A ____ in the Oven

Leila stared at the white ceiling as her nightmare slipped into oblivion, with only its echoes lasting, echoes of a scream. She turned in her bed and grabbed her phone on the nightstand. 3:07 AM. Grunting, she put the phone down, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. But she paused before exhaling because of a strange scent that shouldn’t be present, especially in the middle of the night.

The warm scent of a freshly baked good.

She smelled the air for a few moments, wondering if it was her imagination or some weird lingering effect of the nightmare. But when the scent didn’t fade, she got out of bed and walked to the closed bedroom door. She cracked it open and looked out. A strong wave of the scent rushed through the opening as Leila looked at the dark living room.

Whatever lingering anxiety she had only grew with the thought of walking through the darkness, but the scent was so strange to her that it overpowered the want of going back to bed and sleeping the strangeness away. So, she opened the door wider and ran to the nearest light switch, turned it on, and saw her living room was just as she left it. No monsters or ghosts or humans present. Her eyes gazed over to her small kitchen, dimly illuminated.

It only took a few quick steps to reach the kitchen. She turned the light on and smelled the air. The scent was at its strongest. Her mind replayed the events before bed, and nothing involved her baking or eating pastries. She had ordered take-out, and her dessert of choice was half a pint of strawberry ice cream. Leila's face scrunched up from the confusion. The burners on the stove weren’t on, but she still hovered her hand over them, checking for heat. They were cold.

She opened the oven and looked inside.

Shut it.

And opened it again. “What the fuck.”

The scent swayed from its source and kissed her nose. Her hand covered her mouth, and her pulse quickened. “Did I? No…what?” She put her hand into the unheated oven and reached for the cake pan filled with a dark substance. The tip of her finger touched the pan; she yelped and jumped back, letting the oven door close on its own. Leila turned on the faucet and put her burned finger under the cool water.

She murmured to herself. “Okay, okay, okay…”

Turning the faucet off, she opened a drawer and grabbed an oven mitt. She opened the oven again and slid the pan closer to get a better look. Using her free hand, she touched the surface of the substance. She didn’t remember making chocolate cake.

She reached behind her, opened her utensil drawer, and took out a butter knife. She plunged the knife into the cake and cut out a small disfigured slice, placing it on the counter as she pushed the pan back and closed the oven.

“I know I didn’t do this,” she whispered as she prodded and poked it. "What in the world..." And then a thought entered her mind, a strong, disturbing thought. One that would have been weaker if the sun shined through her windows. She turned towards the utensil drawer and switched the butter knife with a butcher knife.

She walked out of the kitchen, heading towards her front door. Every night she made sure her door was locked, and as her hand glided over the locks, she saw that she did not forget this night. So, if someone did try to break in, it would have had to be someone working in the apartment building, but why would they come in just to put a cake in her oven in the middle of the night? A random prank? Confusion?...Or maybe she truly didn’t remember making a cake. But even so, why was the pan hot while the oven stayed cool?

The apartment was small and open, so she knew no one could be hiding in her living room if there was an intruder, and the only hiding place in her kitchen was the cramped pantry. So, she swung the pantry door open. Empty.

She went straight to her bedroom, stopped at the entrance, and bent down to see if someone was under her bed. There wasn’t. Standing up, she looked towards the closet and lifted the knife in front of her. She took slow, almost tiptoe-like steps to it. Halfway, she grabbed her phone on the nightstand and pre-dialed 911. After, she went straight to the closest door and put her back against it, knocking two times. No sounds of movement. Her hand reached the door handle, and as soon as her fingers wrapped around it, she opened the door, hiding behind it. When she didn’t hear any sounds, such as footsteps or voices, she moved to the edge of the door and peeked inside.

As far as she could tell, no one was in there. Opening the door wider but leaving her foot at the bottom edge, she leaned in and moved around the clothes hanging from the lower rack. No one between them. She leaned back out and closed the door to the closest, her eyes now staring at the bathroom door across the room.

Sighing, she lifted the knife in front of her again and walked to the bathroom. Putting her back against the door, she took a moment to listen. When she didn’t hear anything, she knocked. Still nothing. Her hand reached the handle and opened the door. No one came out, and no noise. And when she peeked inside, everything was just as it was. Thankfully, she could see no one hiding in the shower since she left the curtain open.

Leila sat on her bed with a huff.

“Maybe I’m still dreaming,” she wondered. A yawn escaped her lips. And her mind couldn’t race with thoughts anymore. There were no truths, evidence, or possibilities she could think of to make sense of it. She didn't even have the ingredients. Maybe this was all just a dream where the impossible seemed real and almost normal. She closed her eyes, tight enough that it scrunched up her face, and tried to force herself awake, but the harder she tried, the more real everything seemed.

And just as she was about to put the knife on the nightstand to lay down and think, a strange noise came from her kitchen.

Her body tensed, her pulse quickened, and she squeezed the knife. She took a deep breath filled with sweetness before rushing into the kitchen with her weapon. But again, there was no one.

Then another noise—a noise coming from inside the oven. Like someone humming a tune. Leila took careful steps, stopped in front of it, grabbed the oven handle, and opened it.

The chocolate cake freshly made was still in the pan, but there was something else. Something behind it, where the oven wall should be. Something that shouldn’t be there.

A woman was staring back at Leila. A woman standing in a bright kitchen with white cabinet doors, holding onto the cake pan with a strawberry decorated oven mitt. A woman whose face contorted as Leila’s did.

And their screams awoke the neighbors.