I made these Halloween Death by Cupcakes to kill as many people as I could. I had been shackled in a basement by my foster parents for years. Working for them like a chained mule while they lived lavishly in luxury from the fruits of my labor.
Their mansion was enormous and so was the underbelly of the estate — the place in which I lived. I saw the mansion only once — upon my arrival on that dreadful day.
My screams could not penetrate the 1 foot concrete walls in which I carried out my days, year after year. My cries and pleadings were to no avail — a waste of lung power and oxygen.
They fostered six children — all of us kept in different sections of the basement. Each section was separated by thick cinder blocks with no doors or windows. There was an elevator, but that was behind the impenetrable iron fence. The children never met nor did they know the others existed.
The noise of the large, greasy machines also made it impossible to hear anything above the basement.
From the little knowledge that I was able to gather my foster parents were scientists.
My “keeper” served all of my meals on a clean, tin lab-type tray. She would come down the elevator with surgical gloves, a lab coat, and rubber boots. Her hair was tightly wound in a bun that accentuated her two big veins on her forehead. She had knobby knuckles and hands the size of a man’s. Her breath was so toxic that I swore my skin had grown bacteria from each exhale.
Keeper, as I never knew her name nor did she ever offer it to me, kept the rusty circle of keys in her left-side pocket. Not once in my 15 years did she ever pull them out of her right-side pocket.
After my meals, which were delivered to me three times a day, a concoction brightly colored, dyed food, Keeper would inject me with four separate syringes. Two syringes would be injected into the soles of my feet, the third, injected into my inner ear, and the fourth would be a syringe drip attached to long curling line that was plug into one of the… machines.
HALLOWEEN DEATH BY CUPCAKES