It was the kind of night that hummed with the electric charge of autumn. The air was crisp, laced with the faint scent of fallen leaves and pumpkin spice, and the campus quad was alive with laughter and footsteps crunching over gravel.
Tucked into a corner of the student union, past the bustling tables of pumpkin-carving contests and cider stands, sat the Candy Corn Oracle.
She was a vision of dark velvet and moonlight. Her long, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the faint gleam of fairy lights strung above her booth. Her eyes were the color of molten gold, sharp and knowing, and her lips curved into a mischievous smile that made every college boy think, Maybe she knows something about me I don’t.
Her name was Mara. Or at least, that’s what the hand-painted sign leaning against her table said: Mara the Mystic: Your Fate in the Flick of Candy Corn. Beneath the sign was a carved pumpkin, grinning lopsidedly, and beside it sat a bowl piled high with the triangular candies.
One by one, the boys came, some with skepticism, others with grins full of bravado. She greeted them all with the same mysterious smirk.
“Five bucks for a fortune,” she’d say, her voice low and velvety, “but if you’re scared, I’ll understand.”
Ethan, a junior with a mop of curly hair and a perpetual smirk, was the next in line. He leaned casually on the table, trying to appear unfazed.
“Candy corn, huh? What’s next, reading fortunes from Skittles?”
Mara didn’t flinch. She picked up a handful of the candies, her slender fingers pale against the orange and yellow. “Candy corn is ancient,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of playful rebuke. “Each stripe holds a secret, and the way they land tells me everything I need to know.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow but slid a crumpled five-dollar bill across the table. “All right, Mystic Mara. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Mara closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath—words Ethan didn’t recognize but felt in his chest. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she tossed the candy onto a black velvet cloth.
She leaned forward, studying the pattern with a furrowed brow. The room seemed to hush around them, the distant chatter fading as if the air itself were holding its breath.
“Interesting,” she murmured, tracing the edge of a candy corn with her nail.
“What?” Ethan asked, his bravado slipping.
“You’re at a crossroads,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “Two paths. One is safe but unremarkable. The other is dangerous, but it leads to something extraordinary.”
Ethan blinked, unsure whether to laugh or take her seriously. “That’s pretty vague, don’t you think?”
Mara smiled, a slow, knowing smile. “Maybe. Or maybe you already know which path you’re on.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished. She pointed to a single candy corn that had landed upright, its white tip gleaming like a tiny flame.
“That one,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It means someone’s watching you.”
Ethan glanced over his shoulder instinctively, but there was no one there. When he turned back, Mara was already scooping the candy back into the bowl.
“Next!” she called, dismissing him with a flick of her hand.
Ethan walked away, the smirk wiped clean from his face.
All night, Mara read the candy corn for boys who came seeking answers. Some left laughing, others quiet, their hands stuffed into their pockets as they walked back to their dorms.
But Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling that her words weren’t just for show.
Later that night, as he walked home through the darkened campus, he felt it—the faint, unmistakable sensation of being watched.
And in the distance, just beyond the halo of a flickering streetlight, a figure stood perfectly still, its golden eyes glinting like molten candy corn.