Sweet-Toothed Savages Episode 3

Written by: Paul Holmes 

 

Episode 3

Cotton Candy Randy 

The Carn-EVIL Candy Clipper weighed anchor from Port Linhud in the wee hours of the morning, long before the locals could become fully aware of the horrors visited upon them while the population enjoyed themselves with rides and treats. 

 

The SweetTooth Savages had slaughtered, and mostly devoured, at least a dozen inhabitants of the port city. He managed to get most of them on tape, which would be a good start to his planned series, “Savage Cutts.” A start, but nowhere near enough.

 

When the Carn-EVIL Candy Clipper set sail to the West, Steve (“Fudgey Steve” to his lackeys on the message board) was seated in the self-guided ketch he had been gifted by Squiffy Planks. The first few days were smooth enough, but as they approached the Northern edge of the Grand Straits, the Candy Clipper picked up speed, pulling the ketch along in its wake. Steve had to hold onto the rough wooden planks as the ketch’s prow lifted out of the water with the momentum. His stomach roiled worse than when he saw Capt. Rumguts Radke slurping down human flesh in a dim back-alley. At some point, somehow, Steve fell asleep.

Steve woke to the sun warm on his face. By the towering cliff walls just a few dozen yards from the shore, and the half dozen wooden platforms rising and lowering along them, Steve knew they were at the Garnathian port city of Highcliff. Situated atop its namesake, Highcliff utilized the rope, pulley, and mule-powered platforms to allow the transport of people and goods to and from the city itself. By simply pulling all the platforms to the top of the cliff, the city became impenetrable.

It was midday before the Candy Clipper was allowed to dock and the crew to unload and disembark from the sticky, dripping vessel. Steve followed shortly thereafter. 

From the top of the blue granite cliffs, Steve could just make out the island of Libertalia to the South, on the other side of Skinner Bay. It was no accident that Captain Radke hadn’t chosen Libertalia as his next port of call. The pirate haven was perhaps not the roughest or bloodiest that Skalmarune had to offer, but it was filled to overflowing with men and women with fewer morals than an excitable alley cat. As vicious as they were, even the SweetTooth Savages would be hard pressed to practice their sadistic hobbies undetected.

Highcliff, on the other hand,was a melting pot of every type of people looking to strike further into the plains and mountains of Garnath in search of the plentiful resources that they just knew were waiting for them and them alone.

Steve dusted off a seat on the wooden plank porch of a saloon and did some people-watching as the rides and attractions began to take shape in the town square.

The Amarokians were the most plentiful, blending into the surrounding naturally. Women in bustle skirts, men in leather vests and spurs, most with a sidearm brandished on one or both hips. Amarok and its people had always given Steve a “wild west” feel.

There were also Cascadians in their plaid shirts, full beards, and ever-present axe on the shoulder; a handful of the Eagle Tribe from the far North with their braided blond beards and permanent scowls; there were even two or three Dwarves, or “Hoard-Kin” as some of them preferred to be called.

Time passed quickly, and soon the town square was filled with laughing, happy screeches from the rides, and the calliope playing, “Bring Me the Head of the Preacher Man” in its original E minor key.

A flash of light caught Steve’s attention, and he saw that Captain Radke was using the flat of his clear to reflect torchlight into his face. Once Steve met the Captain’s eyes, Radke motioned with his head towards the part of the midway where various carnival sweets and snacks were sold. He pulled out his camera, removed the lens cap and started recording. The camera lens locked onto Randy, the clown with the wild hair that sold spun sugar to the kids and adults alike.

Randy had one of his hands behind the counter of the stall, but the visible hand held a large puff of cotton candy balancing precariously atop a rolled paper cone. He lifted his chin towards the young boy impatiently holding out coin for his treat, as if to say, “watch this.”

The child placed the coin down and reached for the sugary bundle Randy offered. Once the little hand touched the paper cone, it was obvious something was amiss. Randy still had a hold of a part of the cone, but as the child’s hand pulled away, strands of sticky sweetness stretched between Randy and his prey. The little feet tried to dig into the dirt beneath his feet, but it wasn’t enough. With a cackle Steve could hear from his perch, Randy gave a sharp pull, and his diminutive customer came flying over the low wall of the stand, disappearing inside. Randy dove down after, hidden from onlookers.

Steve zoomed in, catching focus just a sticky hand holding a stubby cleaver was raised up for a moment before slashing downwards. A red spurt of liquid, like cherry syrup sprung upwards before falling back down. Twice more, the cleaver raised and slammed down. Sticky crimson appearing at each occasion.

With the flashing lights, the shrieks of joy from the rides, and the screaming of the calliope, it seemed that no one took notice of the horror occurring inside the cotton candy stall.

Minutes ticked by before Randy stood up in full view once more. There were fresh red splotches on his apron and a scarlet stain on his lips, but again…cherry syrup.

As the night wore on, Steve watched as half a dozen more customers fell prey to the same trick. Stuck to the cotton candy, and pulled behind the counter to feed the unnatural appetite of Cotton Candy Randy.

An urge took over Steve. One he couldn’t ignore. He stood from his seat on the planks, stashed the camera away for now, and walked down into the chaos of the carnival. His attention focused on Randy and the spun sugar stall, but he was vaguely aware of the piano string tension that pervaded the locals of Highcliff. They seemed to be feeling a subconscious prick that something was amiss. 

 “If they only knew,” he chuckled low under his breath.

As Steve approached the stall, Randy’s smile grew wide, and he offered out the same ball of cotton candy he had been using as a lure all evening. Steve reached into his satchel and pulled out the golden ticket Radke had given him. A brief look of disappointment crossed the clown’s face, before he brightened once more and gestured for Steve to step closer and look behind the stall’s low wall.

Randy bent and threw back a pile of tarp to reveal piles of bones, carefully organized by type. The large man seemed either incapable of speaking or perhaps just not inclined to use words. Instead, he bent and pulled up what had been a small femur. Randy had apparently been carving something out of it in between customers/victims.

Steve couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be, until Randy pulled a beautifully carved bone dagger from his boot and showed it to Steve.

“Ah,” Steve said. “You’re making another knife.’

Randy shook his head, gesturing between the unfinished leg bone carving and Steve himself.

“For me?” he asked.

Randy nodded vigorously, a broad smile showing his red-stained teeth.

“That…ahem. That would be lovely, Randy. Thank you.” Steve managed to get out.

“What are you gonna do with the rest of the bones?” he asked.

With a dismissive shrug, Randy tossed the tarp back over his bone collection and turned to his left where a teenager was thrusting a coin at Randy rudely. Steve took that as his clue to leave.

Seconds later, there was a shriek that perfectly harmonized with the calliope as Randy added to his collection.