CHAPTER 8: THE CANDY AND THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

There’s a pounding at the door.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!”

I freeze.

I know that voice.

“No! Don’t open —- ” I rush to block Babe’s path.

C R A S H !

The door goes flying as a guy barrels in like a tornado.

I shriek. Babe jumps.

“WHERE ARE YOU HIDING HER? WHERE ARE YOU HIDING MY LT?” the intruder, clad all in black, shouts.

“Who are you? How dare you barge into my house?” Babe is spluttering.

“Omg. It’s Lee Min Ho!”

“Lee Min Who?”

“WHERE IS SHE? WHERE DID YOU HIDE MY —– ”

All of a sudden, LMH stills. Lifts his head. Sniffs the air. Swings his eyes to where the splinters of wood dangle, hanging from the open doorway.

And then he’s off, like the devil is at his heels.

He climbs up and over the high gates and disappears.

“Hey! Hold up! You can’t just break into my house and run off!” Babe shouts.

The street is empty.

“Where is he?” Babe pants.

“He’s gone.”

“I’m calling the cops.” Babe stalks back into the house.

The world outside is a blue haze. So pretty. I twirl on my tippy toes. Breathe in the fresh, crisp air. It feels good to be free. To soak in the sunshine.

C L A P !

Thunder? What the —-

It starts to drizzle.

A leaf flies by, right on cue.

A cat rolls past lazily on its head, four paws up in the air. It blinks at me. “Meow.” I blink back.

“Open your eyes,” a voice says at my elbow.

I turn.

“AHHHH!” I shout.

A shadowy figure is at my elbow.

“Open your eyes.” A strange, disembodied voice.

“My eyes are open.”

“Open your eyes.”

“Quit saying that! My eyes are open!”

“They are open. But they see not.”

It points to a familiar figure a few metres down the street.

LMH.

He is running, head flung back, arms pumping at the sides, long legs flying. Right down the middle of the street.

He is running after a green bus.

“COME BACK, LT!” he bellows. “COME BACK TO ME-EEE!” He is crying, loud, wrenching sobs. “WA-AA WA-AA WA-AA WA-AA…”

Cars, honk, swerve madly. Drivers lean out of windows to shake their fists and curse after him. “Moron!” “You drunk?” “I’m calling the cops!” “You crazy lunatic!”

All the passengers in the bus are on their feet, pressed against the dusty windows, gawking.

Except for one.

A lone solitary figure sits, sips a glass of wine and yawns.

The bus lumbers on.

LMH continues to run. He is Forrest Gump on a mission. To reunite with the indifferent LT.

LMH ploughs down the street. Arms waving like a maniac, feet pounding, 200 metres behind the bus. Like that scene from Stairway to Heaven.

He runs past one block. Then two. A third.

“LT!” he shouts. “DON’T LEAVE ME, LT!”

And then it happens.

He stumbles, and falls, slo-mo. Crumples in a tangle of limbs on the gravel.

Up ahead, the bus draws further and further away.

Then:

His voice cracking, he whispers, “Stop, please. Someone, please stop that bus.”

“Meow.”

The upside-down cat rolls by on its head.

LMH jolts up, faster than you can say, “Famy is a minoz.”

“FOLLOW THAT BUS!” LMH roars to the cat.

The cat gives him a paws-up sign and rolls faster.

LMH slides into a faint.

The rain is falling harder.

“You want an umbrella?” The hooded figure croaks. It is wearing a long trenchcoat. Its face is hidden behind a fedora.

“Sure.”

It smacks its head. Once. Twice.

Maybe, it has a headache.

“Are you a zombie detective?” I ask chattily. “Is that why you’re wearing a long trenchcoat and a fedora?”

“Never you mind.” It holds its head in its hand and moves it up and down for two beats, and —-

—- an umbrella drops into its palm. A swarovski crystal studded umbrella.

WOW.

The mysterious stranger passes it to me. There is a marking on the handle. MUGYULJOIE, it reads.

“Thanks. Is that your name? Mugyuljoie?”

“Never you mind.”

“Are you a magician? Like David Blaine?”

“Never you mind.”

“Are you mafia?”

“Never you mind.”

“You have a hole in your skull.” It’s in the shape of an umbrella.

“Never you mind.”

The mysterious stranger reaches into a pocket and fishes out —–

—– two toothpicks.

It turns away from me. Bends down. Grunts. Its shoulders are shaking. Whatever it is doing is hard.

“What are you doing?”

“Never – grunt – you – grunt – mind – grunt – ”

It straightens. Swivels slowly back to me.

I blink.

The wooden X in its skull glares at me.

“Don’t you have a bandaid?”

“Never you mind.”

“Who are you?”

“You’ll find out soon.” A raspy whisper. ‘If you live long enough.”

A chill goes through me.

“What do you mean?”

“Might want to ask your boyfriend what happened to his fiancée.”

“His fiancée? You mean, Victoria?”

“No.” A harsh cackle. “Veronica. His first fiancée. Who disappeared five years ago. From this very house.”

CHENG CHENG CHENG

—- Insert dramatic melo music rising to a screeching crescendo. Thank you, toki! —-