Leo needed a signature item. Something unforgettable. Something that would make customers crawl back.
He found the recipe in his great-grandmother’s journal, hidden beneath a loose floorboard. The page was stained brown, the handwriting spidered in Old Country script. At the top, someone had scrawled in fresh red ink: Do not bake. cannibal cupcake
The cupcakes had learned to hunt.
And Leo noticed, with a creeping horror, that his own reflection in the glass had begun to smile without him. Leo needed a signature item
Only a tiny, crimson swirl.