It was a relatively normal day in the country of Westalis. Citizens were hustling and bustling to get to work or to school. Each one had their own schedule and ritual to attend to. The country bordered the west of the country Ostania. There had been several schisms between both countries, but it seemed that tensions were buried, not right forgotten, but anything could threaten world peace.
In all the confusing noise with crowds of people crossing the streets and conversing outside of buildings, out of it came a tall, 6-ft figure wearing a layered trench coat. It was beige in color and, from a single glance, it was obvious the coat was too large for the person. He wore green gloves over his hands, but the sleeves completely engulfed his wrists leaving only his fingers present. On his head was a brown bowler hat arched to cover the top of his head. A red scarf covered what remained of his face until only his yellow-stained eyes were the only thing that peered from the darkness.
He carried a cane even when it was shown he could walk normally without it. He casually gave passing glances at the other people uncaring that he was suspicious-looking. Eventually, he would arrive at his destination: a phone booth. Before opening the door, he gave one last glance to ensure that he was alone. With the coast clear, he opened the door and sat down.
There was another man inside covered head to toe in a trench coat as well. The only difference was he wore his hood over his head and had sunglasses to hide his eyes. He held a lit cigar between his teeth. Seeing the man arrive, he withdrew a small packet of cigars and offered it to the stranger. The unknown man declined the offer, however. Nodding, the man held the cigar with his index finger and thumb and took a deep hit of it. Sucking, he pressed his lips together to allow a circle of smoke to leave his mouth.
"You remember our deal?"
The other man nodded. "Most certainly. You can count on me to do my part of the deal."
The shaded man smiled. "Glad to hear that. Here, take this."
He shoved his fingers into another one of his pockets and removed a tube. Inside of it, there was some liquid substance that glowed in the dark. It reminded the man of liquid mercury, the metallic substance that used to be a component in glass thermometers. It gooped and shifted inside of the glass tube like a lava lamp. It was almost addictive staring at it.
He slid the substance over to his partner-in-crime and the other man's gloved hands grabbed it and tucked it away. With the meeting going well, the bowler hat-wearing man turned around to leave. As he opened the door, the other man stopped him. "Are you sure she will take the bait?"
The man turned around and smiled, his eyes widening with his pupils resembling small suns. "She did win first prize in the Sweet Stuff Contest. I am sure she will love sharing her gift to the world."
Meanwhile in a town far away from either Ostania or Westalis, it was the middle of the day in a small Kansas town known for its oddities and spooky frights. The Middle of Nowhere. There belonged a farmhouse owned by an elderly couple known as the Bagges. The mailman arrived and deposited some letters in the mailbox and hummed a tune to himself as he turned to leave.
An old woman happily placed a tray of cookies into the oven and turned it on. Her begrudging husband sat down at his favorite chair to read his newspaper. A pink dog was watching TV at the time it being nothing but a rerun of some B-rated horror movie about a giant, detached foot gliding around and wreaking havoc on a small town. The poor dog was shivering and chattering his teeth. He wanted to close his eyes, but that was not doing him any good.
The old man peeped over the newspaper with a devilish smile plastered on his lips. Being ever so quiet, he withdrew a large, green mask from mid-air and shoved it over his face. He then knelt down to get to the dog's level.
"OOGA BOOGA BOOGA!"
The dog turned around and shrieked. Without much prompting, the dog rocketed towards the ceiling and smashed a hole upstairs causing debris to fall through the hole. The old man placed the mask down and pointed up busting a gut. He was so busy laughing his butt off, he did not notice that his wife manifested behind him holding a rolling pin in-hand.
BAM!
The old man winced in pain and rubbed the back of his head. He was on the verge of swear words at the sudden surge of pain on his bald, bald head. "YEOUCH! What'd I do?"
"That was the third time this week, Eustace," she explained. "Besides we can't afford to hire someone to keep fixing the ceiling every time you scare Courage."
"Blah, blah, blah," Eustace replied pretending to listen to his wife. He returned to reading his newspaper when Courage came back by walking down the stairs.
"Oh, I think I heard the mailman," she said, "Courage, be a dear and get the mail, will you?"
Courage nodded and walked toward the door. Despite his name, Courage was unironically uncourageous, and in fact, straight cowardly. But he loved his owner, Muriel, with all his heart so he would risk anything to keep her safe.
Reaching the mail box, Courage, perhaps reminding himself he was a dog, got down on all fours and placed the mail in his mouth. Trudging around, Courage sprinted back into the house. He placed the mail on Muriel's rocking chair, his favorite spot, before returning to the spot he was sitting.
"Stupid dog probably got his spit all over it," Eustace mumbled under his breath. And for good reason: Muriel still held the rolling pin in her hands so he better be on his best behavior.
Muriel took the letters and casually went through them. One was a reminder for Eustace to pay the electric bill (even if he did not like it). Another was from Eustace's mother. Then a few more bills and one asking if they had seen the slab of an ancient pharaoh. The last letter caught the old woman's eyes. It was large and decorated in rainbow polka-dots. Opening it, Muriel discovered a glittery, yellow letter with bold words.
TO WHOEVER THIS LETTER IS CONCERNED, CONGRATULATIONS! AFTER SOME CONSIDERABLE THOUGHT, YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO WORK FOR JUMPING JACK DEEN'S CANDY EMPORIUM! WE SPECIALIZE IN CRAFTING THE FINEST CANDY AND SWEETS FOR CHILDREN ALL ACROSS THE LAND. BUT MOST OF ALL, WE CHERISH DEVOTED WORKERS AND YOU HAVE MATCHED OUR CRITERIA.
Muriel's eyes widened making her glasses slide down to the bridge of her nose. "How exciting."
"What did the letter say?" Eustace asked.
"It says that I have won a contest," Muriel said, "funny...I don't remember running for one."
"Beh! Sounds like one of those schemes the newspaper would talk about." Eustace crossed his arms. "Lousy teenagers."
Courage also looked at the letter with suspicion. Muriel had never applied for this kind of occasion, but he was unsure how much he should be concerned just yet. "Eh?"
Muriel continued to read the letter. Her eyes skimmed down until they came to a stop. "They are saying I have to relocate to some country."
"Like I said, scams" Eustace reiterated.
"I have never heard of this place, O-sta-nia? Is it?"
"I ain't goin' to no other country just for candy," Eustace bemoans. He plopped his butt back on his favorite chair. "Ain't offering nothing for it anyway; so, I ain't leaving this chair."
"Well, they did say that if I do a good job, I could expect to get a thousand dollars per hour."
Dollar signs shot out of Eustace's eyes. Apparently, the thought of getting paid for the work was enough motivation. "Why didn't ya say so!?" He runs upstairs leaving Muriel and Courage to look at each other in surprise. Rustling and pushing rang from upstairs until Eustace came back down with multiple suitcases and bags.
Before they could say anything, he started to load the supplies in the back of his favorite truck, including his chair. It would seem he took half of the house with him since the bags and luggage made a large mound on the bed of his truck. All tied down with rope, but it did not bring any relief to Muriel and Courage. The ropes barely held together and wobbled. If they were lucky, they could at least lose a couple dozen things on the open road. He blared down on his airhorn.
"What are ya waiting for!?"
"Well, it should be interesting. I wonder what kind of sewing tools Ostania has."
Courage squeezed in between his two owners still suspicious about the sudden open invitation. He couldn't help but think that he had also forgotten something of great importance, but he could not put his finger on it.
The Computer, having built a human-esque body for itself, slid into the living room wearing socks and underpants with a lampshade on its head. It held a spoon to its digital lips and started to sing as the radio blared to life.
