This is Cast of Wonders, the young adult fiction podcast featuring stories of the fantastic. Welcome. Episode 619. I'm Catherine Inskip, your editor and host. Our story for today is a properly spiced gingerbread by David Hankins, which was first published in Dreamforge magazine in March 2022. David Hankins is the award-winning author of Death and the Taxman.
He writes from the thriving cornfields of Iowa, where he lives with his wife, daughter and two dragons disguised as cats. His short stories have graced the pages of Writers of the Future, Volume 39, Amazing Stories, Dreamforge Magazine, Escape Pod, Unidentified Funny Objects 9 and others. David devotes his time to his passions of writing, traveling and finding new ways to pay his mortgage.
You can find him at davidhankins.com. This story is narrated by Alison Grower. Alison Grower is a professional Renaissance woman. As a writer, her short fiction has been published in The Deeps, Apparition Lit, Cast of Wonders, Tales from the Archives, and in various anthologies.
Her first novel, On the Isle of Sound and Wonder, is a steampunk retelling of Shakespeare's The Tempest. Her voice can be heard on podcasts and audio dramas, and she can often be found performing at Renaissance fairs around the country. Find out more at dreamstobecome.com And now, we've a tale to tell. Properly Spiced Gingerbread by David Hankins. Read by Allison Grauer. Run.
Run as fast as you can. You can't escape the gingerbread man. Granny had warned that magic could kill, but Lucy hadn't expected to die at the hands of a cookie. Her foot-tall gingerbread man leapt from the oven, knocked Lucy to the tile, and wrapped warm hands around her throat. Black licorice eyes sparkled with malevolence as winter howled outside her apartment window.
She clawed at the strong, cakey grip, and the gingerbread man grinned. Gregor, her black tomcat, rose from behind the coffee pot, yellow eyes questioning. Darkness beckoned, and Lucy slapped a quick three-count on the cold tile, Gregor's trained signal. Ten pounds of furry rage crashed into the gingerbread man, driving him from Lucy's chest.
She gasped for air and scrambled back. Fur and crumbs flew as Cat and Cookie slammed into worn cabinets, fighting for dominance. Nothing in Granny's recipe book had prepared Lucy for this. The gingerbread man roared and flung Gregor into the living room. The cat yowled, landed, and charged. His prey jumped aside, impossibly fast, catching Gregor by his scruff and back.
The cookie twirled the struggling cat like a baton, opened his mouth impossibly wide, and Gregor disappeared down a gingerbread gullet. Silence fell. as Lucy gaped at drifting tufts of hair, the only evidence of Gregor's passing. The cookie patted his flat belly and burped. You ate my cat! Lucy bridled, anger sliding over her fear. I get hungry after a summons, he rumbled, sizing her up like a second course. Fear resumed its dominance in her chest.
Granny's recipes definitely didn't cover demons. I wasn't summoning, Lucy said. I was baking a familiar. The words sounded hollow in her ears. He sprang onto the flour-coated counter and sneered. Why would you want one of those disgusting things, familiars? So subservient. Lucy backed away. It's an entry requirement for St. Julia's.
Chicago's premier academy of arcane cuisine. He eyed her. You're not a very good witch, are you? Lucy flinched to hear the same derisive words she'd gotten from the admissions board. She fired back, finger pointed at his white frosting nose. I was good enough to summon you, Ginger. Obey me, demon. Ginger grinned darkly. You haven't the power to command me.
Caky hands grabbed Lucy's wrist and yanked her down, slamming her elbow into the laminate countertop. Her knees buckled into the cabinets. Ginger's strength and speed were surprising and unnatural. Molasses' breath fell moist upon her face. comforting sense at odds with his threatening tone. Bake another gingerbread witch. Summon my wife, and I'll let you live. Gingerbread men are terrible liars.
Lucy baked as the cakey beast lounged on her couch, cackling at some grisly TV horror. Heat from her ancient oven battled winter's chill, a familiar warmth on her final night. She punched the dough, reading Granny's scratched recipe notes for the hundredth time. How to fix this? Her mind whirled with the details of culinary magic. A touch of cardamom. Two dashes of cloves.
Chant the proper incantation with a pinch of salt. Sugar for kindness. Blood for summons. Cinnamon for— Lucy's hands froze inside the dough, then resumed with furious vigor as she read that again. She had summoned the demon. She'd nicked a finger while coring an apple for lunch. A drop of blood must have fallen in the bowl. The bowl jumped under her rough ministrations and Lucy slowed, breathing in the warm comfort of raw gingerbread. The answer had to be in the recipe book.
She flipped through Granny's tattered legacy to the book's final pages, sticky fingers adding to generations of stains. Lucy scanned arcane baking advice as she resumed kneading. A half-erased note caught her attention. She leaned in, cinnamon-dusted nose almost brushing the cookbook. Red chilies for dragons. Lucy's heart leapt. That was it.
She eyed the couch. That fool cookie ignored her, thinking her cowed. Licorice eyes remained glued to the screen as scenes of blood and horror bathed him in flickering light. She freed her fingers from the dough and eased the fridge open. Ghost Peppers sat in the back, a prank from a friend. Perfect. Lucy returned to the counter, drawing her knife with the satisfying shing.
of quality steel. She glanced at Ginger, contemplating violence. No, he was too keen, too fast, too cruel. Minced peppers made her nose twitch, her chopping masked by televised murder. Strong spice mingled oddly with warm cinnamon and rich molasses, conjuring images of fire and brimstone. This had to work. Rolling pin and frosting created a beautifully ferocious dragon on an oversized baking sheet. Minced ghost pepper shone through like red scales. Granny would have approved.
The gingerbread dragon went in, and Lucy cranked her egg timer. Ten minutes to decide her fate. What if she'd just made another monster? Lucy panicked, reached in, and burned her fingers on the rack before stopping herself. She closed the oven and drew a deep breath. Trust the recipe. Trust the magic. Granny had never failed Lucy in life. No reason her recipes would now. Lucy ached for Granny's comforting presence, her surety. Is she ready yet? The beast wanted his wife.
Lucy checked, hopeful, fearful. One minute. The little monster killed the TV and jumped up, cruel licorice eyes dancing with ideas born of cinema's dark side. He sauntered into the kitchen. The timer rang, and Ginger grinned in anticipation. This was it. Lucy had never opened an oven with such trepidation. Chilly red eyes greeted her as spiced molasses and hope wafted into the kitchen.
Her gingerbread dragon rose, beautiful and terrible. Flames escaped frosting lips as a crumbly, growly voice filled Lucy's mind. Mistress? Lucy smiled, thanking Granny. I love baking traditions at Christmas time. Every year I get out an old recipe book I inherited from my grandmother, complete with her handwritten notes.
and set inside a couple of days for making biscuits. For me, it's Jöthikea, Vanillekranse and Kleiner, with occasional detours, and depending on the kids, most years we also put together a gingerbread house. Doesn't always go well, of course. My sister still reminds my mum of the time she accidentally used strong flour in one batch of the biscuits and they came out hard as nails. I guess what this story shows us is that it could have been a lot worse.
Mind you, the same is true of any baking ritual. Is the milk and cookies left out for Santa a thank you gift? Or a distraction from plump sleeping children? Happy Christmas everyone. Join us again soon. 2025 is just around the corner and with it Escape Artist's 20th anniversary. To prepare for 20 more years, we're running an end-of-year donation drive.
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