Part One: The Candy Corn Conundrum
It wasn't easy to get in touch with George Renninger, the unsung hero of candy corn lovers everywhere. The candy was first produced in the 1880's, after all - nearly a century and a half ago - and Renninger's mortal vessel has long since perished. To interview the man responsible for the greatest candy divide the world has ever known and determine once and for all if the seasonal sweet is any good or not, I would be forced to take drastic measures.
The first step was to teach myself the art of time travel. If movies such as Back to the Future, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and Avengers: Endgame have taught us anything at all, it's that time travel is totally possible. With each of these movies presenting varying means of transportation to the past, I just had to find out which method actually works.
First, I took the Avengers: Endgame approach and tried standing on a telepad that was connected to a time machine. It's the highest grossing movie of all time, so naturally, it stood the better chance of being scientifically accurate. After thirty-seven minutes of remaining completely still on the launch pad, however, my associates graciously pointed out that the "time machine" was nothing more than a microwave with a digital clock, and also that the "launch pad" was simply a fuzzy black bath mat. Clearly, Marvel has no idea what they're talking about.
Next, I hopped in my former uncle's DeLorean and put the pedal to the metal. He hasn't been part of my family for nearly twenty years, but I knew he wouldn't mind lending his iconic beaut to a wonderful cause such as this. I pulled out of the driveway with style, spinning the tires and kicking pieces of gravel up into the air behind me. I had no doubt that Robert Zemeckis would lead me to the promised land, but I quickly ran into another unforeseen predicament.
It just so happens that the DeLorean I'd always seen parked out by the street in front of my former uncle's house wasn't his DeLorean at all. Perhaps I should have gathered that information from the fact that the mustachioed man that I was once related to had moved out of the state twelve years prior to this experiment and left his car behind for no particular reason, but hindsight is fifty-fifty. The sweet vehicle that I was speeding away in actually belonged to my former uncle's ex-neighbor, Tank. Tank is a shotgun enthusiast and he was mighty quick to start firing slugs at his own car. I checked out of the vehicle and hustled down the street on foot, immediately drawing the conclusion that Tank is not a man to be trifled with.
From there, I set my sights on the Bill & Ted time-traveling phone booth idea. With everything that had gone wrong so far, I was mighty surprised when this method of transportation failed the quickest of all. To be quite honest, I just couldn't find a phone booth anywhere. I guess everyone just has cellular telephones now or whatever. Congratulations to all you masters of technological sciences - you destroyed time travel.
As a lover of candy corn and a hater of being wrong, these setbacks left me with the bitterest of tastes in my mouth. Here I was, ready and determined to visit with Mr. Renninger in a decade far before my own, only to come up way short and look like a dang fool in front of the whole world and my former uncle's ex-neighbor Tank. But I couldn't - I wouldn't - allow myself to give up on this mission to interview the long-dead creator of candy corn. I refused to be a laughing stock among my peers and the venomous snakes that call themselves my friends. From those initial failures rose a determination the likes of which I'd never felt before, and from that determination blossomed a home run idea:
If I couldn't go to George Renninger, I was going to bring George Renninger to me.
Part Two: Planning a Seance
My quest to interview the legendary creator of candy corn next led me to my local Walmart, where I intended to purchase a Ouija board. I put my head down and trudged through a sea of vicious consumers, most of which were prancing through the aisles like rabid jackrabbits, slinging merchandise into their shopping carts and barking belittling demands at their hyperactive youngins. I've got a strong stomach, but I could barely stand to look at anything other than my own two feet.
After several minutes of searching to no avail, I sought the help of an employee, who directed me to an aisle that was cluttered with the board games of children and teenagers who aren't yet old enough for real fun. Frankly, I was aghast and taken aback by this suggestion. Know this, dear reader: communicating with the dead ain't no game. This isn't Connect 4 or Tic-Tac-Toe. The only things that a Ouija board will give you in a row are terror, lifelong trauma and probable death. Leave it for the big boys and girls who know what they're doing.
Shockingly, there was no Ouija board to be found, even in that blasphemous aisle of underwhelming games. Walmart is too righteous for spirit boards but they can't pay their employees a salary that would allow them to live comfortably? I see you, Walmart, and I don't like it.
Since I hail from a relatively small town where nothing comes close to competing with that aforementioned nightmare of a store, I turned my attention toward Ms. Mertle, a local psychic who agreed to meet with me.
Judging by the crystal ball on the dining room table and the choir of cats wailing in unison over a half-empty can on tuna, I knew almost immediately that Ms. Mertle was legit. Her gray hair was curly and frayed in all different directions, but it was her neck tattoo that caught my eye - not because of the wicked manner in which the manners weaved atop her loose wrinkles, but because it was genuinely bad to the mother flippin' bone.
"These eyes see everything."
Noice.
Ms. Mertle offered me a seat at the dining room table where she charmed me to no end and shamelessly persuaded me into paying $150 for a palm reading before charging me another $150 to borrow her wooden board of Ouija. Once the dollar bills were in her hand, she was ecstatic to lend the board to such a righteous and totally rad cause such as this one. However, she didn't allow me to leave without first establishing a few ground rules.
- Never Communicate Alone: Ms. Mertle made it abundantly clear that acting alone can be an overwhelming experience, especially if the subjected spirit has sinister or malicious intentions.
- Establish Your Dominance: The dead aren't as strong as the living, but they are devious. Make sure they are aware who has the power so that they'll think twice before trying anything sneaky.
- Have the Ouija board back within three days or I would be charged an additional $150.
With the spirit board now secured, I was one step closer to interviewing George Renninger and determining once and for all if candy corn is good or not. The only thing left to do was assemble a team of devoted individuals who were as dedicated to the cause as I - and I knew just the place to start looking.
Part Three: The Team
Though it had only been two days since the DeLorean debacle, there was no question in my ever-optimistic mind that Tank, my former uncle's shotgun enthusiast ex-neighbor, would greatly benefit my team of candy corn explorers and advocates of truth. The only obstacle in my path was to own up to my past mistakes and hope like heck that Tank would forgive me.
The fearful sweat of my palms leaked across the twirly hair of my wrist when I rapped upon Tank's front door. Tucked into the front left pocket of my jeans was a miniature audio recorder that would be secretly taping our discussion in the case that Tank lashed out aggressively and left my mangled corpse in an overgrown pasture of wheat somewhere. I'll be referring to that audio now.
Front door opens
Tank: You've got a lot of nerve showing your face around here after what you did to my DeLorean.
Me: It's good to see you too, Tank. Mind if I pop in for a few minutes? I have a rather important proposition to extend your way.
Awkward silence
Me: Alright man, listen. I'm sorry about your car, okay? It was an honest mistake that I can say with certainty will never ever happen again. Now, please... just five or six minutes of your time.
Door creaks open further
Tank: Five.
Me: Okay, five is cool. I can work with five.
Footsteps on hardwood floor
Me: That's a mighty nice front door you've got there, Tank. The mahogany finish may be faux but it really classes up this neighborhood a little bit.
Tank: What do you want?
Taking a seat on the cheap leather couch
Me: Man! Straight to the point. I like it and I respect it.
Tank: Four minutes.
Me: Okay, okay. Fair enough.
Adjusting on the couch
Me: Tank, my friend-
Tank: We're not friends.
Me: Okay, well, maybe we would be if you'd quit interrupting me and living in the past about that gosh-dang DeLorean.
Tank: It was two days ago.
Me: And? Two days is still in the past, Tank! Now, come on man. Have an open mind.
Tank: Three minutes.
Me: Fine. Fine. I'm here to talk to you about... candy corn.
Tank: Candy corn?
Me: Candy. Corn.
Tank: The candy?
Me: Are you messing with me right now, Tank? Yes, the candy! Jesus. Do you like it?
Tank: Do I like Jesus?
Me: Christ, Tank. I know you like Jesus! You've got six crucifixes on the wall in your living room alone! I mean candy corn, man. The candy.
Tense silence
Tank: Yeah, I like. What's it to you?
For the duration of my visit with Tank, I discussed with him my plan to communicate with candy corn creator George Renninger via the Ouija board that I'd rented from Ms. Mertle. He wasn't exactly jazzed at the concept of communicating with the dead, but after reminding him that praying to Jesus is essentially the same thing, he agreed to tag along and be part of the seance under the condition that he could keep a shotgun in the car in the event that something should go wrong. I could dig that. Score one for new friendships.
Unfortunately, while it may only take two to tango, it takes three to Ouija. I mean, technically it could probably just be done with two people, but it's better to be safe than sorry when you're this deep into a plan.
After seven minutes of silent meditation and glancing over at Tank writing his name in his breath on the passenger-side window, it became all too clear who the third and final member of our seance team should be - and truthfully, I was disappointed that I didn't think of it sooner:
Mr. Ghost Adventurer himself, Zak Bagans.
I dodged the afternoon commute gracefully while swiping through my phone and opening the Twitter app, where I was surprisingly successful at communicating with our guy. Bagans agreed almost immediately and said he knew the perfect place for us to conduct our interview with George Renninger. I punched the location into the GPS since Tank didn't know how and we set out on our quest for the truth. Finally, we were going to have a definitive answer to the centuries old question:
Does candy corn suck?
Part Four: The Interview
By the time we arrived at Zak Bagans' agreed meeting place, night had begun to fall. The mailbox at the road assured us that we'd made it to our destination, but the house itself was hidden by the half mile of trees that surrounded both sides of the dirt driveway. When the headlights finally met the two story home - its wood appearing old and gray and the roof of its porch on the verge of caving in entirely - Bagans was squatting in front of the steps, his right hand resting on his kneecap while he stared upward toward the oncoming dusk.
"Hi, Mr. Bagans," I said, closing the car door and extending my hand in his direction, "I'm a big-"
"Shh," Bagans pressed his lips together and whispered. "Do you feel that? The presence of this dusk has stirred the spirits here. They are awaiting us."
I concentrated on the sky but failed to see or hear whatever spiritual frequency Bagans was so focused on. I turned to the house and took in its ominous atmosphere. "You know, I don't swear often, but that's a creepy fucking house, Zak Bagans."
"It is a creepy fuh'n house, sir," Bagan replied, editing his own swear word while rising to his feet and brushing his hands against his jeans as though they'd been resting in the dirt, "Indeed it is."
Zak Bagans nodded his head slightly toward the passenger side of the car. "Is he getting out or what?"
"Oh! Yeah, he is," I assured him. "Tank is just a little religious, so he's probably praying to God or something."
"His name is Tank?" Bagans questioned, stroking his index finger against his chin and sifting through his thoughts.
"Yeah... Tank."
"Well," Bagans spoke after a moment of hesitation, "That should be okay. Spirits often times will attach themselves to any person named after a vehicle and ride them out of the afterlife - but I'm here and I have a lot of experience with this, so it should be fine."
It was clear to me then that Zak Bagans is absolutely out of his mind.
Tank exited the car, carrying the Ouija board under his arm and meeting us in front of the house. "Hey, guys. Sorry about the delay, I was just praying for God to watch over us on this adventure. Would one of you like to hold this evil ghost communicator?"
"Yeah, I'll take it," I said, relieving Tank's nervousness and taking the Ouija board for myself.
"Now, did you guys bless this Ouija board already or should we do that now?" Zak Bagans somehow asked with a straight face.
"Excuse me?" I asked, again unsure of what he meant, prompting an eye-roll from Zak.
"Alright, everybody put your hands on the Ouija," Zak Bagans commanded. "It's imperative that you bless a Ouija board before use so that you rid it of any negative spirits that may have been previously attached to it. Now, come on and bow your heads. I've got this."
We bowed our heads and listened to Zak speak directly to the Ouija board that I'd rented from Ms. Mertle, where he threatened physical harm against any of the spirits who remained attached to it. It was... silly. For those of you who watch Ghost Adventures and question whether or not that super serious shtick of Zak Bagans is just an act, I promise you it isn't. That is 100% Zak Bagans.
After several obscene threats to the previously attached ghosts of the Ouija board, the three of us stepped onto the creaky porch and faced the front door. I entered the house first, excited to finally summon the spirit of George Renninger.
Zak Bagans was adamant about exploring the house and making sure that "no devils are afoot" while Tank and I set up the Ouija board on the floor of the living room. When Zak returned, confident that he'd scared away any of the evil spirits who were lingering in the vacant house, this impressive and slightly crazy team I had put together took a seat in a circle around the spirit board and joined hands. Zak Bagans may have been the paranormal expert, but this was my rodeo, and I knew exactly what I was doing.
I closed my eyes and imagined George Renninger in a factory, sampling the first ever piece of candy corn and celebrating its tastiness with uproarious applause and handshakes from his peers. With this image in my mind, I repeated into the darkness, "George Renninger, creator of candy corn, we wish to speak with you" until the room became cold and I felt a powerful presence among us. I opened my eyes, glanced briefly at my teammates as they concentrated on the Ouija board, and placed my hand on the planchette. The whole world was finally going to know whether or not candy corn actually sucks.
"George Renninger," I spoke nervously, "I'm a big fan of your work, but many folks are not. In fact, they think candy corn is the worst candy ever invented. We wish to speak with you, all powerful creator, and have you tell us if the candy is truly as awful as they say." I peeked at Tank, who was clearly frightened, and glanced once more at Zak Bagans, who now had his eyes closed. "So, Mr. George Renninger, without further ado, please tell me: Does candy corn suck?"
A sudden gust of powerful wind slammed against the house as I finished my question and the brightest lightning I'd ever experienced flashed through the window. "I don't like this," Tank shouted, rising to his feet. "It's okay, Tank," I assured him, "a powerful spirit such as the creator of candy corn was always going to have an intimidating entrance. He's probably tapping into the energy of nature right now, trying to muster enough strength to communicate with us now - isn't that right, Zak Bagans?"
"No," Bagans growled in an otherworldly voice, opening his eyes and rising to his feet with the Ouija board in his hands.
"What the heck are you doing, Zak?" I asked with much confusion, admittedly. "Put the Ouija board down so I can talk to George Renninger!"
"There is no Renninger here, you fool!" Bagans cackled like a demon in some '80s horror film. He was a strange character, but I was beginning to suspect that something might be wrong. "And there's no Zak Bagans, either!" he laughed.
"What the heck do you mean, Zak Bagans?" I questioned, rising from the floor so I could get to the bottom of this bizarre situation.
"I'm the evil spirit that was previously attached to this Ouija board" Zak growled. "You unleashed me with your foolish seance and now this body is mine!"
I have to admit, I was quite surprised by this revelation. It turns out that Zak Bagans wasn't nearly as crazy as he seemed. "Well, Mr. Spirit, I, for one, did not see this coming. I apologize for disturbing your slumber, but I'm going to need that Ouija board back for my research. So if you could please-"
"No!" the rude Zak Bagans demon shouted, breaking the Ouija board over his knee and tossing it to the floor. "I'm never going back!"
"Oh, thanks a lot, man. I hope you've got $150 because I'm not paying for that!"
"We need to leave!" Tank shouted to me over the sound of the howling wind, backing away from the Bagans demon. "Can't you feel the evil?"
"You're not going anywhere!" Bagans snarled, grabbing Tank and flinging him through the living room window.
"What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled, taking a step backwards. "You can't just tell a man that he's not going anywhere and then throw him out of a window!"
"With power like this, I can do whatever I want!" the Bagans demon laughed. "Now, it's time to die."
The possessed Zak Bagans rushed towards me and wrapped his strong hands around my throat, squeezing so that I could not breathe. All I wanted was to find out the truth about my favorite seasonal candy, and what good came of it? The realization that time travel was impossible, Zak Bagans getting possessed by a Ouija board spirit and the death of my new friend, Tank. I could feel life slipping away from me and I was ready to cross on over to the other side. Fortunately, there was one final twist in our story.
Tank, the shotgun enthusiast Christian ex-neighbor of my former uncle, appeared in the doorway with only a few gashes from being flung through the window, armed with the shotgun that he insisted he bring along on our mission. "God, forgive me" he cried through gritted teeth, squeezing the trigger and blowing a hole through the evil Zak Bagans' head, bringing his reign of terror to a premature end and saving my life.
In this moment, with the world's most famous paranormal investigator dying horrifically before my eyes while being possessed by the very demon he provoked, things became clear to me. So what if I didn't get to interview George Renninger? Who really cares? Whether or not candy corn sucks is totally up to you. George Renninger can't change your mind and neither can I, Tank, or especially Zak Bagans. It's all for you to decide.
Live in the present. Love what you love. Hold your friends close and don't use Ouija boards. Maybe that was George Renninger's recipe all along.
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