From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Candy Canes (a)
Date: 28 Dec 1995 11:09:03 GMT


First off, this is a short story, but my 'puter can handle only
so much, so I'm breaking this down into two parts. Second of
all, I'm unsure whether this story warrents a rating, but I'll
say it's PG for subject matter, just in case. And lastly...
gee, I hope you get it.

                        Candy Canes

  Five young boys sat around in a semi-circle on the ground,
their backs resting up against the partially uncovered roots
of a massive oak tree. It was their special spot that no one
else knew about. It was where they came to play, to pretend,
to share. Five little bodies forming their own kind of coven,
if they had known what the word meant.
  "Did you bring it?"
  "Don't be a doofus. Of course I brought it. I said I would,
didn't I?" To back up his words, the red-headed boy covered
from head to toe with freckles reached into the back pocket
of his thread bare jeams and drew out the prize. They all
bent their heads down close together to stare at the wonder.
  In the palm of his hand, Freckles carefully cradled the
crumpled paper package of cigarettes he had stolen from his
older brother's room. It's shiny texture, printed with red
and white, mesmerized the group. Freckles puffed up with
importance. In his hand he held The Forbidden. As of this
moment, he was the center of attention. He held the power.
  Shaking the package as he had witnessed his brother doing,
he knocked out the last two remaining cigarettes. "That's
all that's left. We'll have to share. Get the matches,"
he ordered.
  Jeff, dusty from an earlier wrestling match, quickly
scrambled to his feet and reached into the hole in the trunk
of the tree. This was where they kept their little boy 
treasures. He pulled out a faded matchbook found one day
discarded on the sidewalk. Inside the flap, a mysterious
message jotted down. "382-7704 ASK FOR SUSAN" Although it
had been discussed at length, so far none of the boys had
gotten the nerve to make the call and discover who Susan 
was.
  Delegating the role of leader to Freckles, Jeff handed him
the matchbook. Picking a cigarette up off the ground, Freckles
placed the dry, papery-tasting butt between his thick lips.
While on the outside he was calmly striking the sulphur head
of the match across the sandpaper, on the inside he shook
nervously. He hoped he knew how to fire up the cigarette.
  They all held their breath as they watched. With a sense of
bravado, Freckles held up the burning match for all to see,
then slowly touched the golden flame to the tip of the 
cigarette.
  They waited.
  Nothing happened.
  Freckles frowned. What? Why wasn't it smoking? What was he
supposed to do? 
  "You don't even know how to do it, do you?" Larry taunted.
  "I do, too!"
  "Then why didn't you?"
  "There must be something wrong with the cigarette. Yeah, it's
too old or somethin'. That can happen, ya know."
  Larry rolled hiseyes, then jerked the cigarette from Freckles'
mouth. "Here, let me try."
  Freckles was helpless in the shift of power. Now Larry was
the leader, showing confidence and knowledge, as he placed
the cigarette precisely in the middle of his mouth. His only
loss of ground was when it took him several tries to light
the match. But he quickly regained what he had lost when he
touched the light to the end of the cigarette and carefully
sucked in. The burning smoke rushed down Larry's throat and
into his unsuspecting lungs. He dropped the cigarette and
began to cough wildly.
  "Don't let it go out!" Freckles shouted.
  Jeff picked up the burning cigarette, holding it, but nothing
else. He didn't realize that now all eyes were on him. He had
taken the reins of control simply by accident, but unless
he did something soon, he would quickly lose them.
  "Well?"
  "Well what?" Jeff asked.
  "Take a puff."
  "I--I will."
  "When, Christmas?"
  "Hey, don't rush me."
  "You're scared, aren't ya? Scaredy-cat! Scaredy-cat!"
  Not thinking of the cigarette in hand, Jeff reached over and
pushed Freckles. Freckles shoved back harder. Soon the boyws 
were engaged, each trying to get their arms around the other's
neck. Shouts of encouragement rang out as the scuffle
increased.
  The Boy watched impassively, as he was the sole witness to 
the much lauded cigarette being grounded into the dirt beneath
the twisting bodies of the boys.
  "Take it back!" Jeff demanded, straddling Freckles.
  Quietly, calmly, The Boy pointed out, "It doesn't matter now.
Look." He pointed to the ground. Neither of the cigarettes
had survived the ordeal. After a few more gratuitous slaps at
each other, the two adversaries retired to their individual
corners. An air of dejection fell over the group.
  Larry, still feeling a bit queezy, kicked at the ruined
cigarettes. "Now whatta we do?"
  No one spoke for a minute. Then the fourth boy (who's name
was also Jeff, so to differentiate between the two was
regulated to his last name, Brown) looking around and
sensing it was his chance, spoke up. "I know a secret."
  Larry sniffed. "Yeah? Who cares?"
  "No, it's a really good secret," Brown defended. "It's
about..." lowering his voice dramatically he whispered,
"...Ted Logan's sister."
  At this, ears perked up. For weeks now, *something* had
been going on concerning the Logan household. Whatever it
was, it had adults in a tizzy, calling one another,
speaking in hushed tones and then shutting up immediately
whenever the children should enter the room. Ted, usually
a boisterous kid, had been strangely quiet at school, not
looking anyone in the eye.
  And now, here was Brown, claiming to have the ability
to reveal the secret at last.
  "She's gonna have...a baby!"
  Larry sat back and pshawed. "You lie."
  "No, it's true! I swear it!"
  "Look," Larry started out, trying to explain the facts
to the ignorant Brown. "It can't be true. Ted Logan's 
sister ain't married."
  "Yeah," chimed in Jeff. "You hafta be married to have a
baby. Everybody knows that."
  Brown started to falter. He had been so sure of his
information, but what the others had pointed out were
true. Everyone he knew that had babies were married. Was
he wrong?"
  The Boy watched silently bemused as Brown caved in on
himself. What a pity. Brown had been right, but had allowed
the others to cause him to second guess himself. Of course,
the revelation was nothing new to The Boy. He had known
days ago. He knew how to hide and not be discovered. He
knew how to listen, which was how he had overheard his
mother speaking on the phone, wondering how such a thing
could happen to a "good family" like the Logans.
  The Boy hadn't told what he had learned to the rest of
the group. It gave him his own private sense of power to
know what the others didn't. He didn't tell, so therefore
they couldn't take the power away from him.
  "Hey, gees," Jeff ran his hand through his hair. "I gotta
get going. Mom'll kill me if I'm late for supper again."
  "Yeah, I'd better get as well."
  
  The Boy crawled underneath the barbed wire fence into his
back yard. Pushing open the kitchen door he loudly announced,
"I'm home!"
  "There's no need to shout," The Mother serenly replied. She
turned around and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, you're filthy. Go
clean up."
  The Boy took a deep breath. "Spaghetti and meatballs!" His
favorite dish.
  The Father walked by, reaching out to ruffle his son's hair.
"Hey, scamp. What've you been up to?"
  The Boy shrugged. "Playin' and stuff."
  "'Playin' and stuff.' That tells me a lot," The Father 
laughed as he went about setting the table. "Listen to
your mother and go wash your hands."
  "And don't use the good towels!" she reminded The Boy as
he headed for the bathroom.

  The Boy's face, as well as his shirt, was covered with
sauce as he gnawed on a meatball to large to fit into his
mouth. All through the meal he couldn't shake the feeling
of urgency, punctuated by his mother continually glancing
at the clock every few minutes.
  The Mother looked one more time, then started to gather
up her dished. "I'd better get going."
  "Going?" The Boy asked.
  "Yes, honey. The only way I could get your Aunt Carol
to go home and get a decent night's rest was if I promised
to stay with your cousin Jeannie in the hospital tonight."
  The Father wiped his mouth with a napkin. "What has the
doctor said?"
  "Her fever has come down a bit, but he wants to keep her
for a couple of more days for observation. He said..."
  The Boy wasn't listening to the mundane conversation between
his parents. A cold had seeped into his stomach, draining
away all the heat in his body.
  "You're not gonna be home at all?" he peeped.
  "Don't worry, honey. I'll be back in the morning in time
to fix you breakfast." Turning to her husband she said, 
"And I better not come home to find him with dried spaghetti
sauce on his face."
  The Father laughed. "I'll see to it he takes his bath,
even if I have to take him into the back yard and hose him
off."

(Not an interesting place to take a commercial break, but
bear with me)          

===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Candy Canes (b)
Date: 28 Dec 1995 11:10:22 GMT


                Candy Canes
  The Boy sat cross-leggged in front of the black and
white television set. He was tinglingly clean, dressed
in fresh pajamas. Behind him, sitting on the couch, The
Father laughed at the antics of the wife trying to explain
the live chickens in the kitchen to her beleagured 
husband. The theme music began to play as names started
to scroll up the screen.
  The Father clapped his hands together. "Okie-dokie,
time for bed."
  The Boy looked over his shoulder. "Aw, please? Just
one more show?"
  "But there's nothing coming on." The Father glanced
at the TV Guide resting beside him. "Nothing good, at
least. Besides, I've let you stay up too late as it is.
It's time to hit the hay. C'mon, I'll tuck you in."
  Reluctantly The Boy stood and walked to his room. The
Father pulled back the covers so he could slip into 
bed. Tucking the covers neatly in, The Father sat down
on the edge and asked, "Do you want me to read you
a bedtime story?"
  "Daaaaad!"
  "Oh, sorry. I completely forgot. You're too *old*
for sissy bedtime stories. My mistake. Can you ever
forgive me?" The Boy giggled as The Father tickled
him. "Alright now, enough playing. Sweet dreams."
He leaned over and kissed his son's forehead. He 
flicked the switch to the overhead light, then closed
the door behind him, bathing the room in complete darkness.
The Boy turned on his side, pounding his pillow into
a more comfortable shape, then snuggled down to sleep.

    *    *    *    *    *    *
  He didn't know how long he had slept. There was no
clock in his room. But he was wide awake now. His heart
started to pound, pound so hard he thought it was
beat it's way right out of his chest.
  He listened.
  There were all sorts of night sounds. The wind in the
trees, a car driving past, the neighbor's dog that never,
ever seemed to stop barking. But above all this The Boy
was able to hear the horrible sounds of soft footfalls on
the carpet. Coming closer. Coming closer. Coming closer
to his room.
  He hugged the pillow tightly, it's softness no protection
from what was coming closer, coming closer, it was here!
His back was to the door, but in his mind he could clearly
see the door knob slowly turn and the door swoosh open.
He drew his small body into a fetal postition, goose bumps
covering his skin. He could hear It, breathing heavy,
breathing rough and fast. His own body was screaming at
him <Get up! Run away! Hide> but it was no use. He had
tried that once before, to no avail.
  It was standing over his bed now, he knew it. He could
sense It's presence. He knew everything that was going
to happen, but he was still surprised when he felt the
meaty claw clamp down hard over his mouth.
  "Don't make a sound!" It hissed in his ear. It's breath
was stale and fetid like an open grave. The bed sagged
down with the added weight as It climbed in beside him.
The Boy started to roll toward the weight, coming in
contact with It's body, hot and foreign.
  "You don't make a sound, you hear me!" It hissed again.
The Boy jerked his head in a nod. Slowly, It took It's 
hand away from The Boy's mouth. The hand then began to
wander over his body, up and down his legs, over across
his stomach. The Boy bit down on his tongue, willing 
back the bile rising in his throat.
  It slipped a finger underneath the elastic of The
Boy's pajamas, curling into a hook and tugging the
material down. The Boy hugged his knees tighter to 
his chest, hoping it would impeded the loss of the
pants, but it was a useless gesture. It was able to
pull the bottoms down enough to expose The Boy's
buttocks. It's fingers gently explored, caressed,
squeezed, prodded.
  His throat was dry with unshed tears, with unshouted
protests as he felt his butt cheeks being parted
and something thick and hard being pressed against
him.
  "Don't fight me," It instructed.
  The Boy didn't. He had already learned it was useless.
Oh, but how he wanted to fight! How he wanted to make
this living nightmare go away. How he wanted to hurt It
as much as It was hurting him now.
  "Don't say a word..." It panted. "Can't tell. Can't
..tell anyone...they wouldn't believe you anyway.
They'd...call you a liar. You won't tell, will you?"
This last was almost a whine. "You...you're good at
keeping secrets. I know you, boy. You won't tell."
  The Boy didn't answer. He didn't make a sound as
ordered, merely prayed and prayed for the pain to
finally end.
  Eventually, it did.
  It rolled back away from The Boy, gasping for breath.
Carefully, The Boy reached down and pulled his pajamas
back up over his hips. His backside and thighs were 
sticky, but he would worry about that later. After It
was gone.
  There was a shifting on the bed, causing The Boy to 
be jiggled about, as he heard the crackling of
cellophane. He felt a soft touch on his shoulder.
  "Here, I've got something for you."
  The Boy automatically reached up, taking the treat
into his hand. This time it was a candy cane, left 
over from Christmas so many months ago. With shaking
hands he tore away the plastic and began to suck on
the crook of the cane. The taste of peppermint mixed
with the copper taste of blood.
  "You'll be alright, won't you?"
  The Boy nodded, only because it was expected of him.
  "Say, I've got a great idea. How would you like to 
go fishing tomorrow? We'll have your mother pack us a
big picnic. We'll go to our secret fishing hole. You'd
like that, wouldn't you?"
  The Boy thought it over, remembering previous fishing
trips. The adventure of traveling to the lake. The 
challenge of sitting patiently, waiting for a nibble.
the joy of having The Father praise his catch, no
matter how small. Yes, he would like that.
  "We'll do that, then. But we'll have to get up early
in the morning, so you'd better get to sleep." There
was a brief kiss on The Boy's temple. "Sweet dreams."
*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    
  Brigadier General Innotek wasn't a man easily shaken.
He had seen combat in both the Korean and Vietnam War, 
as well as many other military conflicts not formally
recognized by his government. He had been to all the 
continents of the Earth. He had seen every sort of
cruelty of man to man. He had seen death, tasted death,
stared death in the eye. Nothing rattled Innotek's
composure.
  Until now.
  He stood amongst the hustle and bustle inside the hangar
as workmen in steril white jumpsuits with equipment he
didn't recognize crawled all over the thing. It was huge.
It was ugly. It was unaerodynamically designed. It shouldn't
be able to fly.
  But it did.
  The Man standing beside the general was silently laughing
at the soldier. This decorated old man couldn't keep his mouth
shut. It kept falling open in awe.
  Innotek turned to him. "We recovered the, ummm, we found the
..ah..."
  "UFO," The Man sarcastically provided him. "It's alright. You
can use that term around here. Did you find any bodies?"
  "We--haven't exactly figured out how to get it open yet."
  "Have you tried a can opener?"
  "There's nothing funny about this!" Innotek protested.
  "Do you see me laughing, General?"
  Innotek stared at the man. Although he was dressed as a
civilian, the way he wore his suit pronounced it a uniform in
it's own right. What he couldn't understand was how lightly
his companion was taking all this. Didn't he understand the
significance of all this? Didn't he realize what this meant 
to mankind?
  The Man interrupted the General's musings. "There's no need
to tell me, General. I know. I know when it was first picked
up on radar. I know when it crashed. I know precisely when
and where you recovered it. I know everything."
  Innotek looked at the man and shuddere. He didn't doubt it
at all.
  "Then, of course you know, no one can know about this."
  The Man reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew
a pack of Morely cigarettes and a lighter. "But of course,
General. If there's one thing I do know..." he blew a puff
of smoke into Innotek's face.
  "...it's how to keep a secret."