Nate shimmied the rest of the way through the mirror, then crab-walked out from under the table. “I can hardly see,” Nate whispered so quietly that Trevor could barely hear him.

“Should I turn on the flashlight?” Trevor whispered back.

“Better than stumbling and making a ton of noise,” Nate said.

Trevor clicked on the light. After how busy the candy shop had been lately, it was peculiar to see it empty. Nobody behind the counter, no patrons. Everything still and silent, with candy everywhere for the taking. “Where should we look first?” Trevor asked.

“In the back,” Nate said. “Let’s try that table where Mrs. White always sits.”

After ducking under the hinged segment of the counter, they went through the batwing doors into the rear of the store. The worktables were messy, covered with various candy projects in different stages of development. On one table an oily black snake lay coiled in a cage, on another rested a fancy jade urn, on a third slouched a sack spilling burgundy powder.

Trevor shone the flashlight beam onto the table with the purple tablecloth. Nate hurried over, knelt, and lifted the tablecloth to look underneath. “Nothing,” Nate growled.

“Not so loud,” Trevor reminded him.

The two of them meticulously navigated the room, the flashlight beam slowly sweeping the shelves and worktables. They checked inside crates, boxes, barrels, and jars. They looked inside a spacious closet, a cramped rest room, and behind a door marked Private that led to a long staircase. They even investigated the cage with the snake.

“What now?” Nate asked in frustration, after the final cupboard yielded no teleidoscope.

“What’s up the stairs?” Trevor asked.

“It’s probably where Mrs. White lives,” Nate said.

“Do we dare?” Trevor asked.

“If the teleidoscope isn’t down here, it’s probably up there,” Nate said.

Trevor sighed. “After we leave, we’ll have no more Mirror Mints. This is our only shot at this. Keep those Shock Bits handy.”

Nate followed Trevor over to the door with the black and gold Private sign. They opened it, and Trevor shone his flashlight up the long staircase. Treading lightly, they took the stairs one at a time, tense, ready to retreat if necessary. A couple of times a step creaked, and they paused, waiting, listening, trying not to breathe.

At last they reached the top of the stairway and found a plain brown door with a peephole. Trevor placed a hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it. “It’s open,” he mouthed to Nate with wide eyes.

Nate motioned for him to open it further.

Switching the flashlight off, Trevor eased the door open. The room beyond was dark. Stepping through the doorway, Trevor felt thick carpeting beneath his shoes. Nate slipped in behind him. They left the door ajar.

Trevor held up a hand for Nate to wait. He could hear the sound of something large breathing. He moved his mouth near Nate’s ear and whispered, “You hear that?”

“Yes,” Nate whispered back.

Trevor cupped a hand over the end of the flashlight and turned it on. His fingers glowed red, and just enough light escaped to reveal the big, round man lying sideways on the couch, mouth gaping, heavy chest rising and falling rhythmically, huge head cushioned on one fleshy arm. He wore a white undershirt, and a blue knit blanket covered him.

The room was large, with two couches, two armchairs, an entertainment unit, and several bookcases crowded with old books and glass figurines. The entrance to a hallway yawned at one end of the room. Trevor crept away from the hallway, passing the couch, moving into the adjoining dining room and kitchen. He scanned the china cabinet and the tidy counters.

A pocket door in the dining room was shut. Trevor pushed the door sideways and it slid into the wall, revealing a roomy study designed around an impressive wooden desk. Trevor uncovered the end of the flashlight, allowing the beam to shine brightly. Nate pointed at the desk. Trevor saw the pocket watch resting alongside a leather-bound copy of The Collected Reflections of Hanaver Mills.

“She took the book,” Nate whispered.

“Still no teleidoscope,” Trevor replied.

Nate tiptoed into the room and tried the desk drawers, sliding them open and closed with extraordinary care. When he opened the third one, he froze, then pulled out the teleidoscope, pumping his fist in silent triumph. Trevor motioned for them to go, once again dimming the flashlight with his hand. Nate picked up the book as well, following Trevor back into the dining room.

The instant Nate passed through the doorway, a blast of sound like a hundred trumpets blared for a solid three seconds. The unexpected clamor startled Trevor so much that he dropped his flashlight. Crouching to retrieve it, he saw that Nate had dropped the book, which Trevor grabbed as well.

Their ears ringing from the explosion of sound, Trevor and Nate hurried toward the front room, but stopped short when they found the big, round man on his feet, facing them, his hair matted and disheveled. He had just turned on a lamp. In his undershirt and athletic shorts, his tremendous girth was on display. From his rotund torso to his elephantine limbs, blubber deformed his body. He was tall, a few inches beyond six feet, and nearly as wide, an obese hill of a man with a grouchy head on top.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Nate said.

The big man opened his mouth, those thick, shiny lips spreading wide, as if to take a bite from a towering sandwich. His chest convulsed, and out shot an orange glob of jelly nearly the size of a grapefruit. The glistening projectile splattered against Trevor’s shoulder, about half of it continuing past him to slap the wall. The orange ooze on his shoulder writhed, shapelessly climbing toward his neck, moving like an amoeba. Shouting, Trevor wiped at the nightmare spitball, orange jelly squishing between his fingers.

The man fired another orange glob of similar size at Nate, who avoided it by diving behind the dining-room table. Having wiped away most of the ooze, Trevor joined Nate behind the table, fumbling in his pocket for the Frost Bites. Nate was also digging in his pocket.

Mouth still gaping, the big man walked toward them. Instead of expelling another glob of ooze, he sent a vast quantity of orange jelly gushing from his mouth like water from a fire hose. The stream of jelly collected on the table in a vivid, translucent mound, enough orange ooze to overflow a bathtub. The gooey pile quivered, stretched taller, and then surged off the tabletop, enveloping Nate.

Trevor scrambled away from the table back into the study, tearing open the baggie with his Frost Bites inside. Nate looked like he was drowning in orange gelatin. Only his head and one arm remained outside the rippling ooze. The big man was approaching the table, looking considerably thinner, loose skin sagging, orange jelly no longer pouring from his lips.