Grandmas Baking Club

Grandma and Grampa both liked to bake together, but Grandma was the one that organized the club, so she got to name it.

“Don’t worry, Joseph, my little man, grandpa knows he’s the manager,” grandma always said.

She had her friends and neighbors come over to watch her bake, and she’d always show them how to cook something new. Her baking show was even broadcast on the local community network.

They said they were going to let me help cook today, right after I fetched a few ingredients for them. I’m going to be famous, I thought. I’m going to be on television.

“Today we’re cooking a dry dessert called Desert Sand Cake. We’re using a heavier, drier flour then normal,” my grandmother said to the audience.

She then turned to me and said, “The first thing we need you to get is the flour. We keep it in the downstairs pantry. Would you mind getting it, Joseph?” Grandma asked loud enough for her elderly audience to hear. Her audience let out a hushed but noticeable “aaawwee,” with one person whispering “that’s cute.

I’m not cute, I thought, I’m almost twelve. The old people here must think anybody under the age of fifty is a child.

I nodded and ran to the pantry.

The pantry door squeaked open after I pulled the handle. This was the first time I’d been in the pantry.

I pulled the chain to turn on the light and it flickered on. I grabbed a broomstick and used it to get rid of some of the cob webs in the way.

I slowly walked down the squeaky stairs and searched the old, dusty and cracked shelves for the flour. I found a bag of flour on the lower shelf.

I’ve cooked with flour before in a baking class and knew it wasn’t heavy, but when I picked up this bag it felt like it was at least twenty five pounds. Grandma wasn’t kidding when she said this was a heavier type of flour.

I opened it up and it looked like sand inside. I thought it was strange, but I’m sure grandma knows what she’s doing.

I almost hurt my back lifting it. I turned around and let out a short scream when I thought I saw people standing against the wall. I took a breath and a closer look, and realized they were very realistic glass statues. I wonder why grandma and grandpa had these. I looked behind the glass statues and noticed rows and rows of them, it was a very large collection. They reminded me of the Terracotta Army in Xi’an, China. I’ll have to ask about the statue collection after the show.

It took me a few minutes to carry the heavy bag of flour up the stairs.

I slowly walked to the kitchen and when I finally plopped the bag of flour on the table I got an applause.

“It’s about time, Joseph,” my grandma smiled.

“Gee, thanks,” I said and smiled back. I heard a few chuckles from the audience.

My grandmother finished mixing the ingredients and put the cake in the oven.

“This will take about an hour to bake. While that cake cooks, we premade another cake yesterday for you all to try,” my grandmother said. She took the other cake out of the fridge and got applause. She sliced it into small pieces and gave everyone a piece of the cake. They saved the last piece for me.

“I hope you enjoy, Joseph,” my grandmother said.

My grandmother smiled larger then usual as I put the cake in my mouth. It was horrible and dry, but I didn’t want to disappoint my grandmother. I swallowed the bite sized piece of cake and looked at the audience, who had already finished their pieces.

They slowly seemed to be turning into glass.

“What’s going on, grandma?” I asked.

“Our special cake drains human energy and transfers it to us, sweetie. How do you think we’ve lived so long?” My grandma asked.

“Why me?” I asked them.

“The younger the person, the more energy we get. That’s why we adopted you. We’re not really your grandparents, we just looked so old we said we were so you wouldn’t suspect anything and run away before we could take your energy,” Grandma said. She was starting to age backwards, her skin looking less wrinkled and her hair turning from gray to blonde.

“How old are you?” I asked, my hands now feeling stiff, like glass.

“Six hundred years, and thanks to you and this audience, we have enough energy to make it another six hundred years,” my grandmother said and cackled. This explains the statues in the pantry.

I looked at my hands as my whole body turned to glass.

“I think we’re out of room in the pantry for another statue, better grind these all up and take them to the desert,” my grandmother said.

“Yes dear,” my grandfather said and grabbed a mallet. He smashed the audience then smashed me, turning my glass body into a pile of sand.

He put me into a bag and drove me to the desert where he poured me out and the wind blew my remains in all directions.

Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.