Caketrap

There it was: the last piece of Mom’s famous triple chocolate cake beautifully mounted and erect on a crystal plate and protected from unwanted intruders under a glass dome as it basked in the afternoon light. Surrounding it was a vast area of mahogany tabletop with random plates and glass goblets in between the edge of the table and the savory, sweet chocolate prize, all of which stood high above the beige carpet which spanned dozens of feet between it and a small boy who had been eyeing it like a sniper from across the living room, a courageous and mischievous contender vying for that ultimate prize. Unseen, he peeked around the corner from the secluded hallway, confident that no one would sneak up behind him knowing that both his younger brother and his mother were sleeping in their rooms. The boy, himself, was only five, but he already had a mind built for scheming and plotting. This challenge would be no different, and damn the consequences. He may have been told that he couldn’t have it before, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to have it. Its image kept resurfacing in his mind’s eye over and over to the point where it drove him mad with hunger. He had already made up his mind that as long as he could taste the last morsel of that dark, delicious cake bathed in that heavenly chocolate frosting that he would accept any punishment that he would be in for. There was only one hang up: Father.

He was a large, boorish man yet deceptively cunning and shrewd. He was strict in his discipline over the boy and his brother, almost ruthlessly so and exceptionally, if not deviously creative. At times, it almost felt like he was the devil, but he was also a notorious nap taker. As per usual, he was laid out on the daybed casually dozing off in front of the television as it calmly featured another marathon of action movies, as was customary on Saturdays, and the boy could tell that at any moment his oversized opponent would take in his last lulling and drift off into his action hero dreamland for at least a few hours and while doing so would sleep like a rock in a deep cave untouched by man for centuries. It was a foolproof plan, simple but effective, and as long as he could finesse his way over the objects on the table and manage to keep the noise down, he would succeed, and no one would be able to stop him before it was too late. The boy watched intently as he waited for the sadistic warden to be spirited away by the proverbial Sandman. Time marched on for what seemed like an eternity, but then it finally began. The last flickering of consciousness began to vanish from the distinguished tormentor, and he finally fell asleep. The boy couldn’t help but grin in an almost disgustingly devious fashion like the Grinch about to steal Christmas, itself. It was showtime.

Carefully and quietly, he dropped down to all fours, slinking across the carpet toward the dining room table while facing his arguably defenseless adversary, eyeing him cautiously while trying to contain his eagerness. Upon clearing the danger zone, being out of any passive line of sight of the enemy, he slowly rose to his feet, knowing that the hard part was just beginning. He needed to ascend to the top of the table to even have any hope of reaching the forbidden pastry. While keeping watch for the slightest movement from the sleeping giant, he blindly reached for one of the chairs next to the table which stood tall like an obelisk. Once he got hold of the chair closest to him, he turned and began to make his way up the ladder-like structure toward the cushion of the seat. Upon reaching the seat, the chair squeaked ever so slightly, causing the boy’s head to whirl around frantically over at the position of his nemesis only to find him motionless and quiet. He turned back around, barely able to reach any suitable distance toward the divine dessert, but had another clever idea. He began to silently move whatever plates and cups there were in the immediate vicinity out of the way and created a makeshift landing space upon which he could climb up without chattering the leftover dishes. From there, the chocolate treasure would be almost within reach. Once he finished, taking an almost obscene amount of time to deftly make sure that no noise was emitted in his actions, he took a breath, silently mouthed a count of three, and then suddenly pushed himself up onto the tabletop. He almost rolled over its surface in relief after expending so much effort, but he knew he couldn’t afford to relax just yet.

The end goal was in sight, but maneuvering his chocolate destiny from the smooth clutches of its glass prison was also going to be a bit tricky due to its weight in comparison to the boy’s youthful, but limited strength. He crept over to the plate, looking over his shoulder to make sure that his sleeping antagonist was none the wiser before crouching next to the cake dome. He looked down where its edge met the crystal plate, calmly looking for the tiniest gap in which he could potentially stuff his fingers into for leverage. He brought another oversized plate near him on standby, ready to receive and transport the would-be stolen goods to whatever hidey-hole closet was safest for him to devour it all. As he studied the glass dome closely, he noticed that it was ever so slightly warped, perhaps a manufacturer defect. There was no way of knowing for sure, but one thing the boy did understand was that different shapes don’t usually blend together. Suddenly, he found what he was looking for: the smallest bit of space at the edge of the dome in which something long and thin could be lodged into it. He picked up a clean knife, careful to not expose himself by making too much noise. Then he deftly, but firmly forced the tip of the knife through the small crevice where the bottom of the dome met the plate. Suddenly, a loud snort exploded from behind him, and his head swiftly turned around expecting to see his adversary rise from his slumber in a fit of rage and crankiness, but fortunately it only resulted in the large manbeast shifting over onto his side. The boy realized that it was a false alarm. He slowly pushed the knife further in until he had gotten a few inches of clearance. Then he pressed down on the handle with his foot, using his weight to slowly lift the glass dome just enough to get his hands underneath it. Once he did, the crafty child lifted the dome with as much strength and control as possible until it began to tip over its own edge. At that point, he silently strained to keep it from rolling over onto any other china on the table and slowly moved it to a point of kinetic rest.

At last, the last piece of that baked miracle was finally within his grasp. Quickly and silently, he scooped the pastry up with both hands and placed it on his designated plate. With glee, he pushed the plate close to the edge where he made his ascent before he made his way down to the chair, taking the beloved cake along the descent with each and every step. Eventually, he made his way to the ground with the cake-filled plate in his hands. Triumphant, he began his proud and victorious march to a place he could dine in peace past an empty daybed with the television still quietly playing action movies. Little did he realize the lurking danger that lay in wait for him. Just as he was passing the bed, a big, black hand suddenly shot out from under the bed and snatched the boy by the ankle, causing him to fall over onto his stomach, the precious cake he had coveted so much dropping to the floor while somehow miraculously remaining on the plate’s clean surface and untainted by the floor beneath it. It was the last thing he would remember as he screamed out in terror before the arm suddenly yanked him into the darkness from whence it came, the incident followed only by a deafening silence.

Some time later, the boy awoke to find himself strapped to a chair in the dimly lit environment of his garage surrounded by storage boxes and old gym equipment. Upon further inspection, he realized that the chair he was tied down to was the very same chair he used to implement his plan. He began to frantically struggle for a moment to free himself, but to no avail. “Ah,” a sinister voice arose from the darkness. “You’re finally awake…” Suddenly, the glaring light of the overhead lamp exploded down to the floor, illuminating the small space and revealing none other than the boy’s father sitting in a chair right in front of him.

“What is this?” the boy said, shaken but unrelenting in his tone.

“You were told no to try and go after that cake, no?”

“You think you’re going to break me?” the boy replied defiantly. “Go ahead! Ground me! Whip me! I don’t care! It was worth the attempt, and I’d do it again! That cake is worth dying for. You know that just as I do!”

“Hohoh…” his father chuckled before grabbing his son’s prison chair and yanking it towards himself, bringing his son close enough to be eye to eye. “You’re as spirited as your mother. Too bad you don’t have the skills to back it up yet.” Then he shoved his son’s chair back just enough to slide out of the spotlight. The boy began to be filled with dread.

“What are you gonna do to me?” the boy demanded.

“Well interestingly enough, what you did was directly and defiantly disobey your mother.”

“I know, but-”

“Silence!” The room grew gravely quiet. The air was stagnant and muggy, and the light from the lamp was becoming exceedingly harsh as the boy waited for his sentence. “To disrespect her in any manner, let alone this one, is to disrespect me. The penalty for such is usually quite severe.”

“Usually?” the boy quietly asked.

“In this particular case, you even thought to play me for a fool by taking advantage of how tired I was. Your plan was almost brilliant. Unfortunately, I already knew you would be making such an attempt.”

“You couldn’t have! I was so careful not to give myself away!”

“One taste of that cake, and I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. You lack self-control, especially for a boy as intelligent as you are. That said, I’m not going to ground you. I’m not even going to whip you.”

“What do you mean?” The sinister interrogator developed a devilish grin.

“Oh, I’ve decided on something far worse.” He let out the most evil laughter the boy had ever heard. It was like Dracula if he had siphoned the blood of a man jacked on steroids. Then he reached inside of a box to his right and pulled out the cake the boy tried to steal, its frosting glistening in the spotlight like it had been baked and frosted moments earlier. “I’m going to eat this cake right in front of you…” Then he proceeded to gorge upon its succulent texture and sugary delight as the boy continued to struggle in futility with tears strolling down his face until it was all gone. With that, his father walked up to the open door. “I’ll be back for you at dinner,” he said with a grin before vanishing into the house.

“Trounced by my own father yet again! Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!