The Tales of Creepy Plaza
The young man entered the motel room with no bags. He hadn't even had a car when he arrived at this rather remote place. The receptionist had given him odd looks as she checked him in; his face was riddled with scars, and his eyes were dim and lifeless. He did flash a calm smile as he went to his room, though, and that put her a bit at ease. A little bit…
He went into the bathroom immediately, dragging in a tall chair and sitting in front of the large vanity mirror. He sighed and flipped off the lights, trying to remember if it were 3 or 5. His boss would have his head if he did this wrong.
"Bloody Mary…." He murmured. He said it again, and then repeated it again. The room seemed to darken even more, the vanity before him, the chair he sat on, and the entire room around him excluding the mirror began to vanish. In the mirror, he saw a figure fade into focus. It was a girl, about 17; with pale white skin; white hair with scattered blood stains and spatters; a long, flowing white dress; and most notably, a long, bloody knife. Her eyes turned pitch black, and she screamed deafeningly into his ear, having appeared behind him, and raised the knife faster than any eye could see. He was faster though, the back of his hand coming up and tapping lightly on her face. She flinched; her eyes turning back to what would be considered a relatively normal blue. He shoved an envelope in her face, and she took it hesitantly.
"For some reason, I thought you'd be more talkative." The messenger spoke, watching her study the envelope curiously. He made a motion with his hand to hurry her along, and she opened the envelope to read the message inside. It was an invitation; it went on about some kind of hidden city where people like her could live comfortably. "People like her"? She pondered what she was like. At the bottom of the letter, the name Candyman was signed in a familiar red substance. The messenger rolled his eyes and took her hand.
"You wanna go or not?" he asked roughly. She blinked.
"Um… Fine." She murmured quietly. The messenger smirked and put his hand on the mirror. Their reflections distorted and rippled like water. He yanked her arm as he dove into the mirror, dragging her with him.
Mary shielded her eyes from sunlight as the messenger tugged her out of a portal of distorted shapes and colors. She hated the light, and she whined softly, hiding behind the messenger. He rolled his eyes and took off the jacket he wore, draping it over her head. Her feet touched solid ground, and she looked down to see cracked pavement with scattered bloodstains on it. The messenger put an arm around her shoulders, and then led her over to the sidewalk. She looked around; there were a few people on the sidewalks, migrating in the same direction.
"W-What's your name?" she asked quietly. He looked down at her curiously; he'd brought many of the city's residents, and none of them had asked his name before.
"Call me Duke Sabers." He murmured, leading her up a walkway to a certain house.
"What's this place?"
"Candyman lives here. He said you would make a good addition to the town. Do you know him?" Because they both existed in the Realm of Mirrors, Mary had crossed paths with Candyman once or twice. Candyman had told her once about a place he'd heard about, where "people like them" were safe from prosecution of any kind. After that, she didn't see him anymore. She gave Duke a calm nod, and he knocked on the door.
"Just a second!" someone called out. The door soon opened and in it stood a tall man in a bloodied fur coat and carrying a sharp, rusty hook covered in gore. He smiled brightly at the girl.
"Mary!" he exclaimed happily, ruffling her hair with a bloody hand; She smiled shyly. "You look so thin. You're still hanging around that ratty hotel aren't you? I told you, you'll never get good victims hanging around slums like that."
"I…I didn't know where else to go." She said simply. Candyman smiled sympathetically.
"Thanks, man." He said to Duke.
"His name is Duke Sabers." Mary mentioned, about to hand the man his jacket. He shook his head and reached out, softly tying the sleeves around her neck so the jacket fit to her like a hood.
"Keep it until you're used to the sunlight, kid." He huffed. Candyman chuckled.
"Well, Duke." He corrected his earlier line. "Thank you for finding her for me. I'll take her off your hands if you're okay with that." Duke waved passively and walked off without looking back. Candyman pulled Mary into the house and up a flight of stairs, opening the door to a nearly barren bedroom, with nothing but a dresser, a desk, and a bed with a cold steel frame, a 2-inch-thick mattress, and a very thin blanket.
"It's so empty here…" she mumbled. Candyman nodded.
"You can decorate it as you please, child." He said calmly. "I'll prepare something for you real quick. It'll have to be quick if you want it fresh." She remembered him mentioning that he was a decent cook.
"Can I watch you cook?" she asked, already following him. He chuckled and led her to the kitchen. A young human male, around college age, was strapped to a metal table, his torso cut right down the middle and opened up. His mouth was covered with thick taped and his eyes were glossy with tears of pain and anguish. Mary smiled slightly, drawing her knife and approaching the table while Candyman was preparing baking pans and dishes for the dinner table. She slowly cut a line up his calf, unmoved by his pained groans and slight struggle. She licked his blood off the blade, smiling. Candyman was right; good victims like this never came around the slums.
"Oh, Mary." Candyman chuckled. "Don't do that; you'll spoil your dinner. And don't you know better than to play with your food? Be constructive and set the table." Mary looked down at the boy, before walking away and retrieving the dishes, arranging them on the nearby table. The tablecloth was stained with blood, but knowing her friend, he probably just called it decoration. She heard the boy struggling and shouting into his gag, and she turned to see Candyman standing over him with an evil smile and a carving knife.
"You still want to watch?" he asked, smirking; and she nodded eagerly, grabbing a chair and sitting by the boy's head. Both teens watched the man raise the knife, and Mary softly rested her hand over the boy's eyes. She winced a bit at his muffled screams and cries as Candyman sliced through his upper thigh. Candyman chuckled, pointing vaguely under the table.
"Hand me that." He muttered. She reached down with one hand, the other still over the victim's eyes, and her hand returned with a small hammer. She passed it calmly to him, and rested her head on the table beside the boy's.
"If it means anything," she mumbled so the boy could just barely hear her. "Your blood will make the best meal I've had in months…" she closed her eyes and listened as Candyman brought the hammer down on the boy's femur bone, and he screamed in agony…
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