Would You Like Some Cake? It's To Die For...

The dinner had been lavish, several courses of the entire family’s favourites. Roasted meats of various beasts dripping with their own juices, an enormous pile of mashed potato sitting in the centre of the table, looming over the rest of the food. Bowls of vegetables, roasted, steamed, raw… it seemed as if any food imaginable rested atop that table. There was far more food than the six people present could have eaten in a week.

There was Father, of course, at the head of the table. He was carving the roast pork while ranting about the state of the world. Mother at the table’s foot, dainty and timid, tried to get a word in to quiet Father’s exuberance. She failed. In the end, she shrugged and plastered a fake smile on her face as she handed plates out to the rest of the family, implying that they were all grown-ups now, they could get their own food.

Paul, the eldest, sat across from his new wife Lydia next to Father at the head of the table. He pretended to listen to the ranting with good grace; he’d heard it all before over the years. As he did so, he occasionally rolled his eyes at his wife who hid a small smile each time. Father sensed he was being made mock of, glaring at the two in turn for a moment, then continued with his speech about how the youth of today were nothing like kids when he was growing up. Now they were all vandals and criminals, every last one on drugs and worshiping the Devil, all likely to end up in jail by the time they turned fifteen.

Luke and Lucy, the twins, both fourteen years old, glanced from Father to each other and burst out laughing. They’d never even seen any drugs in their short life, other than those that their parents kept out of reach in the medicine cabinet, and never once had a thought of devil-worship entered either of their heads. Father was on some pills due to his condition, they knew that much, though they had no idea what that condition might have been. It was seldom discussed, and never at dinner. More importantly, it was most certainly not discussed at a birthday party.

Mother, finally able to sit down and eat, began enjoying the meal that she had prepared for her own birthday. The twins had offered her to assist her, but she’d waved away their aid. She had a special surprise waiting and she didn’t want to spoil it.

“Heavy Metal, that’s how it starts,” Father was stating again, loudly. “First it makes you want to kill yourself, then it warps your mind and turns you into a slave for the Beast!” Lydia, who was a fan of such music, opened her mouth to speak but shut it at a quick shake of her husband’s head. Paul mouthed the words ‘Mother’s birthday’ to his wife, who nodded reluctantly. Lydia was not one for keeping her silence when people derided her favoured musical genre as a general rule, but she knew her husband and his family by now. She would not ruin her mother-in-law’s birthday dinner by making a scene, even though that was clearly what Father wanted. Every snide comment made in the current rant was done with a side-eyed glance in her direction. Father had always been like this; he would always pick on the one person least likely to retaliate. That was often the newest person in his life, or else it was Mother. If not for the twins and Mother, Paul and Lydia would not even have made the three-hour journey from home.

Luke began talking about something that had happened at school; he would often ask his older brother for advice. His timing was off, and Father’s hearing better than usual this evening. The rant shifted to the education system. He had been triggered by the word ‘school’ without even bothering to listen to the rest of the sentence that his son was still saying.

Lucy let out a barely audible sigh.

“Something the matter, girl?” Father’s attention changed yet again.

“Nothing, Sir. I’m just impatient for the cake.” Lucy squeaked and Mother scurried out of the room. She’d helped Mother prepare it. Traditionally, Father would always cut himself the largest slice and not let anybody else near until he’d had his fill, regardless of whose birthday it was. The mention of the cake that awaited the end of the birthday meal made his corpulent face brighten.

“Hrm…” He grunted, accepting her word. “What kind of cake is it? Is it … chocolate?” Father’s bloated brow began to glow in sweaty anticipation.

Mother walked back into the dining room, burdened by a heavy tray upon which sat a gigantic cake, slathered in chocolate frosting. It towered above the remains of the roast pork that she sat it next to, three tiers of different chocolatey glory. Immediately Father leaped upon it, slicing away a full third for himself.

Lydia, unable to resist, attempted to swipe a finger of frosting only to receive a swat on the hand by the impressively speedy Father. She rubbed her hand while her husband raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly, his lips showing a slightly bemused smile.

They watched Father gorge himself for a few moments, saw his pace slow a little. He stopped briefly, caught his breath for a moment, then returned to what sat on his plate. After a couple of seconds, he stopped again, sitting up to his full height.

“I don’t…” he began, then fell face first into the remains of his cake, stone dead.

The next year, when the family came to visit Mother, they brought the cake. Chocolate, according to the recipe that she had always used, but without the one special ingredient that had made last year’s cake such a winner.

Mother was dressed in all orange, and a large woman with a truncheon stood guard on the door, but for this one occasion they had allowed her family the use of a room within the prison. Mother had become something of a celebrity among the inmates and staff, and they allowed her certain privileges, though for some reason they wouldn’t let her near the kitchen. She found this baffling, though the family laughed when she told them about it.

“Honestly, I live a better life in here than with your Father,” Mother told them around a mouthful of cake. “Sure, I have to obey a couple of rules, but nobody gets to eat before me anymore.” Murmured agreement came from mouths similarly stuffed. “Nobody tells me I’m wrong for having an opinion.”

She turned to the guard on the door.

“Would you like some cake? It’s to die for…”