The Candy Factory
Dec 05, 2022
To anyone who reads this:
My name is Billy Feldman, and I am a prisoner in an underworld candy factory. My ordeal started on July 14, 1979, just a few weeks before my eighth birthday. We were celebrating Josh Schwartz's eighth birthday party at the McDonald's on Meadow Heights Road in Randallstown, Maryland. Everyone was in the kids play area. Me and about five other kids were goofing around inside the ball pit. Suddenly I fell, and another kid fell on top of me. When I tried to get back on my feet, I felt a hand grab my ankle and pull me further under.
I was pulled down below the ground underneath the ball pit. There, in a dark room, I was brought to my feet by a very tall clown with a giant bulging sphere of rainbow colored hair. He stared at me right in the eye and said in a high pitched voice, “Don't be afraid little Billy, this isn't gonna hurt very much.” I looked around and noticed there were two very hefty clowns on each side of me. The one on the left had green hair, a pink face, and a crazy polkadot one piece suit. The clown to the right had a florescent magenta mohawk, a giant nose in the shape of a banana, and lips that were frowning and smiling at the same time. Each of the fat clowns held one of my hands, and took their free hand, put it in my mouth, and stretched my cheeks apart.
The tall clown with the rainbow hair took a giant cotton swab out of his shirt pocket and scraped the inside of my cheek with it. He then took the swab and walked it over to a tall rectangular machine and dropped it in the slot at the top. The machine started making beeping noises, then banging noises. Then a puff of smoke came out of the top, and then a big puff of smoke came out of the side. And then the front door opened. Out walked an exact replica of me. The clowns all giggled like school children. They grabbed the clone of me, and they lifted it as high as they could until he seemed to disappear into a black fog. In the fog, I could make out the hand of a small child grabbing on to my clone, and I could hear the words, "I got him! I got him!”
The three clowns shrieked with delight as they saw my replica disappear above them. Then they turned towards me. The fat clown with the mohawk grabbed me, and walked me to the other side of the cloning machine. He sat me down on a platform and gave me a push. I slid very slowly at first. I didn't resist as they were pushing me away because, no matter where I was going, I couldn’t take another minute with those clowns.
I started sliding a little faster, and a little faster, and then around a turn, and then a big downhill spiral. I went down this enormous slide for what seemed like an hour. Eventually I slowed down and came to a stop. I landed in a large blue room. I stood up and looked around. Suddenly about a dozen knee high gummy bears of different colors ran towards me. They were much less scary than those giant clowns.
The gummy bear trailing the pack was holding what looked like a puffy orange blanket. The gummy bears surrounded me, and they sang out in tiny operatic voices, “Put this on, put this on, put this on,” while waving what I now realized was a costume. Not wanting to disobey, I grabbed the costume and stepped into it. The bears surrounded me and zipped it up. They walked me out of the room and down a corridor with mirrors. I looked to the side and saw what I was wearing. I was dressed as a Circus Peanut.
They took me right to work. I went down to a factory floor, and was told to sort candy and put each candy on the appropriate conveyor belt. These were no ordinary candies. These were the most unpopular candies that have ever been made. Lemonheads, Red Hots, Good ’n Plenty’s, Raisinettes, Milk Duds, Necco Wafers, and even Circus Peanuts were in this factory. You sneer at it, we have it, and it’s my job to sort it, along with dozens of other people dressed as circus peanuts.
Standing on a platform in the center of the factory is a giant beast of a creature. He must be 10 feet tall. And he is shaped like a candy corn. A club in one hand, and a futuristic laser gun in the other. He constantly shouts orders, but his words make no sense. Everything that comes out of his mouth is garbled, but if he looks at you, you know who he is talking to, and you better get working. We work long days, and at night we go to our rooms, have a small meal, and go to sleep. Nobody really talks, just a few words here and there. My roommates are Chris and Ted. They’re around my age, and that’s all I really know about them.
It seems like I've been here at least a few months, but it could be longer. I'm afraid I missed my eighth birthday party, and if I'm here much longer I'll miss my ninth. The other day, one of the kids on the factory floor snacked on a piece of candy from the conveyor belt. The giant candy corn monster screamed so loud. He then pointed his laser gun at the offender and fired. A swirling rainbow laser came out of the gun, and when it hit the boy, his costume dropped to the ground. When the smoke cleared, all that was left were some scraps of costume, the collar of his shirt, and a large puddle of dark purple goo. I know it was risky, but when the monster turned his head, I reached down and grabbed the collar, scooped it up with a bunch of the goo, and stuck it inside my costume.
When I got back to my room that night, I looked at the collar and saw it had a name and part of a location written inside of it, “Randall Evans and Fort Wayn…” The dark purple goo was still sticky but it was starting to dry. I had a small paper in my pillowcase that I had been saving in case I got a hold of something to write with. I was able to write this note with purple goo using a small pin that had fallen out of one of the machines a few weeks earlier.
If you find this note please tell my mother what happened to me, and send the police to come investigate that ball pit. I'm sure my mom is still waiting for me at that McDonald's. There's no way she would've ever believed that clone was really me. Also, please find the parents of Randall Evans and give them the sad news. I hope you find this note soon.
This letter was found folded up inside a box of Milk Duds in Miami, Florida on November 4, 2022.
There was a search for Randall Evans. The only Randall Evans from Fort Wayne went missing under a pile of hay at the state fair on September 28, 1928. He was found unharmed ten days later, but with no memory. He is 103 years old and is still alive today.