Peanuts In My Pocket

I recently watched a video where a YouTuber compared short fiction written by authors and AI. I wasn’t impressed with the methods, but it sparked an idea: what if I gave myself a writing prompt, wrote a short piece of fiction, and then had ChatGPT do the same?

I tried it today. Fair warning: I’m not very good, or experienced, at writing fiction, so guessing which story is mine and which belongs to Wally (my name for ChatGPT) might be easier than I hoped.

Prompt: Write a 350–400 word flash fiction about a person running into a demon he or she remembers from childhood while shopping for candy at a store.

What follows are two stories. One written by me, the other by Wally. I gave no extra instructions, aside from removing a few obvious em dashes. My question to you: which one do you think I wrote, and which one did Wally write?

Kit Kat Demon

I was shopping for my wife’s favorite candy, Kit Kats, when I first caught a scent that tried to drag me back to my childhood. I couldn’t place it, but it raised goosebumps on my arms. I shook it off and kept searching. Every flavor was on the shelf, mint, strawberry, dark chocolate, but not the original milk chocolate.

An elderly clerk entered the aisle, her young assistant following closely.

“Where do you keep the original Kit Kats?” I asked.

She froze at the sound of my voice and muttered something I couldn’t hear. The assistant left without a word. She stepped toward me, and that acrid, burning smell from my youth hit me with the force of a truck.

“It’s been a long time, Kenny,” she said.

My childhood memories surged back all at once.

“You can’t be real!” I gasped, though in my mind I thought, It’s Ken now, asshole.

She smiled, crooked and toothy. “I’m here again. In the flesh, so to speak.”

“But Father Toby banished you.”

The demon grinned through the old woman’s face. “Yes, but there are many ways back.”

“Are you here for me?”

“No, not for anyone. This old bag died a few days ago. I’m renting until I finish my vacation.”

I blinked. “Wait, demons take vacations? Seriously?”

“Of course. I’m heading to Disneyland on Saturday with a few friends.” She rummaged through her apron and pulled out a half-eaten Laffy Taffy. “This was your favorite, right? Here. Take it.”

I stepped back, then again. I nearly ran, but stopped myself.

“I haven’t touched one of those since you were banished.”

“A pity. They’re still delicious.”

We stared at each other. Back then, our connection had been so close we sometimes forgot who controlled my body. He, no, it, had won until Father Toby intervened.

The demon said, “Look, I’m not breaking any rules. I can inhabit a fresh corpse for three days. That’s the law. No harm, no foul. I can’t even be banished right now. I just want a few days off.”

I thought for a moment. “What about those Kit Kats? I can’t go home without them.”

“I sent my assistant to the storeroom for a fresh box. Consider them a gift.”

“No strings attached?”

She sighed. “None at all.”

I smiled. “Gift accepted. Enjoy Disneyland. I hear it’s hell on earth this time of year.”

The demon grinned. “Why do you think I’m going?”

The Gumdrop Aisle

Sam had only meant to grab a bag of jelly beans. A simple sugar hit to push through the late shift. But when he turned into the candy aisle, he stopped cold.

There it was.

Not a “what,” but a “who.”

The thing stood between the lollipops and the gummy worms, wearing the body of a middle-aged man in a cardigan. Nobody else seemed to notice. But Sam did. The hunched shoulders, the slit of a smile too wide for a human face; he remembered it from the summer he was nine. The summer of the attic.

“Hello, Sammy,” the man-shape said, voice soft as melted caramel.

Sam’s stomach turned. He hadn’t heard that voice in decades, not since it whispered to him in the dark, offering secrets and dares. Step closer to the edge, Sammy. Touch the matches. Try the rope. His parents had called it night terrors. But Sam knew better.

“You’re not real,” he muttered, clutching his shopping basket like a shield.

The thing reached for a bag of jawbreakers, tapping its long fingers against the plastic. “I was real enough to keep you company. Don’t you miss me?”

The overhead speakers crackled with a pop song. Shoppers wheeled carts around him, oblivious. Sam wanted to scream, but his throat locked.

“You left me,” he said finally.

The cardigan man smiled. “No. You outgrew me. But candy aisles are perfect for old friends to meet again.” He leaned closer. His breath smelled like scorched sugar. “Tell me, Sammy, do you still dream of falling?”

Sam dropped the basket and ran. Past the frozen peas, past the checkout lines, out into the fluorescent night. His chest heaved, heart battering like a moth in a jar.

Only when he sat in his car did he realize his hands were sticky. Red and green sugar crystals clung to his palms. He hadn’t touched anything.

He drove away with the taste of childhood terror on his tongue, swearing he’d never eat candy again.