The Poppyseed Cake

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The scent of lemon and sugar permeated the air of the dusty wooden kitchen, as the oven began to grow hot in slow increments.

Today I will leave at 2.

Even with pressed clothes still pristine from services, the priest tainted this perfection as he began to put away the flour and eggs. Spilling some of the cream cheese, the cake ingredients were loaded back into the portable cooler. He dusted off the remnants of dirt from the stove to grab a small cake baking in the cast iron. He just wanted to sit for awhile. There was no telling when he could leave the cabin, exactly.

But, this was already a confusing night.

The wind was picking up again, and the trees danced to the coming rainstorm as the candle dimly lit the entirety of the first floor. Shuffling to the window, Father Brady watched behind the timid flame as the woods prepared for the weather. In just a few minutes, the poppyseed cake had finished and it turned out perfectly. Inside it was moist, with a lemon tang and white frosting twirling together as a wooden fork dipped into the pan.

Maybe I will leave at 2:30.

A drop of bright red blood fell from the priest's mouth into the iron cookware filled with the immaculate poppyseed cake. It meshed with the icing, making it a metallic delicacy.

Fixing his robe, he shuffled a beaded rosary back and forth in his calused hand.

I will leave at 3.

-----

The following morning in Benson was quiet, and Sunday meant that he would be spending more time at the church on 42nd street.

"Hi Father."

"Good morning Janice, how are you and the kids?"

"They are doing well, thank you. Allen just started tennis last week. Mike is going to lose it if he starts swinging that racket around for practice in the driveway. We just got new cars, you know!"

She sighed and laughed, her updates making Father Brady chuckle while moving onward down the sidewalk.

Church bells signaled the start of Benson's only service, and Father Brady began to make his way to the front. Even though it was a smaller town, most people attended out for one of two reasons: religious guilt or politeness that extended into repaying Father Brady back for his time speaking. He was aging, and was the only priest around these parts for miles. The least the townsfolk could do was watch his weekly sermons and eat with the churchmembers afterwards at a nearby breakfast place.

Benson was entirely surrounded by thick forest in the midwest. Fall time was beautiful, and winters eerily quiet. Crime was low, and jobs were mainly a blue collar with a handful of commuters going into the nearby city on train.

Father Brady was well known in the town, and unmarried. He lived alone and didn't go on many errands apart from visiting the church or getting groceries. He had no interest in the city life, and heartily welcomed desserts that would be handed out at potlucks.

As the most recent sermon ended, he noticed a few boys talking amongst themselves on their way out of the pews.

"Did you hear about the cabin in the woods?"

"No... what about it?"

"Someone, maybe a hunter or whatever, said that they saw a candle burning there at night the other day."

"What is going on in there?"

Another boy chimed in.

"Oh, come on. Stop trying to scare us. That cabin might have hikers, and what if they are spending the night or something?"

"Someone has been in there, but there were no other lights on."

"Weird."

-----

The candle burned again.

Today I will leave at 1.

Another poppyseed cake was loaded into the small oven, as Father Brady wiped off his hands on a kitchen towel. He waited for the cake to be finished, and checked his watch. The rosary turned inside his palms, as the cake slowly rose to completion.

Blood began to drip slowly out of his mouth again, landing on the floor this time in tapered drops.

The smell of lemon filled the room in a thick fog, and Father Brady took out the cake once more. Taking a piece to his mouth, the blood soaked through every bite.

It is 1 am.

------

"Good morning Father, how did you sleep?"

Ryan Kern, the next door neighbor, always woke up cheerful to mow the lawn and talk about his daughters college achievements.

"I slept well, not much trouble. How is Kayla doing?"

"Doing wonderful, she just made the dean's list."

"Excellent. Give her my love, will you?"

"Of course! See you later, Father."

All around, the leaves started to slightly turn into glimpses of red. As Ryan turned to walk down the block, Father Brady noticed that the end of summer was approaching.

------

More blood drops into the poppyseed cake. Now he was running low on milk.

Father Brady checked his watch, and the hands read 1:45.

I am not sure when I will leave.

----

Right now, it is 3:30 am.

The trees drooped backwards, covering their eyes.

"Father, I am sorry for everything. What is going on?"

Black robes and red rosary glistened in the moonlight, as the candle in the cabin watched pensively from a few feet away.

The priest's mouth was open, displaying vibrant white teeth that had sharpened edges not there before. His eyes were missing, as if his features had turned into a black void of eternal space.

Ryan was left face down.

Inside the cabin, the cake was done by now. Blood dripped on the dirt and leaves until it reached the poppyseed cake again.

Lemon, flour, cream cheese, and blood cells all mushed together on the single wooden fork.

-----

Tomorrow I will need more eggs. I ran out of flour, too.