Friday McDaniels and the Case of the Missing Nutsack

Part 11: Into The Ground

A dark silence rested over the grounds of the cemetery. A silence that carried with it the slow roiling rumble of thunderclouds overhead. There was an electricity building, the air dry and thin causing the hairs to rise on Friday's arms as he made his way to the Thorne mausoleum. The full moon shone through the covering of surrounding trees, casting its glow across the tombstones. The alcohol was wearing off—again—and Friday walked to the door of the mausoleum with his heart in his throat.             

Once inside, he turned on his flashlight, darting light from corner to corner. Bugs scurried off into the shadows. In the middle of the room sat a casket made from stone. Chipped and wearing thin, the great stone lid lying broken on the floor, Friday couldn’t help but feel less than impressed. He wondered briefly how this place must have looked a hundred years ago when the last of the Thorne's had passed away. Definitely more impressive than this crumbling pile of stone covered in dust, cobwebs, and insect carcasses

He approached the casket and peered inside. There was nothing but a stone bottom cleared of debris. Friday took out a baggie of crushed herbs and God knew what else that Hazel had given him before he left. He sprinkled the powder on top of the floor of the casket, hearing Hazel’s voice in his mind as he did:

"You won't be able to see anything, but you'll be able to feel the handle and lift."

He felt around the bottom until he made contact with something solid. He put his hand around it and pulled, the bottom surprisingly light. Illusions, Hazel had explained.

People are easy to fool. You only have to suggest something be impossible—and then it is.

Dim light illuminated stone steps. Friday took a deep breath, pulled a knife from his boot, and descended.

Entering Sir Candystripe's underground lair, Friday felt like he was entering the witch's candy home in Hanzel and Gretel. Powdered sugar covered the walls of a narrow hallway like snow. The hall was so thick with the substance that Friday choked on it as he walked. The sickly-sweet scent of various candy concoctions filled the air, making breathing that much more difficult of a task.

He walked through a doorway and into a big open room where an uniced tiered cake the size of a car stood. Small cauldrons bubbled from the tabletops and acidic smells cut through the fresh baked cake smell, threatening Friday's already sour stomach. At the far wall a giant gumball machine sat, the gumballs tumbled and stirred.. Sir Candystripe had his back to Friday, working on something at the table, a large hourglass next to him, the sand sliding through the small opening and collecting on the bottom.             

Friday cleared his throat. Candystripe turned, his eyes bright, crazed.            

"I know what you're up to." Friday said.          

A smile stretched across the man's face. The gumballs moved and Friday thought he caught a glimpse of a hand on the glass.           

"I told you I'd return your brother as soon as I was finished."            

Friday took another look at the moving gumballs.          

“I'm afraid there's not much air left in there. Oops" Candystripe laughed, “That’s what happens during the busy season—you get careless. Forget important details.”