hell’s PersOnAl bAker

Shanice Baskerville

The souls have arisen to take a bite of their daily feast. They bask in the sweet scent of my creations. From bread to pie, I bake them all. But who am I, you might ask? I’m Jamie, a notso-local baker, and it’s about that time of the day when all the ghouls and goblins are craving my treats.

Every single day I gather my ingredients from town and then head off to the graveyard. A little ritual and a human sacrifice later and I’m in my stunning bakery, which I could never afford in the living realm. I mean, except for the fact that it’s Hell, it’s great! Where else would you find such loyal customers, highquality flames, and so many wealthy people. Funny enough, it turns out that you get to keep your money in Hell as long as you used it poorly while you were alive, which is why I donate twenty percent of my profits to the local orphanage every three weeks. Of course, I get something out of it too, and orphans make good sacrifices. My customers are never alike, and each has their own story to tell. Like Yoke and Kee, the two failed actors who died doing stunts for some D-tier movie in the city; Lilly, the cheating housewife who pushed her husband too far; and Janet, the very popular cult leader. Don’t tell the others, but Janet’s my favorite. She buys so many of my products I can’t help but love her. She also gives me advice on how to be confident, persuasive, and charismatic. She’s so helpful! I have even used some of the tips and tricks she showed me to get more customers. After all, I can’t get too cocky with my clientele. I have to constantly go for bigger and better things.

I finally clock out at 6:00PM and head out to the living realm, and while walking back to my house, I see a large amount of the town’s police at my door. I wonder what they could possibly want. “We’ve had reports on multiple missing children, and it seems like you’ve adopted them all before they went missing,” one particularly short officer tells me. I mean, honestly, this is ridiculous. Who cares about those little orphans anyways. I adopted them, so they were mine to use, and I just so happened to use them to make my money. I mean, like we live in a capitalistic society, I can’t believe they’re mad at me for just trying to work with the system!

I tell the little officer that I sent them off to the city to be with my aunt, which isn’t completely a lie after all. Aunt Martha’s the only reason I know about how to get to Hell in the first place. When I was younger, I used to go to her little apartment, and she would tell me about a way to Heaven. Though that doesn’t require a human sacrifice, you have to lose something or someone very valuable to you in another way. I was finally able to go with her when my parents passed away, and I figured if there’s a way to get to Heaven, there’s a way to get to Hell. Years’ worth of library cards later, I finally found a way. And since all children go to Heaven, excusing like child murderers, I did send the orphans to my aunt. So no lie there, I’m not a liar, and my aunt didn’t raise me to be one.

But they seem like they need more convincing so I bring them into my lovely, well-furnished home. I probably have the best home in town. After all, bakers make a lot of money. The cops run me through 101 questions about the kids, what they liked, and if I can give them contact information for my aunt.

I give them her old address. I mean, it is a nice but secluded apartment. By the time they find it, and whoever lives there now tells them my aunt has been dead for five years, I will already have fled town. There are graveyards all over the world. All I need to do is find another town or maybe even a village and repeat the cycle. I’m sad that this will be the fourth place I will be leaving, but after moving towns the first time, I learned something really important. Your placement in Hell stays the same so I won’t have to worry about my bakery moving places anytime soon.

I finally convince the officers to leave with my charms, courtesy of Janet, and start planning my leave. I pack all my kitchen utensils and my books about the occult and buy a ticket to the nearest train out of town. So Hell‘s personal baker is now on the move once more. I wonder what town I’ll go to next.