candy stall

There was a little girl of around eight who came to the candy stall everyday. She would push the door slightly, causing a loud creaking sound accompanied by the sound of the bell attached to the door, and slowly taking a few steps in. Next, she would strut towards the jar of Rainbow Globules, and take one plastic-wrapped packet out, then walk slowly to the counter to pay. She was too short to reach the top of the counter, so I had to lean forward and take the money from her each time.

She always wore the same clothes every time she came. Long sleeved top, a frilly dress, laces and thigh high socks, with a neat black ribbon in her hair. Her coming into the store everyday became a routine sight.

Every time she was paying up at the counter, we would chat a bit. The topics of discussion varied widely, from the weather to discussing simple science. Most of the time, she would respond cheerfully with a heartwarming smile. On the topic on her family, however, she would suddenly lower her head and exhibit a deafening silence.

On Wednesday morning she came to the stall as per normal. Instead of the usual Rainbow Globules, she took a stick of the ultrahard rock candy.

“Why didn’t you get the usual candy today?” I asked curiously as I leaned forward to take the five pence from her outstretched palm.

“I just wanted something different today,” she replied. I shrugged it off and asked no further.

It was the first time that I noticed, but when she held up the money, the sleeves slipped slightly to reveal multiple bruises. I thought little about it though.

Thursday morning was a stormy one. As I looked through the clear window of the stall, I could see the rain pelting the cobblestone ground like shotgun pellets. “The rain’s pretty heavy today,” I thought to myself, “maybe she won’t be coming today.”

I should have stopped thinking about such possibilities a long time ago. Just right after my inner monologue, there was the sound of the bell ringing.

She was drenched. Her ribbon, now wet, drooped down sadly with her hair. The rest of her clothes were no different. Rainwater dripped onto the ground, forming a small puddle.

I started to ask, “Hey, are you all right-“, but she turned towards the candy jars, deliberately ignoring me.

She arrived at the counter with a large packet of Red Hots. This brand of candy is not exactly popular due to its high purity of capsaicin. It was kind of weird that she would suddenly want to buy this candy. I mean, can she handle the spiciness of this thing?

I tried to start a conversation.

“So, it seemed that you walked in the rain, huh?” I said.

The next moment, silence filled the room. It was the same type of silence I received when I asked about her family.

“Uh,” I tried to continue, “You shouldn’t be walking in the rain; you might catch a cold.”

“Just take the money,” she said irritably, thrusting to me the five pence. After stuffing the coins into my hand, she stormed out of the stall and back into the rain.

The puddle was still there on the ground. I had to mop it up.

Then one day, she stopped coming.

It was kind of disturbing, not seeing her coming in everyday. For a few days, whenever someone entered the stall, I would jerk my head towards the direction of the door, hoping to see the black neat ribbon upon a maiden’s brown hair, but every time I was disappointed.

I heard from a neighbour that something happened in the girl’s home, and that the police was involved with the case. The neighbour described with morbid detail how both parents were struck in the head with a small blunt object and that the poor child tried to follow her parents by ingesting capsaicin.

The sequence of events as told by the neighbour was probably overexaggerated over repeated hearsay. Yet, I still found myself covering my mouth and trembling.

“And, you know,” the neighbour whispered, “The only suspect was the girl.”

I stood unresponsive, gaping as the neighbour left the stall.

After a few minutes, there was a sound of a ringing bell. I turned and looked towards the door.

Long sleeved top, a frilly dress, laces and thigh high socks, with a neat black ribbon in the hair.

---

This was from a writing sabbatical of sorts. This version was edited based on peer comments.