's 2016 Horror Write-off:

Let Cake Eat Them

Submitted by 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

Bakery mix-up",

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

Struck down.

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,

Inexpertly sculpted,

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.