Wolfgang fails to notice the parallel, is mostly thinking about how embarrassing it is to be watched. It's like having someone stare at you while you're eating. But they can't reasonably refuse without sounding like an asshole, so after a moment's hesitation they head back inside, holding the door open for him. (The kids will probably swarm on the candy while Wolfgang isn't looking, but maybe not, the parents will stop most of them from taking all of it.)
Inside, everything looks the same, though even less tidy than before, where the mess that had been contained in a series of boxes is now strewn around chaotically. But it smells like sandalwood now. They've left the ashes in a pile on one of the counters, but Wolfgang makes a pit stop for a wooden box before standing by them. They pull out a ball of yarn and an old pocket watch, which they lay on the floor, putting the ashes over it in a more or less neat pile. They have to sit, legs crossed tailor-style, because they're way too tall to do this bent over.
They unravel some of the yarn and arrange it in a circle around both, but continue that line, crossing it over and over until they've made a kind of clock with twelve sections. They cut it with their teeth, and the moment they lay down the last bit of it, they lean back and watch the chair reassemble itself slowly, exactly like a video being rewound, as if the chair is decaying in reverse, but sped up to impossible levels.
And then it's just sitting there, a plain, cheap lawn chair on top of an old, broken pocket watch.