Tim Tobin

Daddy, Daddy, Candy Eater

A woman she’d never met had been the one to name her Candy.

After her mother passed, a father she’d always loathed had tasted the candy, often.

She wrote Candace on her job application but her real name stuck. She was Candy to the office, especially to the men, and those men sampled the candy, too.

McMillan, Murphy and Collins, attorneys at law, enjoyed candy. Candy endured, not enjoyed, the attention, the gifts, the flowers, the sex. Every man who penetrated her smelled like her father, tasted like his cigarettes and beer, reeked of his sweat.

Candy murmured lies and pocketed the cash. Each month she examined her brokerage statement and thought to herself, “I’m a slut but a rich one at least. Thanks, Daddy…”

Mr. Gregory Solomon, Vice President of Finance, took her to dinner, a show and then to bed. On her way out, he patted her on the rump and put an envelope into her hand. She kissed his bald head, fondled him a last time and started for home.

Candy never spent the night with the candy eaters. Her father, now a decrepit old man, needed her help bathing, shitting, and eating. He still loved candy, but just the chocolate kind these days.

Candy stopped in a convenience store and bought a box of chocolate cherries, her father’s favorite. The clerk commented on how much of it she bought. Candy smiled her sweet little smile at him while she paid.

Pulling into the driveway, Candy killed the engine and walked up the front steps of her house, reminding herself to take out the trash bin before she went to bed. Damned thing was overflowing with candy boxes already.

Once inside, she flipped on a light and made her way into the kitchen. Rummaging under the sink, she came up with some goggles and an industrial painter’s mask. Tucking the chocolate cherries under her arm, she closed the cabinet door, clacked off in her heels, and descended the stairs to the basement.

She unbolted the door at their bottom.

Even with the mask and goggles, the sharp tang of urine, feces, vomit and decay was enough to nearly overwhelm her.

Her father lay in a puddle of his own waste, chained to the opposite wall. Dozens of empty chocolate boxes littered the filthy floor all around him.

“Look Dad, I brought you dinner,” Candy said, tossing it just beyond reach of his pustulous, skeletal fingers.