The Baker Who Discovers Her Cakes Can Control People’s Dreams

In the heart of the sleepy town of Windmere stood a little bakery called Sugar & Spell, nestled between a forgotten antique shop and a florist who only sold white roses. Owned by an unassuming woman named Elira Bell, the shop had become a local favorite. Not just because her cakes were delicious, but because they made you feel… different.

Elira had inherited the bakery from her grandmother, a woman both feared and loved in equal measure. Granny Bell was known for her strange herbs and sugar-glazed whispers. Elira, however, was all practicality -or so she thought.

One evening, after closing the shop, Elira noticed a small, dusty recipe card fluttering from the back of an old drawer. It read:

Moonmelt Cake: For a dream unspoken, whisk with lavender and token.

She chuckled. “Granny, you always had a way with weird poetry.”

But curiosity got the better of her. She gathered the ingredients - some she’d never used before: blue poppy seeds, dried lavender petals, and a small vial labeled “Sleeproot Essence.” It smelled of jasmine and something older… like forgotten lullabies.

The first Moonmelt Cake was a soft, midnight-colored sponge with a lavender glaze. She left it in the display case the next morning, pricing it like the others. By noon, it was gone - purchased by Mr. Camden, the town librarian.

The next day, he returned, his eyes wide behind thick glasses.

“Elira,” he whispered, leaning over the counter. “That cake… I dreamed of my late wife. We were walking through the same park we visited on our honeymoon. I could smell the cherry blossoms. Hear her laugh.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “I haven’t dreamed of her in twenty years.”

Elira froze. “It was just a coincidence. Dreams are funny like that.”

But the following day, two more customers spoke of vivid dreams after eating her new cake. One had dreamt of flying over oceans with their childhood dog; another met their long-lost father and forgave him.

Elira began experimenting. She changed the ingredients slightly each time.

One version -Honey-Sleep Swirl -brought dreams of joy, laughter, and reunion.

Another -Bitter Cocoa Crave - seemed to provoke strange nightmares. Customers reported shadowy figures and cryptic messages in their sleep. She discontinued that one quickly.

Word spread. Quietly at first. People didn’t quite know how to say it. But they kept returning. Some left notes:

• "Please, one more slice of the dreamcake."

• "I want to see my daughter again."

• "Make me forget."

She began writing down each dream recipe carefully, noting ingredients and effects. Her cakes became more popular than ever, yet she started feeling uneasy. Was it right to manipulate people’s subconscious? Even if it brought peace?

Then one afternoon, a stranger walked in. Tall, with pale eyes that shimmered like mercury. He wore a dark coat, despite the warm spring weather.

“I hear you sell dreams,” he said.

“I sell cakes,” Elira replied, forcing a smile.

The man placed a small glass jar on the counter. Inside was a flower unlike any she’d seen - black petals edged in silver.

“Dreamthistle,” he said. “Rare. Dangerous. Mix it right, and you could make someone forget their worst memory. Mix it wrong... and they may never wake up.”

“I don’t want it,” she said quietly.

“But someone will. Someone always does.”

He left without another word.

Days passed. Elira tried to return to normal baking, but the dreamcakes called to her. People pleaded. Her heart ached for them. Each slice felt like a wish granted - or a truth whispered in sleep.

One morning, a girl named Sophie came in. No older than twelve, clutching a drawing of a cake.

“My brother doesn’t talk anymore,” she said. “Not since the accident. Mum cries every night. Can you make him dream of the stars again? He used to love them.”

Elira’s hands trembled. “I’ll try.”

She created the most delicate cake she had ever made - a stardust sponge with lemon-zest glaze and a sprinkle of crushed valerian. She called it Celestial Crumb.

The next day, Sophie returned with a smile so bright it made Elira weep.

“He said he flew through space last night,” she said. “He spoke. He said thank you.”

But with every dream healed, more requests came - more desperate, more complex.

• “Help me forget the war.”

• “Make her love me.”

• “I want to be someone else.”

Elira stood at a crossroads. Her power - if it was power -could be used for kindness or corruption.

One night, she made a decision. She baked a final batch of Moonmelt Cake, one slice only. She sat by the window and ate it slowly, whispering, “Let me see her again.”

In her dream, Granny Bell stood in a kitchen made of stars.

“You’re meddling too much, Elira,” she said, stirring a bowl that glowed. “Dreams are sacred. They belong to the soul, not the spoon.”

“I only wanted to help.”

“I know,” Granny smiled. “But sometimes, the greatest help is simply being there when people wake.”

When Elira opened her eyes, dawn spilled gold across the flour-covered floor. She packed away the dream ingredients, sealing them in jars and burying them beneath the oak tree behind the shop.

From that day on, Sugar & Spell returned to ordinary sweets - lemon drizzles, vanilla sponges, raspberry tarts. People still came. And they still dreamed -not because of the cakes, but because they were loved.

And every now and then, someone would swear a bite of her carrot cake reminded them of flying or home or a forgotten song.

Elira would smile and say, “It’s just sugar and spice.”

But the oak tree knew the truth.

And so did the stars.