Honey and Ginger Candies

CW: Stalking, implied abuse, implied child harm (feel free to add anything I might have missed, thank you)

The candies were still warm when Iris placed the rose stems inside them, her gloved hands safe from thorns eager for human flesh. She used ginger from the grocery store, honey from the farmer’s market and rose stems from a coworker who was upset with her cheating boyfriend. Rosemary from her patio garden was mixed into the sweet treat beforehand to add a little extra for her guests to enjoy. It wouldn’t take much time for them to cool in their mold, leaving behind solid rectangles. Iris wished she had found prettier molds for the candies, but ordering online would take too long to ship and the closest store had already run out.

“Lot of couples this time of year,” the underpaid retail worker explained. “Something cute to do together, right? Romance is in the air.”

They were right: she could smell perfume in every store she went to. Early gifts, anniversary presents, or a substitute for pheromones to attract a partner before the deadline. She’d have to avoid going out to shop for a few days to keep sense of smell intact, and her heart from breaking even more.

She sighed in despondence before her stomach reminded her of her mortal needs. Yesterday’s leftovers were waiting for her to heat up.

Outside the echoes of stomping little feet bounced off the walls of her little apartment. Slamming doors, parents shouting, giggling and screaming meant that school was out for the day and the kids were returning home. A haunting melody, a song of what could have been.

The newly hot food was enough of a distraction from her thoughts as she sat down in her age-stained recliner. Unlike her neighbors, Iris lived alone. Her furniture consisted of the basics found at yard sales or secondhand stores. No art pieces, no trinkets holding memories, not even a photograph of past joys. Just simple beige walls to keep her safe. The only exception was the pile of books on her left she borrowed from the library. At the top was a book of fairy tales she planned to read after her meal. A TV with cable or a tablet with internet would have been nice, but she didn’t have the funds, and getting another credit card before the other was paid off wasn’t an option.

Inside the book were stories she remembered from her grandmother reading them to her every night as she fell asleep, images of princesses and impish creatures dancing through her imagination. She picked it up, reading as she ate, careful to keep the pages from damage. So lost was she in the tales of magicians and fools battling wits against the Fae that she didn’t hear the knock at the door until it turned into hammering against the wood with a fury of a winter storm.

Iris slipped an old receipt inside her book and set her food down before walking to the door as it resisted the onslaught. Slipping the door chain into its groove, a precaution she’s yet to forget, she turned the dial that kept her safe from the outside world. The clicking of the lock silenced the pounding enough for Iris to avoid being at the receiving end of a barrage of fists.

There stood a woman who stood in stark contrast to her. She was in a summery dress that reached her calves, sandals bedazzled in rhinestones, painted eyes and lips that brought out her features, and hair that was clearly done by a professional at a salon. Iris in contrast had her messy, unwashed brown hair tied in a ponytail, wore a baggy shirt in need of patching, sweatpants that were a wash away from falling apart, and a pair of flipflops exposing her chipped crimson nail polish.

Behind the woman was a child, their face hidden as their fingers clutched at the shirt of who Iris assumed was their mother.

“Can I help you?” Iris prompted, eager to return to her book.

The woman stepped back, her face betraying her confusion. The child was nearly stepped on as a result. Iris couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in her own perplexity.

“Um,” the woman began, her previous bluster gone in the face of an unexpected adversary. “My child…he thought that you…”

Iris watched as the child glanced at her from behind his mother’s protective stance. When their eyes made contact, he clutched the fabric in their hands tighter.

“Thought what?”

“The children on the baseball team think you’re a witch, and that you made them lose their game because you cursed them.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “And you believe them?”

The woman backtracked. “No, of course not. I just wanted to warn you, that’s all. You know how kids can be when something strange happens.”

“A note would have sufficed. Also, that doesn’t explain why you nearly broke down my door.”

The woman at least had the sense to appear embarrassed. “Well, it’s just that…Are your plants safe?”

The woman’s eyes wandered to the patio where Iris kept her plants, the kind used in tea and food. Each one was placed in a painted pot depicting intricate designs she found in Celtic books. Anyone with familiarity with basic herbs would know there were no poisonous plants in the small garden.

“Yes, and no, I don’t use them for spells or dark rituals. Look lady, I don’t care what happened with your child’s game, because I’m not a witch, and even if I was, I wouldn’t waste my time cursing children. Might I suggest teaching your child not to judge people instead of harassing strangers when things don’t go your way.”

The woman’s face changed, her skin growing redder with each second as her features twisted into a grimace.

“Do you have kids?”

A pause. “No.”

“Then clearly you don’t understand how they can react to…strangeness.”

“So, it’s my fault you came to my home to insult me? What, did you expect a pointed hat beneath a twisted crone’s face? If you ever come back here throwing accusations, I have the right to call security and report you for harassment. Goodbye.”

Iris slammed the door in the woman’s face The entitlement was maddening, and over something as small as a child’s game. She was looking for a fight, and Iris was just convenient, something she was all too familiar with. Easier than arguing with the referee, which would only bring embarrassment and social exile.

Sighing, Iris returned to her book and warm food. She remained in this repose until her hunger was satiated. Placing the empty plate and fork in her sink, she checked the hardened candies, now solid enough for her finger not to leave a mark. She’ll hang them up before she left for work.

###

The rise of the sun brought forth a new day. After her breakfast Iris walked onto her patio, watering can at the ready. The treats for her guests were then hung with scarlet ribbons by hooks placed in the slats of the upstairs apartment’s balcony, beside her windchimes of broken glass. It won’t be hard for her guests to reach them.

She drove to her work, spending her regular eight hours stocking shelves and answering questions from customers. Nothing glamorous, but it paid enough, and no one recognized her. No familiar faces in the crowd.

The return home was just as uneventful. What was on her door, however, wasn’t. Paint was splattered against her door as if made by water balloons, glass was thrown against the side walls into piles of sharp pieces on the ground, even crosses were carved into the wood. It only took five seconds for the shock to abate and chilly ribbons of fear to wrap around her heart.

He found me.

She scanned the area in a panic, like prey searching for a hunter. She doesn’t see the icy eyes staring back at her, or the sharp features she once found handsome. Is he hiding? Is he already inside her apartment?

Iris took out her phone from her purse with shaky hands, her fingers nearly missing the numbers needed to call for the apartment complex security. She didn’t wait for his greeting to finish.

“Someone just vandalized my door.”

“What? Ma’am, are you safe?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see anyone, but I’m too scared to go inside.”

“Alright, can you tell me what apartment you live in?”

“Thirteen. Are there security cameras around the area?”

“Yes, there are. Is there anyone who you think would do this?"

Iris hesitated. “My ex.”

She heard typing in the background. “Ok, I have footage of the area on screen. Can you describe him for me, please?”

“Six foot three, black hair, blue eyes, muscular frame, and he has a pin-up tattoo on his left arm.”

More typing. “Ma’am, no one of that description appeared around your door. However, footage shows three children in the area before they reached the camera’s blind spot. Could it have been a prank?”

Memories of the day before, of the woman shielding her child from the suspected witch, come to the surface. They wouldn’t, would they?

“I don’t know, I just want to feel safe. Is there something you can do?”

“I’ll head over to your apartment and check things out, although I might need to call the police. Do I have your permission to give them your number?”

“Please, just do whatever you need to.”

The end of the call didn’t leave her with a sense of comfort. Even the security guard, a fit man with a gentle smile, taking photos of the damage and sweeping the glass off the ground did nothing but leave her anxious until the authorities arrived.

Instead of relaxing after a long workday like she wanted, she was left to answer questions from the cops and call a motel to get a room for the night. She’d rather sleep on her porch, but she had no one in her corner anymore, hence the apartment miles away from all she knew.

The motel felt wrong: something in the air, hanging on the fabric of the curtains and the stained blankets were too thin to comfort her as she lay awake staring up at a strange spot on the ceiling. She couldn’t remember when she fell asleep, but when her alarm from her phone set off, she awoke. If anyone at noticed she wore the same clothes as the day before, no one mentioned it.

After work she returned to a now cleaned door, the marks hidden by wood filler. She glanced over at her patio before walking inside. The treats were gone, a small relief. The complex would investigate the crime; they already sent out texts, emails, and fliers to the other units warning of delinquents and to call with any information. They would let her know of any updates.

Iris barely ate what remained of her work lunch before falling asleep sitting in her chair until the sun began to set. The ringing of the doorbell brought her back to the cruelty of the real world. Still groggy from sleep, Iris made her way to the door. On the other side was a woman with another child, only she’s in jeans and t-shirt without the air of superiority the first mother did. The child by her side had their head down observing their shoes.

“Can I help you?” Iris spoke with an irritated tone, the previous interaction still fresh in her mind.

“Sorry to bother you,” the mother replied with an apologetic tone, “but my son told me what he and his friends did to your door.”

She nudged the boy to speak.

“Sorry for messing with your door,” he confessed, “and saying you’re a witch. It won’t happen again.”

With a nod the mother then handed her a few crumpled bills.

“I hope this is enough for your stay at a hotel last night. We agreed on taking his allowance instead of pulling him out of the game for the rest of the season.”

Iris took the money. A quick glance at the bills assured her it was enough to compensate her for her stay the night before.

“Thanks, and I do appreciate you coming.” She meant it. The money helped, and seeing a child taking responsibility for his actions gave her hope for the mother.

“Is there anything else I can do?” the mother asked her.

“No, this is enough. Although, if you can make sure the other kids don’t come over again, that would help. I…get startled easily and don’t want to scare them, even inadvertently.”

The mother nodded as if sensing the hidden meaning behind Iris’s words.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again. Sorry again about all this. Just to warn you, I can’t promise Kathy will be so…amiable.”

Kathy must be the mother who came out guns blazing about the “witch” messing with her son’s game. Two out of three is better than all of them being against her.

The kind mother and child left as Iris closed the door, locking it immediately. The rest of the day remained uneventful: Iris found a clean work outfit for the next day while washing the one she wore twice. She managed to eat enough to keep her from waking up in the middle of the night. Still, before she took her sleeping pills, she checked the windows and the peephole of her door for a familiar figure looming in the shadows cast by the walkway lights.

All was peaceful as the world slept, until it was shattered by a scream.

Iris jolted out of bed, reaching for her slippers as another scream brought out the lights from the nearby apartments. Gradually people came out of their homes, curious and a little apprehensive about what could cause such a reaction. Outside, Iris stayed on the edge of the growing crowd surrounding a unit with the security guard securing one of the apartments, a woman crying into her hands beside him.

“What happened?” Iris heard someone ask.

“I don’t know. I think her husband got hurt?”

“I think she has a kid, too. Hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Why else would security be here? Could have been a robbery.”

“What about what happened to Apartment Thirteen? Did someone interrupt another vandalism?”

“But those were kids, not hardened criminals.”

“I don't think it's relevant, but I heard a kid complaining about stomach pain in the middle of the school day. I don’t know if it’s related, but I thought I heard him say something about ‘candy’ to his mother.”

Police sirens and flashing lights approached the complex. Everyone was instructed by security to return home, Iris more eager to do so than most. She made her way to her apartment, taking the few steps to reach the sliding glass door that separated her from her patio. All seemed normal, until she felt something hard beneath her feet. Her heart sank when she recognized one of the hooks she hung her sweets from, its metal cold in her hand.

On the small table bearing pots placed in a circle with mushrooms growing from the soil was a note written in a childish hand with what, in the low light, appeared to be blood.

Debt is paid. Punishment was given.

Iris fell to her knees.

It had only been three months since she made a deal with the Fae. Once a month, she promised an egg from her womb in exchange for protection from her abusive ex and help starting a new life. The treats were her way of thanking them, assuring any doubts that what was taken was given willingly. If the child took what wasn’t meant for him…

Iris could do nothing but hope, pray, that they were merciful.