H & G's Confectionery

In the deep, dark forest not far from where you live, there is a store. 

A wonderful, fantastic, joyful store full of wonder and delight.

A store bright with light radiating out of the darkness like a beacon.

And it beckons you. 

A rainbow of dazzling colours greets you when you arrive. Welcoming you into its warmth.

You open the musk stick gate and skip down the path made of Pez, laid out like the yellow brick road. You pass the sour patch garden where, if you are lucky, you might spot the gummi bears hiding amongst the mint leaves.

The path brings you to the store with a big sign in bright lights:

H & G’s Confectionery, it reads. Est. 1812.

Then beneath it, it reads: H & G’s Confectionery: Where our children are the sweetest. 

It’s their slogan and every word of it is true.

Standing before the store you look in awe. At the walls made of gingerbread with white meringue hanging from sills like snow. And the candy cane posts and the windows of sugar. 

At the seats made of mars bars and snickers and the roof made of nougat.

You approached the solid chocolate door with the Malteser handle. 

A sign on it reads: ‘Only children may enter.’

Your mouth waters.

Should you take a bite?

You decide against it. There promises to be more inside.

You push the door open.

Inside H & G’s Confectionery is a wonder of delights not seen anywhere in the world. 

The store is buzzing with energised children. Singing and laughing, running and squealing at the choices before them. 

The smell of an infinite number of flavours pulls at them every which way. Sugary sweet, they inhale and it’s almost enough for them to float in the air.

A Rainbow of colour reflects in their hungry eyes as they browse from case to case deciding how they can maximise their candy intake with their suddenly inferior amount of money.

Because, you see, H & G’s has every type of sweet you can imagine. 

Hard and soft. 

Big and small.

Round and square.

Chocolate of any and every type you can imagine. 

Cakes filled bursting with creams and jams. 

Gummi bears. Gummi worms. Gummi snakes. Gummi elephants. 

If it’s an animal you can get it in gummi.

It is a dream land. A confectionery Disneyland.

It has all the flavours.

Chocolate. Vanilla. Cherry. Chocolate-cherry. Cherry-asphalt. Asphalt-plastic. Boogers and cream. Copper and Strawberry. Grass and orange. A nougat that tastes like a desk. A car exhaust-flavoured candy bar 

If you can think of it. It exists.

You just have to find it.

Search through the barrels of gummies.

The crates of chocolates.

The jars of candies.

Cases of sweets welcome you with open arms.

Find the flavour of your dreams.

Go up the Toblerone stairs where you find the lollipop forest.

The ball pit of skittles.

A climbing wall made of starburst.

Take a cup and drink from the chocolate foundation.

Or swim in the maple pool.

Play checkers with M&Ms.

Or bowling with gobstoppers.

You can go anywhere in H & G’s.

Except the door at the back on the ground floor.

Hidden amongst the Hersey’s, the Lindt, the Cadbury, the Reese’s, the peppermint bark, the pineapple lumps, is the liquorice door.

On the liquorice door is a sign that playfully says “What could be beyond this door?” and a giant smiley face.

It is a joke for some.

Enticing for others.

Some children look at it, laugh at the face and turn back.

Lucky for them.

For those who are curious, like you, they are the unlucky.

Because beyond the liquorice door, things are different.

Because if you enter the liquorice door, everything changes.

The door entices those who are curious.

What could be behind that door, you wonder.

Only the most special of candy would be hidden away, you believe.

Only the curious will accept.

Like you.

Open the door and you will see a passage as dark as the forests outside.

Made of dark stone.

Dimly lit up by lanterns of eternal fire.

Along the passage are breadcrumbs.

Follow them and you will come to a set of stairs.

Down the stairs you will go.

Each step an echoing slap of shoe on stone.

It’s quiet here.

And dank.

All the joy and the laughter at the front of the store has faded away.

You feel nothing but an invisible weight on your shoulders.

You breathe in frigid, stale air. All hints of the sugary, sweet air at the front are gone.

The stairs go on and on, like walking to the centre of the earth.

You will wonder if you should go back.

The timid return, soon to forget this uncomfortable place.

But those who are curious will go on.

Those who are curious are few.

Those who are curious will continue heading down the steps, believing there is a great reward at the end.

As you do.

Deeper and deeper into the underbelly of H & G’s Confectionery you go.

Eventually the steps stop before a door.

This door is dark, the wood water stained and rotten, and banded with iron.

It smells of wet and mould, cleansing you of the delights above.

A malevolent vibe radiates from the door like heat from a lamp, making you uncomfortable.

You grab the iron ring and feel a searing burn on your hand.

Not because the iron ring is hot, but because it is frostbite cold.

It leaves a red mark across the palm of your hand.

A reminder of the cost of your curiosity.

Some will turn back, their curiosity sated.

The still-curious will continue.

Like you.

Your greed for bigger rewards is too great.

You pull open the door, ignoring the burning on your palm, to reveal a room.

This room is the antithesis of the front of the store.

Here there is no colour.

No candy.

No joy.

Or wonder.

Or delight.

Instead it is barren.

Destitute.

Morbid.

Any sense of happiness in you is instantly sucked away.

The air reeks of desperation. Of sadness. Unhappiness and…death?

Here is where you will meet the brother and sister.

The owners of H & G’s Confectionery.

The brother is large, a blob of a man with dirty blonde hair and a perpetual smudge of chocolate around his mouth. His eyes are dulled, blinded by too much sugar and too much darkness. 

He’s lived beneath the store for centuries.

He sits in a chair that cannot contain his body. Rolls of fat hang over the sides like overflowing custard.

He cannot see you, but he can hear you.

He heard the door open.

“Ahh ho,” he grumbles, like forming words is an effort. “Another curious one.” His throat is croaky and full of phlegm.

Behind you the door slams shut.

The curious ones always turn around.

You turn around.

And there is the sister.

“What do we have, dear Gretel?” the brother grunts. He grabs a piece of chocolate cake from a plate on his desk, tilts his head back and plops it into his gaping maw.

He groans in delight.

The sister is as skinny as the brother is fat. She has stringy dark hair, hanging limply around a gaunt face. Hollow eyes as dark as night gaze hungrily upon you.

“Another piglet to fatten up, Hansel,” she cackles.

“Mmm,” he groans in delight. His tongue swirls around his chocolate-covered mouth in a sensual manner, savouring the taste.

Whether it is the taste of the chocolate he just ate or the promise of something else is only something he knows.

He orders you taken into the next room.

A room of horror.

A room of darkness and chains.

Of cages. 

Rusted cages with squeaky hinges.

Cages filled with children.

Children who cry out for help.

To save them.

But you can’t.

Because you are joining them.

What are they for?

In the corner is a masonry oven.

The fire burns bright beneath it.

The fire that is always on.

Because it is always needed.

Beyond the oven and the cages are hessian sacks, spilling their contents all over the floor. You see the words 'sugar' and 'flavouring'.

There's a long table with flies buzzing above dark stains.

It's littered with plates and bowls. Knives and cleavers. Measuring cups and mixers.

You, like the curious before you, are herded into a cage.

The doors squeal open, much like you squeal your objection.

But it does not matter.

You are to be fattened up.

To be cooked.

Like the witch before them.

Their teacher. Their mentor.

They have a business to run.

And an addiction to feed.

Afterall, all that candy doesn’t make itself.