” I’d kill to be able to write again” the sad Writer with a serious blockage problem said to the other writer who had never suffered in such a state before.
” Do you think that could actually work, really?” said the Other Writer.
” I’m getting desperate, I’m willing to try anything” the Blocked Writer said as she wiped the back of her shaking hand over her eyes.
She sobbed.
The other Writer took her friend’s hand away from her eyes. ” Do you really think that could work? Really?”
” I’m so desperate. And what do you know? You’ve never been through something like this.
” You’re right about that”, the Other Writer said as she pulled the knife from her jacket and slid it across the Blocked Writer’s throat.
The Other Writer caught her in an embrace before the Blocked Writer fell to the ground.
” This could be like the apple a day thing. Thanks.”
The middle aged couple- were both as pale and watery as the sunlight that was filtering through my somewhat clean windows and into my small cool sparsely furnished sitting room.
I didn’t use it often because I don’t do much entertaining.
He rose from the settee and put his slice of cake- I noted with dismay- on the end table to his right.
She stood and did the same to her slice of cake.
The portrait that hung behind them looked down in disapproval.
Then the tall thin watery couple both reached out to me with their pale bony hands and smiled, ” It’s so good to meet you at last Miss Venka ” they both said together.
” I see you enjoyed the cake- ” I waited for them to introduce themselves.
” Oh. Pardon us. Britta.” The woman said with tears lighting up her eyes ” Britta and Rasmus Rundstrom.”
” We hope you don’t mind . The man who answered the door invited us in. He told us to make ourselves at home. And then he left. Just like that. Well, we saw that delicious cake and the plates and forks.” Rasmus began the thought and then Britta finished it:
” We honestly couldn’t help ourselves.”
I sighed and shrugged. ” It’s fine really” I said not meaning it.
Our compliments to the baker Miss Venka.” Rasmus said ignoring the ice in my voice.” It was quite delicious.”
I ignored his compliment.
“That was my Father at the door. That Devil. He should have offered you some tea and almond cookies instead of leaving you with just that cake. It’s terribly sweet. The cookies would have been better.”
They didn’t say a word. They stood there expectantly.
” They’re imported.” I added. ” They’re quite good.”
I walked over to the sideboard where my now butchered cake was sitting.
I took up the cake knife and wiped it clean on a napkin.
” So what do I owe the pleasure of this nice…” I looked down at my cut up cake and sighed. ” Visit.”
” We’ve heard that you are a wonderful baker Miss Venka. Your sweets and pastries and cakes are famous.
I was confused. ” Famous for what?”
” From what we’ve tasted, it’s true.” Rasmus went back to the table and picked up his slice of cake.
He plunged his fork into this partially eaten slice and took another bite.
I winced.
” It so sweet it touches your soul. It overwhelms your senses…” he sang out.
I stopped him before he went over the edge and lost his sanity.
” Thank you. I took the plate from him and sat it down on the little table. ” But I don’t cater events. I don’t bake for other people.”
” We can’t persuade you?” Britta asked. ” Are you sure? Money is no object and we are having a very important party. Your cake, it would be the highlight of the evening.”
” Very sure. I’m sorry. But my answer is no.” I said.
” I’ve never tasted anything so fine. It touched my soul Miss Venka. Truly. It’s the finest cake I have ever tasted.”
I thanked my guests and saw them out.
Then I went to the kitchen, which is light green and empty all but for a set of knives hanging from the wall and a single chair in the middle of the room.
I walked to the back of the kitchen and opened the door that led down into the basement.
” That was my favorite cake!” I yelled down into the darkness.
The door pulled itself out of my hand and slammed shut with a bang.
I walked back into my sitting room, which was dark now and a little chilly.
There were two new soulfully delicious cakes sitting next to my beautiful cake which fully restored to its uncut state.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes in relief.
I wondered when Mr and Mrs Rundstrom would be back, begging for more cake. I wondered if they would ever figure out why they, like the others would say they’d be willing to give up their souls to the Devil himself for another bite.
And my Father who lives in my basement would take them up on that deal.
He collects souls the way other people collect stamps.
Of course. I don’t collect souls.
I dabbed a little frosting from one of the new cakes on the tip of my finger and touched it to my tongue.
I love it when people tell me about their nightmares.
I love having them myself and when I have boring dreams where my brain is sorting out the junk that’s been piling up in there I wake up and think, ” that was boring, what a waste of REM sleep. “
So if I had a day to do exactly what I wanted, I would spend my day crawling into people’s skulls and give them the best nightmares EVER.
I would hold nothing back, I’d fill peoples dreams with murderous Aliens from Venus, diseases where your body parts drop off and you spend your dream trying to glue them back on again before you’re late to class.
I’d make sure to hand out those dreams where the people you know look like and sound and act like your kid or spouse but then they look at you and smile and you try to scream yourself awake and you think you’re awake but of course you’re not.
Oh and those dreams where something is chasing you?
I’d hand those out like candy, but I’d make sure you get to see what it is that is after you. And I’ll make it super unpleasant. I promise.
Is there anything else I’d like to do on my special day?
Hmmm. No, not really
Oh wait there is one thing.
I’d spend the entire time eating cupcakes.
Pretty ones lavender flavored ones with sprinkles and topped with tons of frosting
