[Fiction] The Sweet Shop

 When the sweet shop first opened, all the parents in town grumbled. The kids were obsessed and would nag incessently for pocket money to go and spend there, and surely this would just mean terrible things for all the children's teeth? But as soon as they caved and allowed a visit, they started to come round - it was quaint, really, the rows upon rows of jars of sweets, the old-fashioned scales with genuine weights which made a pleasing clicking sound, the paper bags, just how sweet shops should be. Everyone's favourite sweets were there: jelly beans, rhubarb and custard, half a dozen different flavours of bon-bons - just ask and if they didn't have it then they would by the next time you visited. The owner was a pleasant man, who the kids just seemed to love, and a couple of the neighborhood teens even got weekend jobs there and served customers with none of the usual teenage sullenness. Business was booming, lines outside the shop at opening and rarely half an hour went by without at least one visitor. Overall, everyone agreed it was a wonderful addition to their small town.

Stacey was the first child to "disappear". She was off school sick one Thursday and just never came back. Her parents also retreated from public life, when they did bump into someone at the bank or supermarket, they made vague statements about an illness: "oh nothing serious," they'd hasten to reassure people, "I'm sure she'll be fine in a week or two." But the weeks went by and still so sign of her. And in those weeks, her classmate Tony and an older child Rebecca also became mysteriously "ill". Rumours started circulating about the nature of their ailments, a water-based infection perhaps, pesticides used at the school, some of the more unkind townsfolk even saying they just didn't want to go to school and the parents were pandering.

The twins Riley and Sebastien were only four, and their mother was the local doctor, so people started to pay more attention. Their neighbour Mrs Jones whispered all around town that terrible noises and yelling could be heard at all hours from their house, and the gossip got so frantic and so lurid that the police paid them a visit, and then went to the other afflicated children's homes. They were unusually tightlipped about what they found there though.

Another few months went by and more and more children stopped attending school. Other strange phenomena started to appear as well - gardens were vandalised in the middle of the night, accompanied by such strange and ghastly rackets that no-one dared investigate. The nosy Mrs Jones was found dead in her living room sat by the window, her face contorted in a visage of fright. An unspoken dread had descended on the town and everyone started to go about their lives as quietly and inconspicuously as possible, all knowing something was dreadfully wrong but unable to pinpoint exactly what. 

Inevitably, attention eventually turned to the newcomer, and the only shop in town still getting regular customers. Despite the dwindling numbers of schoolchildren actually going to school, the sweet shop's queues didn't seem any smaller. One evening, a rare meeting of friends in the local pub led to some hushed discussion and as the pints went down "somneone should do something" turned to "we should do something". Bravery fueled by the beers they'd had, the group of four or five parents marched straight to the sweet shop, each hoping by the time they go there someone else would have come up with a plan as to what to do. To their suprise, the lights were on and the door unlocked, despite it being several hours past the posted closing time.

They walked in, and the proprietor smiled at them from behind the counter. The place was full of children of all ages, talking to each other happily and sharing bags of sweets. But as they took in the unexpected scene, they slowly realised that the children did not look quite...right. Their skin was different, unnatural colours, of reds, purples and greens. Their mouths opened too wide as they laughed and their teeth were pointed. And poking out of every forehead were two small yet perfectly formed horns...

While most of the group could only gape in horror, one, slightly braver and slighly drunker than the rest, turned to the sweet shop owner and blustered, "Now look here! You need to leave our town, and leave our children alone!"

The man frowned, looking more hurt than angry, then a slight smile returned to his lips. "Oh, I don't think so. Children?" All the kids in the shop fell silent and looked to him. He leaned forward and in almost a whisper said, "I think it is you who should leave." 

With no visible signal at all, the children attacked.