DAVID MCDANIEL AND THE OVER-PRICED CANDLE

David McDaniel the scottish cocker-spaniel had no clue about what to buy his great-aunt Angelica for her forty-fifth birthday bash. His sister Annie was already bringing the cake (a blue-ribbon cream-baked masterpiece hot from the Dusty Oven), and his brother Charles was bringing Auntie A’s favorite bottle of creamed liqueur (Danson’s Golden Cream) — which left David McDaniel, walking empty-handed down main street, thinking only of the room full of disapproving relatives that would eye him over their annoyingly polished rim-tail spectacles and murmur about how he was “having a tough year.”

I mean, sure — it had been a bit of a barker. First he got fired from the boneyard for trying to build a writing desk from stork thigh-bones instead of burying them in their designated holes. But that wasn’t his fault — it was those moronic boneyard bulldogs, who clearly had no appreciation for his intellectual vision. 

And then, there was Velvatine — the scottish terrier he had been seeing for the preceding six months. One minute, she was batting her eyelashes at him over a forty-dollar t-bone at the fanciest bone-house in town, and the next, she was telling him that “he could no longer support her accustomed lifestyle.” Shallow mutt. She didn’t get what it was like to love an artist.

And of course, there was the kitchen fire. And his burst appendix — which left him rife with medical bills from those snot-sniffing, scrub-clad labradors. And then there was that small tax incident with city clerk’s office.

But his year hadn’t been that bad. And besides, who were his snooty-faced relatives to get involved in his business? Nod-nosing furtails the lot of them. 

David huffed as he stepped past another shop window. Dog City was renowned for its downtown shopping district — a charming, cobblestone-lined square near city hall that boasted an impressive array of high-end stores and small, quaint shops alike. Not that David could afford to shop at either. He was only passing through because Angelica lived in one of the well-to-do apartment complexes on the far side of the shopping district (though he still held a dim hope that he might find some tinsle-wrapped ceramic squirrel on a clearance rack that he could pass off as a pre-meditated gift).

As David rounded the corner of Bark Lane, his nose caught the scent of deep-fried squirrel meat. His stomach rumbled. He reached down into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled stack of bills. Seven dollars. All he had to his name. He eyed the plump squirrel-fry dog as he wheeled his yellow cart down Bark Lane and towards a smaller side-street near the Dusty Oven. David glanced at his watch. Four twenty-five. He needed to be at Auntie A’s apartment by four thirty. His stomach grumbled again. 

I guess I could stand to be a few minutes late he thought, licking his lips. He didn’t usually eat such unhealthy food, but he was having a stressful day — he deserved a treat.  Besides, Auntie A never served anything besides cucumber sandwiches and those god-awful pine nut scones. He shuddered. 

Pulling two dollars from the pile, he stepped quickly over to the squirrel-fry dog. 

“One red squirrel” he said. The fry dog nodded and plucked a spitted squirrel off the grill. David licked his lips again as he stared at the sizzling red meat. 

“You want extra blood?” the squirrel fry dog asked. 

David nodded. “Yes… thanks.”

The dog dunked the squirrel kabob in a plastic container and wrapped the sizzling stick in tinfoil. 

“One eighty-five” he grunted. 

David handed him the cash. As the dog counted out his change, David’s eyes roamed down the side street which cut off of Bark Lane. The sign read “Woof Ave.”

“Any decent stores down there?” he asked the fry-dog, nodding towards the sign.

The dog glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. 

“There’s a fella name Gilroy who just opened a birthday store down there.” He handed David his change, along with the steaming squirrel kabob. 

“A birthday store?” David asked, accepting the items. “What’s that?”

The dog shrugged. “Don’t know. They got birthday stuff.” He drummed his paw impatiently on the cart’s steel counter. “You want anything else?”

David shook his head. “No … thank you.” He stepped awkwardly away from the cart and glanced again down Woof Ave. Birthday store he thought. He looked at his watch. Four twenty-nine. He was already late. Maybe he could still scrounge a gift for Auntie A and make it in time to bark happy birthday.

He took a juicy bite of squirrel meat and stepped down the street, heading towards a large yellow sign that read, ‘The Birthday Store,’ in gold-embossed red letters.

A golden bell hanging from the shop’s door clanged as David pushed through the glass.

The store did not look like any of the other shops he had seen in the Dog City shopping district. It was neither prim and posh, nor was it small and quaint. In fact, it looked more like a workshop than a… well, shop. Wood structures of various styles towered towards the ceiling, and the air was filled with the click and clack of several doo-hickeys and ne’er-do-whats as they pittered and panged on their little metal stands. As he stepped further into the store, David realized that not a single item seemed to in any way relate to birthdays or their celebration. In fact, he could barely tell if any of the items were for sale, or if they were simply part of one extravagent machine with no other purpose than to make obnoxious sounds.

A high, silky voice floated through the shop.

“Who goes there?”

David blinked. The store looked completely empty. “Umm … I’m….. David. McDaniel” he added with annoyance. What kind of self-respecting shop had no greeter, or at least a sales rep to attend to customers? “Are you….are you open?” he asked in a wavering voice, eyes searching for the unseen speaker.

“Oh yes” said the voice with a sugary crimp. “Oh yes. We are very open indeed.”

A loud whirring noise sounded and David yelped as a rolling metal chair skittered towards him across the wooden floor. The chair spun several times and came to rest directly in front of David. Seated in the chair, was the strangest dog that David had ever seen. In fact, he wasn’t even sure that it was a dog, for it seemed to have the round face of a cat — though it’s body certainly looked dog-like. The cat-dog smiled knowingly up at David, and licked it’s lips. 

“Welcome” the cat-dog said, his black piggy eyes staring up at David.

David swallowed several times, trying to calm his spooked nerves.

“I’m… I’m looking for a birthday gift… for my aunt” he said finally, puffing his chest out. “It’s her forty-fifth birthday today.”

He stared expectantly down at the cat-dog thing. The cat-dog met his gaze with a smile, but said nothing.

David coughed and looked back over his shoulder towards the store entrance. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “is this the birthday store? I think I may have come to the wrong place…”

The cat-dog chortled. “Oh, you most certainly have. But this is the birthday store. And as for your Auntie’s present — I am sure you’ll find all that you need here.”

David looked back at the cat-dog, who gave him another knowing smile. 

“Let me show you some of the … merchandise” the cat-dog said. “And no food inside the store” he meowed firmly, pointing at David’s kabob.

David looked down at the half-eaten squirrel. The deep-fried meat no longer looked quite as appetizing. He threw the kabob in a waste bin near the store’s counter. 

The cat-dog nodded and smiled deeply. “Right this way.”

David followed the strange animal deeper and deeper into the store, passing more of the varied wooden and metal machines, most of which seemed to do nothing more than make noise in the most complicated way possible. As they drew farther into the store’s depths, David saw a few items that seemed to at least have a function. A machine that poured tea from a large, pink teapot, with the words ‘chunk meat’ written on the sides in looping red letters. A glass croissant filled with green marbles which buzzed with loud, intermittant vibrations. And a painted wooden boxing ring where two puppeted baboons continually slapped each other in the face — a black speaker at the platform’s base issuing robotic “Ows” as each slap made contact.

David eyed the merchandise. “Umm — I’m not sure if my aunt…” he swallowed and tugged at his collar. “She’s more of a fancy-type. I mean she likes nice things. Not that your things here aren’t… nice…”

He eyed a choo-choo train with train-cars made out of ceramic carvings of various breakfast foods. A small clay pigeon lay tied to the train tracks.

The cat-dog nodded his head, eyes shining with avarice. “Oh yes. Quite nice. Our merchandise is all one-of-a-kind. And expensive too.”

David swallowed. “How — how expensive are we talking?” he said. “Because I only have—”

“Oh we’ll get to that” the cat-dog said. “Yes, we most certainly will.”

David cast another backward glance at the shop’s door — now quite far away — where a single sliver of sunlight glinted through the cold glass pane.

“Here we are” said the cat-dog, stepping towards a large wooden side-wall. “The candles.”

David turned quickly towards the cat-dog. “Candles?” he asked excitedly. Finally, something birthday related. He felt in his pocket for the rest of his money. Candles were usually pretty cheap. “That could work” he murmured to himself.

Maybe he could get some kind of custom candle. Sure, it wouldn’t be the fanciest gift at the party, but it would be center stage — winking up at Auntie Angelica, right in her face on top of that glorious cream-cake. Surely, she couldn’t help but think of David. And when later he asked her for a small — reasonable loan — to help get him back on his paws, how could she say no?

He followed the cat-dog over to the wall, where the strange animal pulled a black cast-iron handle, revealing a wide, shallow drawer. Inside sat an array of glittering candles — numbered one to one hundred — each made of polished red glass. The glass candles sat on a wide pad of black velvet. David stared down at the candles, eyes falling on the number forty-five. 

“Perfect” he breathed. The glass candle was exquisite — the numbers blown with mastery into an elegant four and five. A creamy white wick spiraled luxuriously up the candle’s center.  This was more than a candle. This was a show stopper. David could see it now, sitting on top of that blue cream cake, staring up at Auntie Angelica’s beady eyes as she blew out the flame. And all his high-toed relations watching, and wondering — where did that young pup David get such a breathtaking candle? Surely, they had been too hasty when they had written him off as a ne’er-do-well slacker. Surely, they should reconsider him as an asset — or an ally. And the least they could do would be to invite him to some of their downtown cocktail parties, and line him up with a few promising job interviews.

David licked his lips. Then his visions flickered and died as his eyes fell upon the candle’s white price tag. The sticker read $120.00. One hundred and twenty dollars. David snorted. Surely, there was a mistake. A misplaced decimal point. Twelve dollars David thought. That seemed reasonable. Still out of his price range, but he was sure he could talk the strange store clerk down a few pegs. He turned to the cat-dog. 

“How — how much for one of these?” he asked, fixing a glassy smile on his face.

The cat-dog brushed one of the candles with a thin finger. “Twelve thousand dollars” he said. “Apiece.”

David’s heart went numb. Surely he couldn’t have heard correctly. “Twelve — twelve thousand dollars each?” he said, the smile vanishing from his face. “That’s — that’s absurd. How could you possibly — are you out of your mind?!”

The cat-dog gave him a piggy smile. He raised one eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that out of your… price range?”

David blinked stupidly. “Is that out of my — are you kidding me?! Of course it’s out of my price range! My last car cost twelve thousand dollars! I can’t pay that much for one measley candle!”

He looked down at the candle, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Of course, if he got the candle, Auntie A would probably lend him fifteen, twenty thousand at least. To get a place to live, and some money for living expenses until he found a job. And his other relatives — no doubt after a few cocktail parties and evening soirees, he would land a high-paying job at one of their private firms. Probably as a manager, or a consultant. Something not too demanding, but with lots of benefits, and vacation time. Something where he could really demonstrate his intellect.

The cat-dog followed David’s eyes and reached forward, stroking the forty-five candle with a long, furry finger. He began to purr softly. The sound seemed to vibrate the air around them, and David felt suddenly very hot. He pulled at his collar again.

“Is it hot in here?” he asked softly, though he felt disinterested by the question. He stared again down at the candle. The red four and five called to him. The glass looked so perfect and sterile, sitting there on the soft black velvet. Auntie A loved velvet. So did David, as a matter of fact — not that he was anything like those high-brow flutey folks — his relatives. But velvet was so regal, so exquisite. His old bed sheets had been velvet — before he was forced to sell them to cover his delinquent heating bills. But surely with his new job, and his new contacts in the upper echelon of Dog City, he would be able to buy them back. After all, he deserved to have such things, just as he deserved to have a job where he could be his own boss, and really show them — show them all — that he had real potential. David McDaniel — Consultant. He liked the sound of that.

The cat-dog’s purring rang louder in his ears. Finally, David could bear it no longer. 

“I’ll take it!” he said loudly. The cat-dog stopped purring instantly and plucked the candle from its velvet cradle. 

“Excellent” he meowed. “Come this way.”

David felt his heartbeat speed up as he followed the cat back towards the front of the store. David could barely contain his glee as he stepped past the slapping baboons, and the breakfast train set. Soon — within days — he would be out of his one room apartment, with that dirty hot plate and fridge full of expired hot dogs. Oh yes, he would be living in a new pad — probably right in this district. Nothing too fancy — not like those other snobs. But tasteful. He always wanted a kitchen with a huge sink, and a granite island for chopping up fine cuts of salted steak. And a mini bar, of course — stocked for when he was entertaining.

The store passed in a blur, until David found himself standing in front of the dark wooden counter. The sunlight outside was almost gone, and the icy January wind was beginning to howl against the shop’s vaulted window panes. David watched eagerly as the cat-dog placed the red glass candle in a black velvet box, and slid the box into a luxurious black paper bag with tufts of white wax-paper protruding from its sides. Very classy.

The cat typed a few keys on an ancient black cash register, and looked up at David with a gleaming smile. 

“That will be twelve thousand, sixty five dollars” he said. “Cash or credit?”

David pulled out his long-ago maxed out credit card and handed it to the cat-dog. “Credit” he said, imagining waking up in his new apartment. Morning light he thought. Lots of morning light in the kitchen. 

The cat looked at the credit card. “Oh, that is quite all right. That won’t be necessary.”

David looked at the card in confusion. The cat-dog hadn’t even swiped it. He looked up a the creature. The cat-dog smiled knowingly at him.

“We don’t take credit cards here. We are a bit old-fashioned.” The cat-dog clicked his pointed teeth.

David frowned in annoyance. “But you said—”

“I can” the cat-dog interrupted, “issue you a store credit. As long as you are willing to pay in installments.”

David relaxed and nodded eagerly, unable to believe his luck. 

“Yes, yes of course. That’s perfect. I —”

“Good” the cat-dog said brusquely. “Your first payment will be due on the first.”

David nodded again, holding out his paws for the candle. “Yes, yes, no problem. First of the month.” By that time, he would be firmly cemented in Dog City’s upper class. And besides, worst come to worst, he could just skip out on the payment. He had no little practice dodging creditors over the years. And this fool of a creature didn’t even bother to take down his name. The candle was as good as free. 

The cat-dog stared at him for a moment. Then gave him a final, glassy smile, and handed him the paper bag.

“I’ll see you on the first” the cat-dog purred.

David nodded and grabbed the bag. He stepped out of the store without a backward glance — the glass door closed with a snick. David checked his watch. Five o’clock. Those pompous fools were probably sipping O’Dours and stuffing their pretentious faces with cucumber sandwiches. He had plenty of time before the cake cutting. Down the street aways, he saw the squirrel fry dog getting ready to pack up his cart. 

I think I’m going to celebrate David thought, his stomach growling again. He deserved another treat. And that squirrel meat looked good.

* * *

Two weeks later, David’s cellphone rang. The screen read Auntie A. David’s heart sped up. This is it he thought. The party had gone swimmingly. Of course, Auntie Angelica had reacted less to the candle than he would’ve liked, but he knew that was just a front. She wouldn’t want to make the others jealous. And besides, he had seen how her eyes lit up when she blew out the flame. There was no doubt he had upstaged everyone else — even Uncle Delroy with that gaudy crystal vase. And the Macavoys — they had been entranced when David spoke to them of his aspirations for an autonomous position at their newly-founded financial consulting firm. In fact, they had barely uttered a word the entire conversation. There was no doubt he would be receiving some calls from them. But first thing’s first — he needed some funds from Auntie A. To settle his debts, pay his late rent, order some takeout, and so forth. Just to tie up loose ends before he started shopping for a new place to live.

He pushed aside his plate of burned, half-eaten hot dogs and picked up the phone. “Yes?” he said, pretending he was busy — maybe cooking boillabaisse, or entertaining a guest.

“Hello dear!” rang Auntie Angelica’s voice. “How are you?”

“I’m — fine — quite well Angelica” David said, brushing some half-eaten hot dog from his fur. “Lovely night out” he added for good measure. Old geezers loved talking about the weather.

“That’s good sweetie” Auntie Angelica said. “I’m just calling about the party.”

David gripped the phone tighter. “Oh yes?” he said, trying to act casual. “What — what about? Did you — did you consider what I said?”

He had asked her for the loan late at night — after most of their prying relatives had departed. She had been good and tipsy, of course, off the O’Dours. In a very suggestive mood. And after David’s gift of the candle? She had been receptive — compassionate, even. There was no doubt.

Auntie A’s voice crackled though the phone. “Oh. Well dear — I’m afraid I can’t loan you any more money at the moment. Frank and I are buying a new summer home down on South Lake. Wonderful little cottage — you’re more than welcome to come by anytime. But all that aside, I just wanted to tell you that you left your scarf here after the party. The knit one that Aunt Jesamine gave you for Christmas last year? Frank stumbled upon it when he was tidying up the sitting room. Let me know when you want to come by and get it, and I’ll be sure to have some hot tea and scones waiting for you!”

David sat frozen in his chair. The words didn’t seem real. Auntie Angelica loved him. Of course she would lend him the money. She must have misunderstood. He just had to explain things to her. Then she would see. Taking care of her precious David was far more important than buying some rat-infested summer cottage.

Just as he was about to speak, David felt the phone vibrate against his ear. He removed the device from his ear and looked down at the screen. Call Disconnected. An icon in the top right corner read “No Service.”

David stared at the phone. No Service? Those crooks at the phone company. Those greedy, ham-fisted cash hounds! Who where they to turn off his service? He needed it for business! He hadn’t been able to make his last payment, but surely there was some kind of grace period for their elite customers? Besides, the phone had worked all month. Why would they turn it off now?

A knock sounded at the door.

David looked up sharply. Who could be calling at this hour? It was eight p.m. for pete’s sake! The other fools that lived in his shabby apartment complex were obviously too uncivilized to understand the basics of dog etiquette. 

The knock sounded again. 

“What?” David growled angrily. “Who is it?”

All was silent. David got out of his chair and trod over to the door. He peered through the peephole. The hallway outside was empty, except for a flickering green light.

David growled. Must be his neighbor’s little brats playing pranks again. He walked back towards the kitchen and began to pace. Auntie Angelica. The party. It was a mistake. She had made a mistake, why couldn’t she see that? And those crooks at the phone company! They were probably laughing in some lofty downtown tower, disconnecting his phone line just for the fun of it. When he joined their circle, he would show them. He would show them that one can have money and still show compassion for the less fortunate.

Another knock sounded at the door.

“What is it?” David barked, spittle flying from his lips. He stepped over to the door, and wrenched it open. 

The cat-dog stood in the hallway — wearing a mottled green waistcoast and brown leggings. He held an object in his hand, though David couldn’t see what it was in the dull light.

David stepped back from the doorway in shock. “Y-you” he stammered. “How — how did you find where I live — it’s — this is a private —”

The cat-dog stepped into the apartment, casting his piggy eyes around the drab, barely furnished unit. A knowing smile played about his lips.

“It’s the first” the cat-dog said in a sugar-soft voice.

The words fell hollowly on the small room. David backed up and cast an eye quickly at his calendar. Today’s date was marked with thick black pen-strokes. February 1st. Rent Due. 

David stepped back further into the kitchen. 

“I — I don’t have your money” he said quickly. “I’m waiting on a payment — my Aunt — she’s going to—”

He backpedaled towards the squat kitchen table, reaching for his phone. 

“I told you” the cat-dog said, closing the door softly. “You could pay in installments.”

David felt his palms grow sweaty. He reached for the phone and dialled 9-1-1. An alert message flashed across the screen. Service Disabled. Call Failed.

David looked back up at the cat-dog, who held up the unknown object. David saw a flash of silver.

“Stay away!” he shouted, looking wildly around the the room for a weapon. “I told you, I don’t have any money!”

The cat-dog pushed a chair out of the way with a surgical nudge of his foot. He stepped closer to David, his piggy eyes boring into the quivering dog.

“No indeed” he said in a penciled voice. “You seem to be dead broke.”

David felt his back press up against the wall. He gripped his phone uselessly in one paw, unable to escape the cat-dog’s horrible beady eyes.

“Please” David whimpered. “Take anything. I’ll work it off, I’ll work in your store, I’ll—”

The cat-dog raised his paw. A twisted metal object hovered in his grasp — it’s smooth edges flickering with a liquid-green light. The device began to make a sharp clicking sound.

David’s eyes grew wide with terror as the cat-dog leaned towards him, brandishing the cold instrument.

“I told you” the cat-dog said, with a horrible, knowing smile. “A store-credit will do fine.”

* * *

David opened his eyes. He was sitting upright, on a hard, flat object. His vision was blurry, but he could just make out the distant texture of a wooden wall, as well as several shadowy flickers of movement. The faint sounds of clicking machinery pricked at his eardrums.

David tried to move, but he couldn’t so much as wag his tail. Something about his body felt intensely rigid — frozen, like a popsicle. He tried to bark, but no sound came out. In fact, no sound or movement seemed able to leave his mind — except to command his eyelids, which he could still open and shut.

He closed his eyes again, and opened them. Slowly, his surroundings came into focus. In front of him, a wooden wall towered up to the lit ceiling high above. David heard a dull noise and glanced to his right. Two huge wooden baboons stood slapping each other with flat, meaty palms — their eyes blinking furiously with each slap. “Ow” echoed a robotic voice, as more blows landed. “Ow.”

A piercing train whistle cut suddenly through the air. David looked down to see a line of ceramic bacon, eggs, and sausage chugging along a metal track, heading steadily towards the prostrate clay pigeon, who blinked its eyes rapidly with each approaching chug.

Suddenly, David felt his body plunge forward, vibrating as he moved along some type of pre-set course. He tried to cry out, to scream, or bark, but he still could not utter a sound. He looked down, and stared at his lower paws. They looked wrong somehow — as if they weren’t made out of fur and flesh, but out of ….wood? 

He grated forward for several seconds, until he came to a sudden halt — hovering above a cake made out of bubblegum-blue glass. A single, lit candle rose from the cake’s top — illuminating the words “Happy Birthday” — which were written on the cake in glittering glass letters. David felt a sudden burst of air shoot up through the center of his body and push forcefully out of his mouth in a sharp puff. The candle flame flickered, and went out, and David heard the tune for “happy birthday” begin to play, the notes plunking steadily from a small glass music box attached to cake’s side.

Before David had time to think, a robotic arm holding a blowtorch jerked violently out over the cake, and flicked on. David felt the heat of the flame scorching his face as the blowtorch re-ignited the solitary glass candle. David screamed and screamed, but the sounds still remained trapped in his head — reverberating like echoes in a sealed cave.

When David thought he could bear the pain no longer, the blowtorch shut off, and the arm swung jerkily away from the cake. Again, David felt his body begin to vibrate, as he was led in a scraping U-turn along the fixed steel track, which swung around in a screeching circle, taking him back towards the starting position, marked with a small glass “D.”

As the final notes of the “happy birthday” echoed from the music box, David heard a loud clang, accompanied by the familiar sound of a glass door creaking open.

All was quite for a moment, and then a sugary-sweet voice echoed softly off the smooth, wooden walls. 

“Welcome to the Birthday Store. How may I assist you?”

—Fin—

©2020 by Conor Duffy, All Rights Reserved