This time I asked my Facebook readers to give me phrases and words for a horror-themed post. I had a feeling it would be campy. Words and phrases given to me are in red. My apologies to Poe…
Corn CandyOnce before a Frankenstormy, while I wandered Wal-Mart storey,
over many flashlights, batteries, and emptied aisles of corn candy,
where I hunted, past the cherries, for a cup of crushed strawberries
I had more than I could carry. Carry? “A cart’s more handy… I’ll go get one,” I said when Larry screamed “Let’s get Randy!… …all head the hootenanny!” So with that one declaration we took off from Wal-Mart nation Lar hid his Monster Mash CD under the Andies Candies. Eagerly we hit the highway, didn’t stop until the driveway. Lar jumped out “Let’s party my way.” “My way” he said to Randy who met us at the door with his shirt that read “I’m with Randy.” He frowned,“Where’s my corn candy?” He was watching Bill Cardille and carving pumpkins with Lar’s good drill. Pumpkin guts and candied nuts covered the table, floor and he watched us, watched TV, giggling like the TV skull. But his sibling, Lar, was wriggling, as he picked up his drill, his muscles rippling. Lar was wriggling as he picked up his drill, his muscles rippling, I watched him drill poor Randy. Chiller Theater kept playing, a pool of blood below it laying, As Larry drilled the screams grew louder on TV and Randy cried “I’m sorry brother!” then lifted his arm for me to mother “You locked all the knives. No other…no other tool was handy.” I wrapped a towel around his arm and went and found a bandage. He asked, forlorn, “Corn candy?” Deep arm holes were still bleeding, but out we went, for we were needing a party for unwinding—unwind before the storm, Sandy, who’ll leave no pane unbroken when she brings the Atlantic Ocean. The only word spoken as we drove to the field was “Candy?” From bleeding, bloody, Randy. We pulled into the clearing where all were drinking, dancing, cheering Music blared and bowls were passing, filled with greenbud, not candy Costumed girls and guys were grinding. One then came and grabbed my Larry, “Charlie is handsome” she winked, and I think her name was Mandy. “He’s not Charlie” I nearly broke her hand. Her name was Mandy. Randy fell, asking: “Candy?” I let him sit and stutter as Mandy kept up flirt and flutter With my Lar, my love, my life. Drunk or not, I’ll kill that Mandy. Her nose was hairy—not like a witch, but two hairs glued and barely a costume. I said adversarily, “What’s with the hair, Brandy?” “It’s my Sexton nose” she retorted “and my name’s not Brandy.” Larry grinned, “Rhymes with candy.” Larry leaned to kiss her whiskers, just as I swung fist and missed her. Lights and sirens lit the air and we forgot about Mandy In Lar’s truck we really laughed while Larry punched the pedal fast back to Wal-Mart for Monster Mash, when I remembered Randy. His last words (say those who stayed for the bust of the hootenanny) Were “Where is my corn candy?”
P.S. Thanks to the following Facebook readers who gave me this week’s prompts: Jeff Gach, Mona Juart, Mary Parks, Sharon Lightner, Kim Fry Griffith, Melanie Wetzel, and Kathy Murphy Jamison!
P. P.S. If you would like to participate in the next “Manipulate MarLa Monday” just watch my Facebook writer page for updates!