George woke up to a hypnotizing smell
of a pie coming from the cracks in the wall of his flat.
He lived in an apartment on the east side of the city, notoriously famous for its dangerous residents.
But George wasnʼt dangerous at all, except for the fact that that was the only flat he could afford. His neighbours werenʼt «dangerous» people either. In fact, this nice smell of bakery would wake him up every weekend or so, thanks to a nice granny living next to him.
This day however Georgeʼs morning routine was interrupted by a knock on the door. The nice granny by the name of Dorothy was asking him for some help.
“Such a nice boy, you grow by the weeks. Could you possibly help an old lady fetch some packages
upstairs?“ she enquired.
Gerogeʼs sense of duty couldnʼt allow him to reject her, “Sure thing, Ms. Dorothy. But only for a
symbolic fee of a piece of this bakery goodness you always make.“ he jokingly added.
“Of course, sweetie. Just put those bags next to the door and I will deal with them from there. Now if you donʼt mind…“
“Donʼt you need to move them inside as well?“
“Oh, no no no, i just canʼt move them upstairs, especially when the elevator is borken. And I somehow already brought them here after all.“
“The elevator is broken? Thatʼs new… It never does on the weekends.“
“Of course, such a shame. But I guess obstacles make us find other means to our ends, now do they?“ smiled the old lady. “If you donʼt mind, I better get back to cutting that pie for your hungry-hungry mouth.“
George quickly finished his interrupted routine and headed downstairs. There he found two bags from the local store, stuffed and tightly packaged with what appeared to be more ingridients for the grannyʼs cooking. “Is he planning on opening a restaraurant?“ he thought. It also seemed as though those packaged goods have spent some time outside, or even past the expiry date. “Guess she canʼt
afford fresh stuff“ George reasoned with himself. He took the packages and started going upstairs. With
each floor smell intensified, yet George made every effort to ignore it. His main focus was of course on
the fact that he was helping the old lady. After all, that was what his mother always told him to do, and
that was a perfect opportunity. “So, this is a win-win situation then, right? I will even get to taste my
saturday alarm clock!“ thought George as he was reaching the destination floor.
Feeling relieved George ringed the doorbell on Dorothyʼs door. She quickly opened up and
stepped out of the flat into the corridor. She was holding a good half of the precious pie George was so eager to taste.
“Thank you, dear. Hereʼs your «small fee» for all the inconvenience“ she began.
“Not an inconvenience at all. I should thank you too for your generocity, and maybe, just maybe, help a little bit more often“ politely accepted George.
“Oh, donʼt worry, itʼs a piece of cake for me“ the old lady laughed.
Trying the pie revealed an anfamilliar to George flavour. It was a strange and ultimately an
unorthodox mix of spices and chicken meat. The rest of the day George spent occasionally looking at the crumbs left on the plate and thinking of how great it would be to use the recipe in one of those chain cafés. In fact, it was a mystery for him. Why this hasnʼt hit the stores yet. As the day progressed and the more he thought about it the more temptatious it was for him to find out the recipe himself in hopes of opening his own business one day, or at least selling it for money.
Next morning the role of Georgeʼs alarm clock was taken up by a knock on the door preceeded by a loud siren outside. When he opened the door he saw two men at his doorstep. One with a clipboard and another one with a notebook. Both wearing badges with «FCPD Detective» on them.
“Philip Norman and Gordon Price, FCPD.“ began one of the officers.
“Good morning officers, what can I do for you?“ asked Geore “Weʼre currently investigating Ms. Dorothy Wide and you are her neighbour, right?“
“Sure, what happened to her?“ George replied.
“No, not really to her, just twelve of her victims.“
Thoughts were rushing through Georgeʼs head “How is this possible? How and what for she was doing this?“ He rushed through the two detectives into the corridor and through the Dorothyʼs door. Insides of her flat were covered in blood splattered all over the floor, furniture and even walls. His peripheral vision started to blur and become darker and darker with each second passing as he strode through the living room. In the kitchen he found the all too familiar packages ripped open and a bald head on a cutting board. Georgeʼs body dropped unconscious as he grasped for some strength in himself to remain calm.
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