Death by Chocolate

“A little chocolate never hurt nobody” said Eleanor Macklemore in her charming southern brogue as she served up a generous slice of her homemade chocolate cake to the new neighbor. Samuel Cochran had just moved in next door and despite being rather introverted, had agreed to meet Eleanor for her afternoon tea. Of course, she hadn’t left him much choice. She had been the listing agent on his new house and he had dealt with her several times. She had helped him get a deal, after all.

“I insist!” she had stressed, tipping her head to the side and poking him playfully on the shoulder, her cheek dimples making their most convincing effort. Undoubtedly, in her younger years, she had used this trick to lure many-a-man.

His plate shifted downward in his hand as she heaped the heavy treat onto it. The chocolate icing dared to topple over the edge onto his hand as he placed it carefully on the doily covered side-table.

The day was hot and Sammy had other things to be doing. Moving in anywhere meant unpacking and he had only successfully carried a couple boxes into the house from the garage, yesterday, when Eleanor had approached him. Today he had tried to accomplish much more, but if he was being honest with himself, this was a much needed break.

Eleanor reached forward and poured iced sweet tea into a tall glass with an etched lemon design. Her cleavage was violently wrenched up and it also appeared to pour out of her blouse as she bent. Sammy assumed she must be in her 60’s by the silver hair and looser skin, but even still, she was arguably an attractive woman, and she seemed to know it.

“Normally, I enjoy hot tea, but I reckon you want to cool off a bit, isn’t that right, honey?”

The porch was anything but cool though. Though covered, the stifling heat had snuck in from every screened wall. The ceiling fan and an antique fan on the table did their best to beat it back but they only succeeded at swirling the heat around them. He thought about a convection oven. Sammy sipped his tea as his only form of defense and thought about the videos he had watched of people frying eggs on the asphalt. Today would be a day for that. Maybe she had baked the cake here, on the porch, she certainly could have. The tea probably had more sugar than the cake, he sucked on an ice cube to quench his drying throat. If there was ever a time when sugar could kill someone, this might be it.

“You aren’t eating your cake darlin’. Don’t you like it?” Eleanor asked. She leaned forward, pursed her lipstick stained lips at him and waited for a response.

“I am so sorry” apologized Sammy, “I just, well, I am sure it’s great cake but I ate just a bit ago and I’m not hungry” he lied. Hot cake was not going to help him with the heat and if he had to pick one form of sugar, it needed to be the tea. “I, umm…” he intended to tell her he needed to leave before she interrupted.

“Well, that’s a shame.” She stood to her feet in one violent motion sending her wicker chair in the reverse several inches. She snatched up his slice of cake from his table and threw it into a nearby tin waste can. This was the type of trashcan for tissues and old newspaper, not messy food. There wasn’t even a bag in it. The chocolate icing had smeared on the inside of the can and Sammy watched as it sunk down the side. Sammy blinked in astonishment. Was she having a tantrum?

“Listen, I meant no offen…” he started before he was interrupted again.

Her eyes were wide with rage. It seemed like she had never been turned down or suffered disappointment in any way before. This wasn’t a reaction you would expect to see from an adult with a mortgage, someone with a license to sell homes. This was highly unprofessional. Sammy sat in utter disbelief as this petite southern old lady moved to the center of the room and lifted the remaining cake from the table. In its glass cover, she lifted it high over her head and slammed it onto the ground. It crashed into a sloppy mound of dark brown with shards of glass poking out. Sammy imagined eating it now and hoped she didn’t have pets. His Lab, Walter, would have been right over to aid in the clean-up effort. He snapped back to reality, if ever there was a queue to leave a party, this was it. Sammy stood cautiously and began slowly towards the screen door.

“You don’t need to leave honey” she taunted. “I am just getting started” she raised her eyebrows and bared her teeth into a menacing smile. Her expression felt like an invitation or a dare. After a moment of staring into this face, frozen, she let out a startling hiss. She began to move her shoulders up and down, one at a time as if in a dance.

“You should have just eaten the cake, sugar. It would have made this whole thing much less painful for you.” She licked her lips.

“What the ffff” Sammy muttered under his breath. Her eyes had appeared to have grown in size and a soft gray glaze had come over them.

He looked at the cake in its sad heap on the floor. Now that he stared in its direction, it appeared to have some sort of vapor rising from it the way heat does across a parking lot. Maybe it was just still warm? Everything was warm. He didn’t really have to wonder anymore, if a little chocolate might actually hurt someone. She had clearly meant it to. No wonder she had helped him get such a good deal on the house.

Before he could adjust his gaze back, she was face to face with him. Although Sammy stood at six feet, this little woman had somehow matched his height. Had she grown? She didn’t look like the sweet woman with startling blue eyes and a tidy low bun any longer. Sammy felt behind himself for the screen wall. He would punch it out and run. But recognizing it was beyond his reach, he began to yell. Maybe someone nearby would hear and call the police. He didn’t have time to be heard. She lunged forward in one swift movement, like the strike of a cobra. She had bit him, right on his open mouth as he plead for help. It stung. Matter of fact, it felt like a searing burn and it was spreading across his face now. The venom, if that is what it was, was making him dizzy too. He stumbled and fell to his knees.

“It’s okay sweetie-pie. Look at this way…” she gripped his chestnut hair in her hand and tipped his head back until he found her face, a blurry, uglier version of it, his own emerald eyes beginning to roll upward into his skull “at least you didn’t have to unpack.” She winked one of her large slime covered eyes. “But you really should have eaten the cake.” In a spinning nauseous daze, Sammy sunk into a painful heap on the floor, like the chocolate mess a few feet away. She would list his house and do this again.