Wax and Woes

In which Little Sir Menace offends several candles, causing a whole lot of fuss and some scorched egos.

The grandfather clock muttered to itself, ticking in slow, lazy beats, almost as if to cover up what was happening upstairs. The heavy door to Orrin’s room cracked open just enough for a loaf-sized shadow to slip through.

There was a faint thud thud thud as Little Sir Menace toddled importantly across the wooden floor of the apartment, only for a series of much louder thump thump thump’s to follow, swallowed by the urgent ringing of the payphone booth near the counter.

An aisles or two twisted in their sleep, and outside, in front of the display window, the world was not right. A figure waited—barely visible, flickering like a flame about to go out. It tapped on the window only once. Leaving fingerprints and the hollow of a wet, desperate sound. Little Sir Menace tilted his head.

With no eyes to see, he saw enough.

Ignoring the concerned looks of Illo and Beau in the painting behind the counter, Little Sir Menace scaled a stack of books, jumped into an empty drawer, and used the half-melted-face-candles as a stepping stone to the windowsill. The candles gasped, their waxen faces wobbling.

“Well, I never!” sputtered one. “Such violence upon my person!” cried another, snuffing out its own flame in a huff. “To be trodden upon by such a creature—oh!” sobbed a third, melting further in melodramatic despair.

Little Sir Menace, unimpressed, gave them no mind at all. He toddled onward.

“Sir!” screeched the tallest, his flame flickering in outrage. “I demand satisfaction!” he continued, attempting to straighten his drooping wick. But this too, went ignored.

Little Sir Menace climbed on, jumping, bouncing, clinging to drawer knobs and forgotten nails in the wall underneath the windowsill.

The candles seethed.

“Quickly,” hissed the tallest one, who was now leaning heavily to the left, “someone fetch a pen!”

“I cannot possibly hold one in my present state,” sniffed another, its wick drooping tragically. “You shall take dictation, Augustus.”

“But—but my base is entirely melted!” protested Augustus, sagging pitifully over the edge of the drawer. “Nonsense!” snarled the tallest. “A true gentleman perseveres! Now, write this down: To Whom It May Concern, It is with the deepest umbrage and profoundest offense that we—”

“Wait, wait, I'm dripping on the parchment!” Augustus wailed.

“Compose yourself!” sobbed the third candle.

At that moment, another candle gave a wet plop as its entire head caved in with a sigh. The huffs and puffs ceased, replaced by a mournful silence, broken only by Little Sir Menace’s determined attempts to reach the window.

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This is the first and last free to read mini series story featuring Little Sir Menace only. The installments will dive deeper into the shop itself, with all its aisles, shadows, and secrets.

While Quiet Little Journeys will always be free to read, I do want to give something back to my paid subscribers as a thank you for their support of something that is not even out of the first draft stage.

You are awesome. Thank you so much!

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