Sugar - A Short Story

Below is a short story I wrote for the Writing Battle contest that officially closed on Sunday a today we are able to share it! Short stories, specifically if they are horror themed, are some of my favorite to read but it’s my first time actually “publishing” some of my own writing. As always I love getting feedback, even if it’s not the most shining reviews. It helps me to grow as a writer while also helping me to get thicker skin. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 💖

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I’m not the best writer, first of all. But this is important. I feel like if I don’t get it all down, no one will understand why I think I’m going to die. All I needed was a job. Preferably one that paid me a lot of money because not only was I perpetually broke, but debt was pulling me down hard - like trying to swim with bricks tied to my ankles. 

So when Margaret Pickens called to offer me a job as an assistant baker, I had no choice but to take it. My poor, naive self never made anything more than cinnamon toast, but I kept telling myself it would be a learning experience. It was weird, though; I don’t remember interviewing with her. Granted, I was becoming a professional interviewer from how many I’d interviewed over the last few months, so I guess I forgot about it.

Once I actually went to the bakery, though, I wasn’t sure how I could forget such an immaculate store. The style was what the internet called Maximizing, but it wasn’t too busy or suffocating. A dark emerald green accentuated the walls covered with various antiquities and works of art. I remember seeing mannequin hands, anatomical models of the heart and liver on shelves next to a wet specimen of a giant tarantula. There was almost too much to look at. 

Not real. Not real at all. 

But when I tell you the smells were intoxicating, that is really the only word I can come up with for it. I didn’t eat that morning, so immediately my mouth was watering at the golden pastries on people’s plates, but nothing compared to what I felt when I laid eyes on Margaret. 

There’s no way in hell I would have forgotten meeting someone like her. A wild tangle of brunette hair framed an olive-skinned, green-eyed fairy lady. I mean, she wasn’t an actual fairy, but she might as well have been. When she came over to me, it was like she was gliding on a sugar-coated sun ray, the bangles on her arms tinkling. 

Everyone’s head turned to look at her as she passed. I felt so self-conscious, but I knew they weren’t actually looking at me. The icing on the cake, though, was the fact that she had a slight southern twang to her voice when she spoke. 

I’ll never forget. “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes! We’re about to get super busy.” 

I’m going to be honest right here. Within five seconds of meeting her, I felt like I would follow that woman anywhere. At the same time, alarm bells were going off in the back of my mind. It didn’t make sense. This was the second time meeting her, so I didn’t have any reason to be nervous. 

Or was it the first? We met before. We did. 

I followed her to the back of the store, first taken aback by the heat and then by the mess. Pans everywhere, mixing bowls of different sizes in the sink, flour and some kind of chocolate (hopefully) covering the counters, the floors. Even the walls. Something was baking in two of the ovens. 

I guess she saw the look on my face because she said, “As you can see, I need a little help back here.” Her cheeks were tinged red, and she kept messing with her hair.

There was a tattoo. Remember? It was right behind her ear. A circle? An eye, maybe? Remember!

I felt bad for her. She was doing this all by herself, poor thing. I said, “Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?”

Another thing about Margaret - she had the most beautiful smile in the world. I can’t even really describe it. All I know is that I felt warm and wanted, like she was pointing those delicious rays at me and beaming me into her world. 

She chose me. 

“So, here’s the deal. I know it’s not super fun on your first day, but if you could clean the kitchen and keep it clean throughout the day, that would be so helpful. I promise you won’t be stuck on dish duty the entire time, okay?” She winked and heat traveled from my neck up to my cheeks. I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes, so green, so mesmerizing.

Red. They were red.  

I hate doing dishes. I barely do them at my house. But somehow my mouth opened and formed the words, ‘I don’t mind. I love doing dishes! Whatever I can do to help you out,' without my permission, and that freaked me out a little bit. 

It wouldn’t be the last time. 

She gave me the biggest smile ever and said, “Well, great! I’ll show you where the dish gloves and aprons are.” 

I did as she asked and kept the kitchen as clean as I could. She whirled around the ovens in her fairy way, hypnotizing me with her movements and grace. But then I was on dish duty again the next day. And the day after that. For the whole week, I scrubbed pans, cleaned chocolate and jam out of pots, and took out the trash probably 100 times. Whatever she asked me to do, I was all over it without even a second thought. 

I needed to make her happy. Make her know that I wanted it to be just right for her. 

Earlier, I said she was doing this all alone, but I forgot about Sadie. At least I think I did? Sadie worked the cash register. I didn’t really talk to her much. I guess that’s why I’m having a hard time remembering her.

Wait. 

Was that really only a week ago? No, it’s been a month. I’m getting all mixed up. 

My time in the back wasn’t all that bad, though. Margaret kept me company, moving from pan to pot to oven without even a drop of sweat, humming sweetly while she did. I couldn’t help watching her, enthralled with the way she mixed ingredients together, not even using a measuring cup or spoon.

The best part, though, was finding whatever pastry she was baking on a paper plate for me, usually right before the end of the shift. I’ve never tasted anything so good in my life. There were these little pies filled with some kind of berry, pastries, cookies, and especially cupcakes. My absolutely favorite. 

Two months came and went, and I still hadn’t been shown me how to actually bake anything. That’s weird, right? I’m a baking assistant. Shouldn’t I be doing more? Sadie didn’t ever go to the back either, come to think of it. Not even to get cleaning supplies. I did see her looking at me from time to time, though. Just staring. I couldn’t tell if it was with contempt or indifference, but either way, I couldn’t help but feel like Sadie wasn’t happy that either one of us was there. 

SADIE IS REAL. 

I’m pretty sure I started to become obsessed with Margaret. I don’t think what I felt was love. It was more than that. This was a gnawing hunger to be around her, wanting to be close to her in any way possible. I couldn’t wait for her to pass by me, just so I could smell her perfume. She didn’t have to speak to me, but she would, and I ate up every word like one of her chocolate cupcakes

She was magical and beautiful and full of light that looked like it poured out of her skin. I don’t think I will ever stop thinking about her. It scares me sometimes. I can’t stop.

I won't stop.

We’re nothing alike, complete opposites as far as I was concerned, but she seemed to find me interesting enough to keep talking. And feeding. 

Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I ate any real food. 

I was starting to lose track of time, too. That was probably the scariest part. I would show up in the morning, and by the time I went home, it felt like I’d been there for days. Everything blurred together.

I have proof. The mail. The mailbox was so full. 

But I knew she needed me. I couldn’t just leave her high and dry, no matter how off I felt. 

This is the main reason I’m writing this down, because it’s getting more and more vague, even though I’m actively trying to remember. It’s like there’s a block on my memories somehow. Or a really vivid dream that I’m trying to retell to someone, but the more I talk about it, the less sense it makes. 

I came in one morning, and I heard something in the kitchen. It wasn’t loud or anything, but something was rustling. No, it was a clicking sound. 

Click. Click. Clickity Click. 

I remember being afraid that it was a rat, but when I came around the corner, I saw the faintest shadow that I could have sworn was a giant, fuzzy leg. I was about to cry out when suddenly, I was washing dishes. Had I been there the whole time and just dozed off? What was that thing? I don’t even remember putting on the dishwashing gloves. I was super dizzy, and I had to sit down for a second. 

Margaret found me and asked if I was okay. I told her I was just tired and taking a break.

“Here,” she said and handed me one of her famous breakfast danishes. “This will help you feel better.” Her green eyes were almost sparkling as I immediately put the flaky crust into my mouth.

REDREDREDREDRED

I kept having the same dream, too. Waking up in total darkness, not being able to move my arms or my legs. The feeling of being wrapped (suffocated) in something soft, but I couldn’t get myself out of it, no matter how hard I tried. I’m terrified and panicking, feeling, knowing something was coming closer. 

And the clicking. Constant clicking. Click. Click. Clickity. Click.

Then the body aches started happening. I would wake up in the mornings feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. My arms, my legs, my back especially. I talked to Margaret about it, and she tried to tell me that it was because I wasn’t used to working. 

But I’ve been there for a long time, so I was pretty used to it by then. Or was that the first week I was there that she told me that? 

I thought I was getting sick at first. Low energy, no appetite, achy. I never actually got sick, though. No coughing or sneezing. Not even a fever. 

The days were short anyway, thankfully. At least, I felt like they were. I would clock in, and before I knew it, I was heading out the door to go home. No matter what, though, I was there every single day. Cleaning and scrubbing, making sure Margaret had everything she needed to bake her delicious sweets. I lived for her warm smile of approval upon seeing the spotless kitchen. 

I didn’t even care if I got paid or not. 

Another thing: despite eating her food all damn day, I was somehow losing weight. And don’t get me wrong, I definitely needed to get rid of a few pounds, no doubt. But this was something else entirely. I ate nothing but her desserts; anyone else would be a million pounds by now. Not me, though. My clothes were starting to hang off my body like I was wearing sheets. Maybe it was part of the weird illness I had. 

The illness that no one else seemed to have. Sadie didn’t seem to be sick or out of it. Of course, it was hard to tell with her. 

SADIE IS REAL. SHE IS REAL. SHE WAS REAL.

Two days ago, I could hardly get out of bed. I managed to get to the bakery, though. Somehow. 

How did I get there?  

Margaret needed me. She was always beaming when I came in, but I never understood how she couldn’t see me getting weaker and weaker. I was barely able to stand up to wash dishes. She kept telling me everything was okay and went about working like she always did. How did she have so much energy?

But then I saw Sadie. For the first time since I’d been working at the bakery, she looked different.

Paler. Smaller. Not height-wise, but skinnier. Gaunt, even. The skin around her collarbones was tighter, and there were bags under her eyes. At one point, she turned, and I thought I could see her spine sticking through the back of her shirt. 

Did I look like that? I was avoiding my reflection a lot lately. I wasn’t even sure what I looked like anymore. It didn’t matter, though. Margaret was so gorgeous, and if she even just looked in my direction, it felt like none of my problems mattered anymore. The sun was shining on me, a chosen one in this world, Margaret’s world. I was well fed and safe. 

I’m not safe. I’m not safe. 

Yesterday, I was about to start mopping the floors at closing time. Margaret just left for the day, and I was on my own. Until I started moving into the register area, and there was Sadie, standing at the register, her back to the shop, staring at me. 

I said, “Hey, Sadie. Everything okay?” 

She didn’t answer me. 

I remember feeling more tired than usual, and I just wanted to go home. Why was she being so weird?

Run home. Now. Go. 

“Sadie? What’s wrong?” I walked closer to her, and I realized she was crying. I said, “What happened? Are you sick?” 

Sadie looked like she was going to say something, then she opened her mouth let out a blood curdling scream. Horrible, piercing wails stretched her mouth until I was sure her face would break in half. 

I think I was screaming too. 

As soon as the screaming started, it stopped. Her mouth flew closed with a sickening snap. Sadie’s entire body was shaking, little whimpers falling from her lips in staccato. I didn’t know what to do; I couldn’t even believe what I was seeing. 

I was trying to get myself to move, to run, to do anything but stand there and stare, but then she parted her cracked lips and whispered, “You have to wake up. You have to wake up.” 

I couldn’t move my arms. My legs. Panic rose to the top of my throat but nothing came out. The suffocation from my dreams was happening in real life. What was happening?

Then the noise. Incessant. Terrifying.

Click. Click. Clickity. Click.

The next thing I remember was standing at the sink, about to wash another pot of jam. Margaret came in and smiled at me like normal. That was this morning. All I could do was smile back.