Naturally, Leo baked.
The cupcakes had learned to hunt.
He found the recipe in his great-grandmother’s journal, hidden beneath a loose floorboard. The page was stained brown, the handwriting spidered in Old Country script. At the top, someone had scrawled in fresh red ink: Do not bake. cannibal cupcake
Leo needed a signature item. Something unforgettable. Something that would make customers crawl back. Naturally, Leo baked
On Saturday, Leo tried to destroy the recipe. He burned the journal, smashed the oven, poured bleach over every pan. But the next morning, the display case was full again—gleaming, frosted, and warm to the touch. smashed the oven
But people started vanishing. A stockbroker. A crossing guard. The vegan baker next door—though no one missed her.
That night, he heard chewing.