asunder, the pain vanished. Still, he kept
his head lowered as he rose on unsteady feet because even though
the pain had gone, he knew the thing in the alley was still there.
No, not there, closer. He fancied if he raised his head just a
little more, he’d see the frayed hem of its coal-dark robe as it
stood looming over him. Confirmation came via the sudden
overwhelming stench of rotting fish and the soft whisper behind him
as he turned and began to hobble away.
    “ Mora .”
    He returned home to find the house
almost as he’d left it. The boy was thankfully nowhere in sight,
the attic door with its new symbols and scratches firmly shut, but
when he went to retrieve his scotch, he found the inside of the
bottle coated in greenish blue mold. What appeared to be the head
of some bizarre looking eyeless fish was floating in the remaining
third of scotch. Enraged at the corruption of the only solace he
had left, Phil flung the bottle at the wall.
    And the attic door opened.
    Phil’s rage turned to ice and he
slowly sat down on the couch, his whole body trembling from a
mixture of adrenaline, fear, and rage.
    The boy appeared at the foot of the
stairs, rubbing his eyes sleepily, still dedicated to the ruse of
normality.
    “ I heard a
sound.”
    “ Good for you.”
    “ Did you go out
again?”
    Phil sneered. “You know I
did.”
    “ Did you meet my
friend?”
    Phil lowered his face into his hands,
pulled at his hair, felt strands come away. “What the fuck do you
want from me?”
    “ You don’t have to worry,”
said the boy. “You’re not doing so good, and I know that’s no fun,
but it’ll all be over soon.”
    “ Like it was for Mrs.
Bennings?”
    “ Oh no, not like that.
You’re going to make it all the way. She was too broken for
that.”
    “ Why do you do this…this
pretending? Why not just be whatever it is that you
are?”
    The boy cocked his head.
Another in a long line of curiously convincing gestures. “I am being what I am. I’m a
child.”
    “ You’re a goddamn
parasite.”
    “ What’s a
parasite?”
    The look of genuine curiosity on the
child’s face was disarming.
    “ Google it.”
    “ What?”
    “ Just go back to
bed.”
    “ Yes Daddy. You should try
to sleep too.”
    “ Why?”
    “ You have a busy day
tomorrow.”
    Phil looked at him. “What does that
mean? What’s tomorrow?”
    The boy smiled. “Tomorrow’s the day
you try to kill me.”
    Phil was only startled for a
moment. It had not come as a surprise that the boy was aware of his
plans. The boy