He was bound tightly when he woke. To what he did not know but could feel the cords biting into his skin. Skin? Was he not wearing anything? He mentally scanned his body but found no fabrics against his bare form. In fact there was a chilling dampness in the stale air blowing over him. He could feel a hard surface beneath him but it could be anything. It felt like he was a lamb on an altar waiting to be sacrificed. Letting these sensations take hold before realising his eyes were shut he knew he was not blindfolded.

He peeled his eyes open from their crusty lids. And blackness. Suffocating blackness. Turning his head he found nothing. He could feel a throbbing pain from his midriff and tried to flex his limbs but they were bound too tight. Fear began its chokehold as he realised that he was bound only around the middle and... where were his arms and, for that matter, legs. He could not feel below his hips nor below his shoulder. And then the pain hit, restoring the memory of how it had happened. The pain that was beyond excruciating. It tore at the body of the teenager so he cried out in pain as it engulfed him in wild burning fire until he lost consciousness again.

**********

Charlie and Debbie raced around the school yard playing a game of tag with some other kids. They were laughing and screaming in delight at the pure simplicity of this game. Frequently there would be a roar of noise and then it would quiet as the person who was it sought out their targets. They were all the same in their neutral navy trousers and jumper. The only thing that was different about Debbie and Charlie was their grandparents.

As long as this town had become a town their grandparents had lived here. They were part of each building, every stone laid, every milk dropped off at doorsteps. The watchful eyes of Verna and Pól had seen it all and been a part of the community that had flourished. They also owned a shop just off the main road. It was just your ordinary shop and it sold sweets to crowds of children.

Nobody quite knew how they were still in business but nobody was suspicious as their sweets attracted a great fanfare of people. They were your typical grandparents They always had a biscuit or a cup of tea. They cared for the children while the parents worked. They cooked the most amazing variety of addictive treats all of which were included in their store. They lived above the store and advertised as having the 'freshest sweets in the country'. They smiled, they sold, they reaped.

**********

Nobody heard Dara's screams as he howled his pain to the darkness. He wished for more unconsciousness to save him from this excruciating living hell. He begged for mercy, tears streaming down his face, still so youthful. When they had dried up and his throat would not scream anymore he tried to imagine his little sister dancing in the garden, pretending to be a ballerina. And then the pain would hit again. And again and again and again.

He woke and felt something trickling down his forehead. He realised he was now lying on his front and blood was trickling from a wound on his head. Was he dead? Was this some sort of cruel afterlife? Had he been shot? No he was still very much alive and long enough to hear someone approach. Dara lay still ready to gather information from this intruder into Dara's personal hell.

"Come now Dara. We have important tasks to do," giggled a male voice which was familiar in Dara's memory.

"Please, please, please," begged Dara, his voice scratchy from screaming.

"Now no need for that. We need you again. Soon," came the voice again.

"You will be tasty I know. Perfect body to use. You will bring great happiness to many children." A light shone down on Dara.

Dara squeezed his eyes shut. 'This is just a bad dream. A bad one. Like Molly used to have.'

Then he felt the knife as he was slowly, mercilessly and meticulously taken apart. Agony was Dara's new and last best friend. His blood sprayed coating the person and the walls in Dara's blood. Nothing a power-washer could not fix.

The person took pleasure in Dara's pain as they took apart Dara as slowly as possible. Dara could no longer scream, his throat too dry. He felt the knife caress his scalp carefully, so as to preserve it for later use. He was turned over and facing into a blinding light so strong that dots blocked his vision. Then, a sharp pain that made Dara whimper, left him blind as his eyes were removed from their sockets. He felt liquid pooling underneath him and down his face. This could only be hell. Or maybe he had deserved something worse.

And in those dark depths Dara died alone in pain, suffering and abuse.

********

Charlie and Debbie ran into the shop.

"Granny! I've got news!" screamed Charlie.

"No it's my news. Mine," Debbie yelled over him.

Verna smiled down at the twins. "Why don't you both tell me?"

"We found a dead rabbit," they chorused.

"Well..." Debbie tapered off.

"It was squished! A car ran over it and," Charlie made a squelching noise.

"How fascinating," said Verna. She supported this behaviour. It was a life skill just as Verna's was to sell sweets.

"Granny?" Debbie asked.

"Yes darling?" Verna replied.

"Can I have some candyfloss? You let all the other kids have it."

"I don't want my darling granddaughter having rotten teeth," as she grinned revealing layers of blackened rotting teeth.

"But Granny.." piped up Charlie. "You have rotten teeth."

"Yes but I am an exclusion because I, along with your grandad, own the sweet shop," she replied.

"Can we come and stay at your house this weekend Granny?" Debbie asked.

Verna sighed. "Your mother doesn't want me around. She says I am a bad example to you both."

Debbie and Charlie both pulled faces then laughed.

"Alright I'll speak to your mother. And I will also promise not to give you any sweets."

At that Charlie and Debbie ran off to play with the other kids. Verna sighed. She knew her daughter suspected the truth about the store which made her believe that here children should stay away from Verna and Pól. Verna exhaled sadly wondering, if someday, Debbie and Charlie would own and run the sweetshop. She looked up at the shop sign. The paint was peeling but the name was still legible. It was called Sweetie Pie.

*********

Pól was nowhere to be seen when Verna went back into the shop. She assumed he had a 'meeting' with a 'client'. She would join him later. First she had sweets to sell and children to seduce. She started the candyfloss machine and watched its progress. It never ceased to amaze her what a candyfloss machine could do.

*********

Verna walked to the room at the back of the shop that led to a huge room filled from floor to ceiling with books. Verna knocked on the floor underneath the fake Persian carpet and kept on searching until she found the loose planks. She pulled them up and eased herself down into the hole and let them go behind her. It made a 'thud' and she winced as she always did when hearing that noise. The basement was a well-lit room again full with books but these grislier. Many were regarding corpses and depicting serial killers and their victims. A corridor led off it.

These corridors technically didn't belong to them. They had slowly expanded and now it spanned two neighbour's gardens. They were usually vacant because they were thought to be haunted. Apparently at night moans and screams could be heard and Verna knew where that noise came from. Nobody else beside her and Pól knew the truth,

Pól stepped around a corner into the main corridor. He still had some of Dara's blood in his beard but was otherwise clean. Their latest hadn't been reported yet.

"How long did you take?!" Verna demanded crossly.

There was a taut silence.

"We need to use her as soon as possible so put your little project aside. He is next on our list but first she must be used. Pól you also have blood in your beard. Shave or I will cut it off for you."

"We also need more hair and some of that white stuff. Candyfloss is the new rage. We must follow the tide and keep the sweets coming," Verna concluded.

"I'll get right to work then," said Pól.

"Two things: First, don't prolong the agony. Second it is your turn to manage the shop as I need to buy more drugs. I'm thinking a shedload of cocaine and maybe something that is at a lower price. Anything will do. Keep within the budget. We are close to running out. It's all this rapid business. I think you are spending too much time down there. A day in the shop won't kill you."

Pól knew how futile it was to argue with Verna. Fifty years married meant he knew Verna's moods and what they meant.

They emerged from the basement to re-open the shop for the after-school rush. All those gullible people. Verna smiled at the thought and noticed that Pól, normally expressionless, had slapped a great big salesperson smile on his face.

Pól was one of the most evil people you could meet. Terror fuelled his fantasies at taking apart living people and their howls were holy liquid to his ears. He shuddered in delight at the thought of the basement.

"...... So. Oh God not again Pól," Verna chastised

"I am just itching to be in the basement. It makes me feel alive watching them..." he shuddered in delight.

Verna knew that Pól could find the ingredients, fresh, and knew where he got them from. She occasionally helped him or did her own work in producing the ingredients but her main job was to make the sweets and sell.

But today she had drugs to source to keep up with the demand. The slogan she had chosen made her smile. 'Frosted candyfloss. Freshly made in front of your eyes!'

It took Verna longer than usual to make a contract with a drug dealer as her previous one was now in jail. She sealed the contract with money and some sweets.

"If you ever want sweets or treats that are like nothing else feel free to pop in. We are well known," Verna said.

"Uh..Uh..Uh. Thank you. Where is your shop and what is the name?

"Coheye and the name is Sweetie Pie."

"Nice to see you," Verna said scooting off.

When the drug dealer looks back he sees how peculiar this meeting was.

***********

"We're running out again," Pól sadly said to Verna.

"Is it time for kids or adults?" Verna replied.

"Let me finish with the last two and you make the sweets in as large quantities you can manage with the resources we have. Let's mull over it and I'll get back to you on what I think."

"Enjoy!" Verna said to the disappearing figure of Pól who was going into his hidey hole where his hobby was simple.

***********

The girl felt nothing but pain. White searing fire that tore relentlessly at her body, coursing from fingertips to lungs. Each breath brought a new wave of agony. She could not feel beyond the pain. It ate at her ravaged body, tearing through muscle like a steak knife, leaving her stranded on this island of pain. She knew that her body was whole but, regarding what the female voice had told her, it was most likely she wouldn't be in one piece soon. She howled silently.

"Come now. We have many things to discuss," came the female voice. And giggled.

She heard the sound of a saw being picked up and she tried to scream again but, nothing except a whimper. She felt her flesh part slowly, excruciatingly as if the person was trying to inflict as much pain as possible. She could feel every fibre of her body grow taught against the pain and how intimate this procedure was.

She heard a thump as a limb fell to the floor. Then the next one began. The pain was so unbearable that she no longer could keep herself conscious. It took her not a minute to fall asleep. The last thing she knew was that the saw had stopped.

***********

"Well Pól our current client is difficult and is staying longer than anticipated but I should finish with her within the next day or two. The shop is well stocked but we are running out. I have the white stuff and we have a fair amount of hair to keep the candyfloss rage grow," said Verna.

"Give me a go at our client. I'll be finished with her this evening if you let me and take charge of the shop," Pól replied.

"Do. I'll be waiting. I have sweets to make," she flashed a wicked grin at Pól and he nodded then turned and went down to the basement.

***********

"Gráinne we must end this meeting soon I'm afraid. Now be a good girl. You are perfect quality for our sweetshop," Pól stated then giggled as was his annoying habit but both he and Verna did it.

Gráinne groaned, barely drifting into consciousness. Then the pain hit again. She tried wiggling her legs but, nothing. She realised that she had been awake as well when they did that but she no longer could tell whether it was sunrise or evening or how long she had been unconscious for. And where were her tanned legs that sent the boys haywire? Gráinne screamed and this time it did make a bit of noise but not enough to alert people to this basement.

"Shhhh. No need. Just embrace the fact that you will make some children very happy."

"Please," Gráinne sobbed. She tried to flex her arms but again nothing happened. She howled and it filled the room. Pól jumped back.

The last thing Gráinne ever heard was a gentle sshhhing.

***********

Verna wrapped the hair in fine strands of cocaine and dusted with some sugar to make the perfect treat for a child during this mad candyfloss rush. Addicted immediately. She smiled as she worked. They had closed the shop for the day to prepare sweets to sell the following day.

The candyfloss was one of the easiest. The easiest was jelly eyes. A little bit of sugar and drugs created a lovely chewy jelly like no other. And all the sweets were hand made by Verna.

She didn't mind the long hours. She loved this job. She got to practise her hobby with her husband and got to see children addicted to sweets and treats. Her hobby was her favourite. No other job could give her the sheer release that her hobby did to her. The screams, the blood, last words all of it made her shudder with delight and she wished she could spend as much time as Pól perfecting techniques. But someone had to keep the shop running.

Pól emerged, clean from a recent shower down in the basement, held up a clump of hair still with bits of scalp attached.

"Pól," said Verna in a chastising tone.

"What have I done now? I got you your hair and..."

"And scalp? Did you not use the scalpel properly? Twat."

"I am not a twat. If you want this hair so much you can clean it and use it."

"We both run this shop Pól and I work up in the shop most days while you get to use and experiment during your 'meetings'. If I wanted to I could send you to jail so do your job."

"Ok fine. I'll clean it up and bring it back in about... half an hourish?"

"Sure. I am working on the last batch of hair then it is time for the eyes. Everyone loves the eyes."

***********

The shop was full of shelves from ceiling to floor and each contained jars of sweets in a dazzling display. In front of the counter was a see through glass display cabinet. In it were the 'treats of the day' usually something like scones or sausage rolls and they frequently did a full Irish breakfast with black pudding and all. Sometimes there was even soup. They also made a lovely stew. No one suspected and nobody knew.

Until the day Bianca escaped.

***********

"Fuck. Verna!" Pól yelled as he sped down the corridor to the basement.

"What?" Verna said as she jumped down the trapdoor.

"She's gone," he muttered in disbelief.

"Who? What? How?" Verna replied baffled.

"Bianca. That stupid girl evaded us. What can we do Verna?

"Burn the place down."

"But Verna we built this place. We can't just set fire to it."

"Then what's your plan?"

Pól thought for a second.

"Fine. Let's burn the place down."

*********

The blaze was violent enough that the smoke could be seen for miles. Verna and Pól staggered out of the building and watched as their home burned. All their hard work...gone. And now all they wanted was for Bianca to have a fitting end. No matter what happened that girl deserved to die in as slow and excruciating way as possible.

"We must find her," Pól stated.

"And we will destroy her."

This is my entry for the #Shortys2024.
Enjoy!