I Can’t Believe I’m Saying This, But I’m Deathly Afraid Of Cakes After What’s Been Happening To Me

I’d just gotten settled for the evening, when the doorbell rang. The hallway was empty, but there was something waiting for me on the doormat: A plain white box without any identifying features, tied with a curled pink ribbon. I picked it up and brought it to the kitchen, examining it closely. Using a knife, I cut off the ribbons and opened the box. Inside was a vanilla cake with lavender-colored buttercream icing. Square in the middle of it was something written in dark purple script:

“Welcome Karen!”

For a split second, I thought it might have been from a neighbor. No, that couldn’t be it. I hadn’t had the chance to introduce myself yet. Besides, if the idea was to welcome me to the neighborhood, then surely they would have waited for me to answer the door so we could chat. Had my mom sent it? It wasn’t really her style, so I called her, and she denied having knowledge of it. Perplexed, I searched the box for any clue, and found a business card for Just Desserts Bakery. On it was a ten-digit code, an address, and a phone number. I felt a pang of worry in my chest. What if Brad had sent the cake? I’d been careful not to share my new address with anyone, but what if he’d been following me? Anxiety began to bubble inside like the magma in a slumbering volcano. Nervously, I dialed the number listed on the business card to get some answers.

Once the call connected, a playful jingle tickled my ears. It was followed by what sounded like a grown woman talking in an obnoxious baby voice. You know, like on those kiddie shows where the host talks to kids?

“Welcome to Just Desserts Bakery! We hope you enjoy your Just Desserts!”

The tagline made me cringe.

“We’re sorry, but our store is closed right now. If you want to check the status of your order, type the 10-digit order number followed by the pound key,” she continued, her voice still as annoyingly energetic.

I typed the order number on my card, heart racing. Please not Brad, please not Brad, please not Brad, I repeated in my head.

There was a slight pause on the line, and then the voice spoke again, “Looks like you received our Super-Duper Vanilla Surprise, courtesy of -” it began, but the sing-song tone was replaced by an ear-piercing robotic voice, “Anonymous.”

Canadian Horror Author

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