Cannibal Cupcake

The bakery, Sugar & Spite , sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, looking innocent enough. It had pastel shutters, a cheery bell that tinkled when the door opened, and a display case that glittered like a jewelry box.

Barnaby took the pink cardboard box and marched home. He settled into his armchair, put on the television, and opened the box. The smell hit him instantly. It didn't smell like flour or sugar. It smelled like iron and copper, the scent of a bitten lip or a scraped knee. cannibal cupcake

Barnaby froze. He looked at the cupcake. The bite mark revealed not sponge, but a twisted, compressed interior of pale, waxy substance. And inside the frosting, two tiny pinpricks of light had opened as eyes. The bakery, Sugar & Spite , sat at

Barnaby swung the lamp. The cupcake caught the heavy base in one sticky hand and crunched it like a biscotti. It swallowed the ceramic shards. He settled into his armchair, put on the

"Ow! You bit my arm, you brute!"

The baker’s smile faltered. "The Red Velvet? We usually save those for... special occasions."

Barnaby scrambled for the door, but his legs felt heavy. He looked down. A thin trail of red batter was snaking from the cupcake, wrapping around his ankles, binding him to the chair. It wasn't frosting. It was a sticky, digestive web.