Bogleech.com's 2016 Horror Write-off:
Let Cake Eat Them
Jenne Kaivo (email)
I'm standing transfixed in the gaze of the cake.
It has thick fondant tendrils that pulse.
When we opened the box
That the bakery sent we stood ready
To cut with a knife
But we didn't know what.
What we expected was spongy and soft,
A placid shape still in the frosting so thick
And so painfully sweet
That sticks to your fingers whatever
You do. If only we knew.
"There must have been some sort of
Said our boss, Ms. Totalentodt.
She grabbed for the phone
But those moving dull eyes
With the dye that wept out from
The toothpick-scraped iris stared at her
And then she just
Stood very still. Young Sal,
with the butcher-knife poised in her hand
shining ready to carve
Into yielding confection
But the swift blade just bounced
From a thick sweet protrusion,
A tendril of nasty fondant.
It was all the wrong colors:
Some green, swirled grey, and a dead-flesh maroon.
All in rings in some places were little white spikes,
That proved to be fangs. A tentacle
Stretched for her hand and it wrapped 'round her wrist
And it brought her in close for a bite.
Such a bite! First the one, and then many;
The little mouths gaped so wide
You could see all the chocolate inside
And maybe a layer of jelly. Brian and Z
Dove to save her but it was too late.
The sticky mouths
Eagerly sucked off the meat from her bones
As easy as frosting from fingers. They ate
Just enough, and moved on to her heroes.
She was cast all aside in a heap,
Mushed and sloppy,
Gone mostly to waste.
It was a shame. I almost tried helping
But those eyes fell on me as well.
It was me and Ms. T in the fluorescent lighting,
We stood on coarse carpet
With a pattern they picked for
Tthe hiding of stains.
The windows looked out at a bright sunny day
Several stories beneath,
And in to an office
That waited for all its pets back.
Brian and Z were pulled in.
There were squelches and screams
And quite a few cracks but none
In the fondant that should have grown soggy
With blood or crumbly with motion.
Instead it just grew.
The cake had expanded,
It covered the table.
When it reached for my boss, she drew all her strength
And held out the phone.
The unkind confection
Snatched it up rudely with one little
Whip of a tendril,
Dangled it briefly,
And cast it aside.
It reached for Ms. T with a
Four-pronged protuberance, scraped at her,
Picked at her, brought a few chunks
To those mouths with their icicle teeth.
It mashed at her, full but still greedy.
Ground her down mostly
Into that industrial rug.
Now there is only me.
It stares, and its eyes
Make me still and immobile
Like so much fondant.
It pulses and wriggles,
And what might be tongues
Lick the mess of its meals from its mouths.
It's making no movement,
But I'm growing quite sure
That it thinks it can have just one more.