The police found nothing, but Leo knew. He’d hear it after closing: the soft, wet pop of a cupcake growing a new mouth. He’d watch the display case fog from the inside. Once, he swore he saw a tiny hand press against the glass, then retract.
The cupcake rose beautifully—dark chocolate batter with a raspberry-red swirl. But as it cooled, the swirl pulsed. Leo told himself it was the kitchen light playing tricks. He frosted it with buttercream, topped it with a tiny marzipan cherry, and placed it in the display case. cannibal cupcake
Leo should have stopped. Instead, he made twelve more. The police found nothing, but Leo knew