{"id":8365,"date":"2015-02-20T09:00:47","date_gmt":"2015-02-20T14:00:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=8365"},"modified":"2015-02-27T10:24:36","modified_gmt":"2015-02-27T15:24:36","slug":"death-made-a-pie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/death-made-a-pie\/","title":{"rendered":"Death Made a Pie"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"DeathPie_585x585\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I found old man Hendricks\u2019s house fascinating. The sunken in roof. The broken rickety fence. The brown mass of grass. There were never any lights on except for the upstairs, and I don\u2019t remember the last time I saw old man Hendricks. I wondered if he was even alive, but then a shadow moved against the window.<\/p>\n

Four kids hurried over to his property. They reached into their plastic pumpkins, dishing out apples, and without hesitation, they launched them at the windows. Most smashed against the outside. One was a home run, and glass shattered. The kids bolted, turned the corner, but my attention remained on the house. Its owner never emerged.<\/p>\n

I felt bad. I shouldn\u2019t be spying on my neighbors, and I usually don\u2019t. I don\u2019t pay any attention to those around me except old man Hendricks. I don\u2019t know what it is. I just stared out my bedroom window at his house, and I have not stopped. I could not stop; those kids with their apples ignited a fire within me. I thought somebody should throw an apple at them, but instead, I stormed outside to clean up their mess.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d a voice hissed through the broken window. \u201cGet away from here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d I tried to pierce through the darkness but failed. \u201cI was just trying to help.\u201d\u00a0 I threw a smashed apple to the ground. \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d I stepped away, but as I stepped away, the front door slowly slid open. \u201cHello?\u201d I approached with caution. \u201cHello, old man\u2026Mr. Hendricks?\u201d<\/p>\n

The house was dark. The floor creaked around my weight. Something rustled nearby, and I hoped that it was not a rat. I could see the outlines of trash and newspapers. I didn\u2019t take him as a hoarder, but if the lights were on, I would have seen proof. Why were the lights not on? Was he hiding dead bodies here? I laughed that thought off.<\/p>\n

A moment of darkness passed. I smelled something. Then, I realized that there was a light on in the kitchen, and he was cooking. Whatever he was cooking made me salivate. I gently pushed open the door, half expecting him to grab a broom and sweep me out of the house. Instead, I found him hovering over the oven, checking on what was inside.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on. Come in. Don\u2019t be a stranger, son.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know it\u2019s late,\u201d I began.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s never late. Sit. Sit.\u201d He gestured toward a rickety kitchen chair. \u201cBe my guest tonight. Sit. Sit.\u201d I sat where he gestured, and his cold, knobby hands gripped my shoulders for one brief, chilling moment. \u201cAlmost ready.\u201d He returned to the oven.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, sir, you don\u2019t even know who I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re the one that stares at my house every night.\u201d I stared at my feet now. \u201cNothing to be ashamed about. You just knew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKnew? Knew what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere we are. Sweet as ever.\u201d He lifted something small out of the oven, and instantly, I wanted it. I would\u2019ve have torn it from his hands just for a piece, but I couldn\u2019t be rude. I had to control myself. \u201cI know what you are thinking,\u201d he said as if reading these thoughts. \u201cA piece you shall have.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you?\u201d It was more of a question, one that I forgot quickly as I dove into the sweet brown dessert. \u201cThis is so good!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose four brats.\u201d He sat before me now, watching my every inhale. \u201cThey should not have been running so blindly.\u201d I paused with the fork held between my lips. \u201cThey never saw the car coming. Well\u2026\u201d He slapped the table, making me jump. \u201cAt least one will live.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d My mouth was full, and so was my stomach. I wanted more, but as I ate, I began to grow cold. The house was very warm, so why was I shaking? \u201cThose kids weren\u2019t hit by a car.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, they were,\u201d he said with a straight face. \u201cIt was what I needed. Three more souls.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe pie\u2019s good, isn\u2019t it?\u201d I slowly nodded. \u201cNothing as delicious as the dead.\u201d I almost choked on the remains of pie in my mouth. \u201cAnd you were wrong before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d I almost choked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t hide the bodies here.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pushed the pie away from me, but as I did, I noticed that my hands were as brown as its surface. My toes tingled. My tongue was numb. My stomach rumbled and howled for more pie, and I was reaching for another slice. I had to fight with myself to stop, and I almost didn\u2019t. I forced myself to look at him, and that\u2019s when I noticed those small, gray eyes. \u201cWhat did you do to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know why you couldn\u2019t stop yourself from staring over here?\u201d I shook so violently, rattling my head back and forth. \u201cIt\u2019s because you knew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKnew,\u201d I wheezed.<\/p>\n

\u201cKnew that it was time to die.\u201d I could feel the last of my color drain from my face. \u201cIt\u2019s okay. With your help,\u201d he finally moved away from the table, \u201cI can make more pies.\u201d Now, he was holding a razor sharp kitchen knife in his young hands.<\/p>\n

I tried to move. I had become a human marshmallow, brown and sticky. My feet were stumps. My hands were engulfed in pie, becoming one. I opened my mouth to scream, but I could not feel my lips or my tongue. All that came out was a puff of air.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou see, there is going to be a nasty chemical spill through here, so one way or another, this neighborhood is doomed. May as well spare those that would suffer badly, unless they deserve to suffer badly.\u201d He kicked the chair out from beneath me, and with a splat, I landed on the floor. \u201cI love making pies.\u201d He anchored the knife over my chest and aimed for the heart. \u201cWho ever said that Death was a cold-hearted bastard?\u201d<\/p>\n

His knife slipped gently into me. \u201cMmmmmm.\u201d He licked his index finger a moment later. \u201cCustard.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Melissa R.\u00a0Mendelson<\/span>\u00a0has been working for the State of New York for the last five years. \u00a0She is also a published short story author and poet. \u00a0Her poetry has been included in Names in a Jar: A Collection of Poetry by 100 American Poets (Amazon, 2007). \u00a0Her short story, Whispers in the Night, has been included in Espresso Fiction: A Collection of Flash Fiction for the Average Joe (Amazon, 2012).<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I found old man Hendricks\u2019s house fascinating. The sunken in roof. The broken rickety fence. The brown mass of grass. There were never any lights on except for the upstairs, and I don\u2019t remember the last time I saw old man Hendricks. I wondered if he was even alive, but then a shadow moved against the window. Four kids hurried over to his property. They reached into their plastic pumpkins, dishing out apples, and without hesitation, they launched them at the windows. Most smashed against the outside. One was a home run, and glass shattered. The kids bolted, turned the corner, but my attention remained on the house. Its owner never emerged.<\/p>\n

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