Wax

         Every Saturday morning in the months of May, June, and July, Janie would ride her bike through town in search of yard sales. She loved it when she would come across old knick-knacks of angels or clowns, but most of all she loved candles. She didn’t care if they were already used; if she saw a candle that was a color or mixture of colors that she had not yet seen, it would be hers no matter how much bargaining it would take.
         “Hello there dear. Do you see anything of interest?” Janie looked up from the table in front of her and shrugged her shoulders at the gray-haired woman sitting in the rocking chair by the divider of the two-car garage. “There’s more behind me here in this garage. Just watch your step, dear. Old Hank doesn’t know how to put away his tools when he’s done with them.”
         Janie walked by the old woman, searching along the tables of various items, such as: old encyclopedias, board games, a pair of binoculars, and a deck of cards. Without even scanning the last table, Janie turned around to get back on her bike and go searching for more yard sales.
         “Didn’t see anything of interest?” The elderly woman grabbed Janie by her arm and stretched out a smile.
         “N-n-no mam. Sorry. You’ve got a lot of nice things, just nothing I’m looking for.”
         “No? What about the candle?”
         “Candle?”
         “That’s right, Jay. Come here, I’ll show you.” The elderly woman led Janie (Jay, as her friends and family call her) to the last table in the garage.
         “It’s beautiful! I mean, it’s so tall and black and gray. It’s so smooth and flawless. Oh, does the brass holder come with it?” Jamie’s eyes lit up at the sight of the candle. The brass holder was shaped in wide loops like that of a crown.
         “Of course, Jay.”
         “How much is it?”
         “For you, dear…a quarter.”
         “Oh, thank you so much. This really is the most beautiful candle I’ve ever seen!” Janie handed the woman her quarter and mounted her bike. Just as she was about to pedal off, a thought came to her mind; how did she know my nickname? It seemed like she knew I was looking for a candle too. As she turned her head to look back at the old lady, she saw that all of the tables were covered with plastic, and the woman was nowhere to be seen. A few clouds raced overhead and a few drops of rain fell on Janie’s arm. She looked down to her arm and rode home.
         By the time she got home, she forgot about the old woman and was more focused on getting into her warm room and lighting her new candle.
         After lighting her candle, Janie changed into her pajamas and snuggled under her quilt. Her parents both worked late shifts, often capping the night with a shouting match full of high school level insults. To counter this, Janie began going to bed around eight o’clock, knowing that her sleep would be interrupted for at least one hour during the night.
         Janie jumped to turn on her light as she heard the front door slam. Even though this had been the routine for almost a year now, Janie still had to make sure that it was just her parents.
         The bickering began. It was like waves crashing into the shoreline, getting louder, then quieter, then louder again, until Janie heard her parents' bedroom door slam shut. She knew the way it went; her mother would be sleeping in the bedroom while her father would be stuck with the couch. It broke her heart, hearing her parents fight like this night after night. Tonight, at least she could look at her new candle, flickering on her nightstand and peacefully fall back asleep.
         Six-thirty am, and another slam at the front door. Her parents were out of the house. She rolled to her side, dropped her legs over the edge and feet into her slippers. She grabbed her glasses off of her corner table next to the head of her bed and walked over to her nightstand to blow out her candle. As she looked up to blow out the candle, however, all that was there was a bone finger. The black and gray wax had melted over the brass and onto her nightstand, dripping off onto her hardwood floor. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she threw on her bathrobe and ran to her neighbor’s house.
         “Jay? What’s going on? Are you ok?”
         “Oh, Ms. Canaday, you won't believe what I’m about to tell you. The old lady that was doing that yard sale on Black Street…she, sh-she sold me a candle…only, when it melted…a finger…a bone finger was left in the holder!”
         “Oh, my poor Janie, what a way for you to find out. That must have been old Hank’s finger. Old Mrs. Sawkill was arrested this morning. Some kid found a couple of black garbage bags down by the river by the railroad tracks. They were full of pieces of old Hank. All of him except for his right middle finger was found. When the police came to her door, she confessed immediately. She always did tell old Hank that if he kept sticking that middle finger up at her, she would find a place to put it.”
         “What do I do?”
         “Nothing for the moment, dear. Come on into the kitchen, I’ll fix you some nice hot chocolate.”
         Janie followed Ms. Canaday to the kitchen, though she was weary of Ms. Canaday’s intents. She couldn’t understand why Ms. Canaday wouldn’t want her to go to the police.
         As she walked into the kitchen, Janie marveled over Ms. Canaday’s knickknack collection. Every one of those pieces was one that Janie would love to add to her own. And what beautiful candles as well!
         “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Janie nodded in agreement and returned to the shelves, analyzing all of the beautiful pieces. That’s odd, thought Janie, some of these pieces look just like mine. Those candles, they’re just like mine too!
         “You know, they say that old Hank’s body parts were found skinless, just bones!”
         Janie turned around in a flash with a look of fright.
         “I’m sorry, hun. I shouldn’t have told you that.”
         As Janie turned back around, a cream colored candle caught her eye. As she studied it more closely she noticed a gray hair sticking out of the side of the candle. A terrifying thought crossed her mind. She turned to face Ms. Canaday, but she was gone. Janie quickly ran out the door to return home.
         As she exited Ms. Canaday’s and turned to run home, she couldn’t help but scream. The place that she called home was boarded up and discolored. She looked down at herself and realized that she was no longer wearing her robe. Now, hanging from her neck, was an apron, lightly dusted with cocoa powder, the name “Janette Canaday” stitched into the bottom left corner.

7 YEARS LATER:

THREAT LETTER REVEALS SHOCKING TWIST ON TOWN MURDER!
By Tom Pardon
Hyde Park, NY. November 27, 2006 (AP) --- Angela Sawkill, 84, known for her confession to the brutal murder of her husband, Harold (Hank) Sawkill, was released from prison yesterday after the new residents of her former home found a threat letter addressed to Mrs. Sawkill. The letter stated to the effect that if she did not confess to murdering her husband, the lives of her grandchildren would be in grave danger. The letter further noted an odd reference to a transaction involving a candle. Whether this has much to do with the crime is unknown at this time. The letter, found in early September, sparked a new investigation into the crime. A significant amount of evidence was found, contradicting Mrs. Sawkill’s confession. Police have now put out a reward for any information pertaining to the origins of the threat letter. The author of the letter is yet to be identified.

THE LETTER:

Dear Mrs. Sawkill,

Surely you are wondering of your beloved husband’s whereabouts. It is my pleasure to inform you that good old Hank is no longer with us. Well, for the most part I suppose. I digress. Mrs. Sawkill, I have written this letter to inform you that if you do not confess to the murder of your beloved Hank, I shall seek to impose the same demise upon your grandchildren. It had been quite some time since my last acquisition before Hank came to mind. I had grown tired of using homeless wretches; their skin is much too dirty and full of flaws. No matter how hard I would try to enhance their scent, they would always burn into a nearly unbearable stench. And so I turned my eyes to more well-preserved types of people, finally choosing Hank. His skin was much more acceptant to the scented waxes that I infused throughout. I am afraid, however, that I was much too careless in his abduction and execution. I was too eager to take the care that I should have. Thus, I need you to confess, my dear Mrs. Sawkill. Confess or your grandchildren will be made to light my home.

PS: I leave you this candle in the hopes that you will help me with one more thing. There is an unruly woman by the name of Janie, Jay as she likes to think that her family and friends call her. She loves yard sales, and much like me, she loves candles. She looks strikingly similar to me, only she dresses as a young girl. If you will hold a yard sale on Saturday, I am sure she will pass by at one time or another. You MUST set out the candle; and she must buy it. I am sure that it will not be long before old Hank is found. Until then, Mrs. Sawkill, remember your grandchildren; and don’t forget the candle.


Word Count: 1671