Candy Pop Corpse

20. Apple Cider Answers

Dead, rotten fish. The cringe-worthy smell was not the best thing to wake up to. It burned my nose and planted a semi-permanent scowl on my face. Raw fish smelled terrible fresh, but after so many days the stench would eventually worse. Looked like the same principle applied to... corpses. I grumbled while sitting up. After a yawn, I rubbed face only to find more dead skin peeling off. Ugh, when was the last time I showered?

Scanning the room for a door, I headed to the one that was slightly ajar. The scent of linen in contrast to my horrid stench was too much to resist. My feet led me there in quick paces, as I was desperate to feel clean after so long. However, the moment I opened the door a note written in chicken scratch caught my attention. The blue shower curtain was open, which allowed anyone who entered to see the slip of paper. I leaned closer, then ripped it off the wall. The handwriting was shit, but still legible.

"Don't shower. You will explode. Seriously.

From Wastia"

My scowl stretched further once I noticed duct tape covering the shower head. Looking down, it turned out the tub faucet was treated in a similar manner. Way to be subtle. The sink, on the other hand, was littered with hygiene products from lotions to... herb bags?

I picked a purple one up by its necklace and brought it to my nose. A long whiff revealed it to have dried lavender inside. I placed it over my head without a second thought. At least I'd smell decent.

Hair tied in a quick ponytail, I walked to the clothes bag by my bed to pick out a matching set of clothes and sneakers to wear for the day. Once they were on, I sat in a chair in the TV room. This was my life now, huh? A nice room with security and food, three strange acquaintances by my side and cool, though a little gross, neighbors. What a time to be undead.

Somehow, a part of me wished Jack could experience this. But that was just a pipe dream. I lifted my knees to my chest, staring at the carpet. My skin felt mushy; I bet if I dug hard enough, I'd see things that should stay hidden. Jack'd kill me on the spot if he saw me like this. But what would I do?

Someone knocked on the door, successfully pulling me from my stupor.

I huffed. People needed to stop interrupting my thoughts, dammit. Stretching my arms up, I yelled, "Go away, please."

"I can't."

Styke's lowered voice reached my ears. I sat up, backing against the bed frame. Was he here to shove more gunk in my face? With a huff, I snatched a pillow and hugged it with all of my might. "Yes, you can," I argued after sniffing.

Another series of knocks, along with something banging on metal. "I know I was an ass, but I want to make this better." He scratched what sounded like his scalp, then sighed. "I'd also rather not have to clean up a corpse who forgot to feed herself."

Despite the smile peeking on my face, I kept my resolve. "Doesn't matter. I'm never coming out."

Squeaky objects rattled on metal. Possibly rubber or plastic? I couldn't tell.

"We figured you'd say that, so I brought some sacrificial offerings." More rattling, this time louder. "Charles said you liked this kind of thing."

Charles? What the hell did I tell him? The constant squeaks had me interested. For now, my worries could hide until another time. I tiptoed towards the door as my lips curled into a smirk. Knowing Charles, it had to be something gross. Or more sugar cookies. Maybe even both.

"Really? I guess I have to see for myself."

My hand was centimeters away from the knob. Was this a prank? Payback for leaving them to clean up puke? No, no, Charles wouldn't do that. Hopefully. Besides, trust had to be a two-way street.

I swung the door open before I could retreat. Styke stood alone, holding a red metallic bucket. So that was what I heard.

"Alright," I started, glancing from what he held to his face, "what is it?"

Styke didn't say a word. Instead he went off into a laughing fit. They were short and deep ones, each bouncing off the walls and down the halls.

I crossed my arms while glaring at his dimples. What was so funny? He had a nerve.

Once he fell silent, the dead man grinned. "You're pretty gullible."

I couldn't help flaring my nose. "Are you sure you came here to―"

He fucking shushed me, then pulled the top off. "Just look inside. I swear it won't bite."

After scowling at him, I peeked into the dark abyss. Silent seconds were spent scrutinizing the colorful contents before I furrowed my brows at Styke. "These are your sacrificial offerings? Lollipops?"

"Yes," he stated, gaze never averting. In fact, he gave a deadpan stare as serious as a heart attack when he repeated, "Lollipops."

My fingers twitched at my side. The rare, bubblegum-filled ones, to boot. Where'd they even find this? A quick sniff revealed flavors I'd only dreamt of tasting; lemon, root beer, raspberry, surprise, and was this... pomegranate? I covered my mouth with one hand and stuffed the other in my pocket.

"D-Don't think you can trick me with these," I uttered while glaring at him.

"Oh, you don't want them?" He sealed the bucket and turned his back to my. Head tilted back, he added with a smirk, "I guess we can have this all to ourselves, then."

"Wait!" I grabbed his shoulder, eyes wide. "I take it back. Gimme the sweets."

Before I could steal it from his possession, Styke lifted the bucket up. "Not until after dinner. Agreed?"