Scary Candyman

Miss the blood boiling thrillers that you used to enjoy? Every night, we have a horror story to send you into the sweet, scary dreams.

To celebrate Halloween, our company booked an immersive “rural horror” escape room. My boss said whoever could make it to the end without screaming would get a ten-thousand-dollar reward. As a seasoned horror movie fan, I was instantly tempted. The core character in the escape room was a scarecrow wearing an oversized pumpkin head. I admired how well the props were made, but the chainsaw noise was too loud, so I slipped into a hidden compartment, put on my headphones, and scrolled through reels. The next day, I woke up to a strong metallic stench mixed with the sickly-sweet smell of rotting pumpkin. The police told me our boss had canceled the booking at the last minute, and the actor originally assigned to play the character had gotten food poisoning. That pumpkin-headed figure wasn’t one of their staff.

It is that spooky time in Cape Cod when a highschool teenager starts to experience weird stuff happening all around him until he comes across an ancient artifact which he must use to protect the town within the seven days before Halloween from the darkness that is about to creep out and unleash all kinds of evil.

The Devil You Called Grimace. Hunger. Love like a curse. They say some doors open only once. She opened hers with three red candles, a drop of blood, and a whisper. Lonely nights, overdue rent, and a heart too heavy to carry — that’s all it took to call him through. Malik. The man made of smoke, shadow, and everything her prayers forgot to protect her from. He came smiling, with promises sweet as sin — protection, money, revenge. Every favor he gave her tasted like salvation until she realized he was feeding on her, one piece at a time. A memory here. A dream there. Her laughter swallowed whole. Now he’s the warmth in her sheets and the whisper in her nightmares. The devil she named, the lover she can’t unmake. Because Malik wasn’t summoned. He was chosen. And love — the kind that burns red under candlelight — always demands a body to keep it alive.

When I was seven years old, my younger brother went into anaphylactic shock after sneaking a handful of peanuts. Outside the emergency room, my mother slammed my head against the wall over and over, her face twisted with rage. "If you had been watching him like you were supposed to be, this never would have happened! You should be the one with a ruptured stomach, not him!" After that, whenever my brother so much as caught a cold, my mother forced me to eat spoiled leftovers as punishment. I once prepared an elaborate feast. She flipped the entire table and made me crawl on the floor to lick it clean. When I said I wanted to study culinary arts, she poured hot oil over my hands. My father wanted to send me to vocational school to learn a trade, but my mother clutched my brother to her chest and wailed. "She destroyed her brother's health! She owes him a lifetime of service!" When I was fifteen, my brother's gluttony cost my father an important business deal. I took the blame without even being asked, and the furious client forced me to drink more than half a gallon of hard liquor. By the time I was sent home with a bleeding stomach, my father had already scolded my brother. My mother took out her anger on me instead, slapping me so hard my ears rang and my vision went dark at the edges. "You useless thing! You should’ve choked to death at that table! I get sick just looking at you!" I coughed up black blood. From my pocket, I pulled out a piece of sour candy that had gone soft and sticky. It was the only treat my mother had ever given me with a smile, back before my brother's allergic reaction. I put the candy in my mouth and swallowed it down with the taste of stomach acid. The candy was so sour it made my throat burn. Whatever came next, I just hoped I would not have to be my family’s garbage disposal again.

I never knew that one day I would be begging to be fucked by Damian Steels— my best friend’s father. But I also did not know how huge his cock was, when I found out, I couldn't help but spread myself on his table, and moan when he spanks my ass. He is cold and strict, but also fucking sexy at the same time. To the world he was my best friend's dad, but to me, he was the man who made me wet without touching me, who made me squirt just by seeing his cock, and who made my pussy walls clench hard just by calling my name. What are the odds? My best friend finding out about my escapade with her dad? Or me having the best fuck of my life?