Brian’s Magic Ez Bake Oven

Brian was a simple boy, not to say that he was slow, it’s just that he was comfortable in his mundane life. He enjoyed the small things. He was content to work every day at his job managing a midsize flea market, bringing in a modest wage that was just enough to satisfy his greedy landlord. His apartment, if you could call it that, was one room with sheets up partitioning areas for privacy. The rest of the tenants in the building paid by the hour or with means other than money. Brian may have been content but that’s not to say that he was happy. He was not sad, but he had very little in his life that brought him joy except for the trinkets, babbles, and knickknacks he obtained at the flea market.

One day like any other Brian was pretending to be hard at work in his trailer office that was parked near the gates to the flea market, when an overwhelming sense of darkness and evil foreboding caused him to set aside his comic book. He moved toward the Plexiglas window gracing the aluminum walls of his work place. In mid-step he stopped the door flew open, and the light bulb above his head exploded raining down hot glass on his exposed head and neck. Cursing, Brian brushed the burning former bulb fragments from his raw skin to join the eclectic stains and clutter of the floor. In the middle of a fit Brian was saying, "God damn light almost lost my fuc.." when a dry cough like parchment crumbling drew his attention to the door. There stood the oldest looking living women Brian had ever seen, (once on the discovery channel he had seen a corpse preserved in ice that may have been this women’s slightly older sister but?). "Hello", came the gravel like voice of this lady. Freed from his initial disgust and surprise Brian found out that the decrepit hag was actually the high priestess of some dark elder god, (whose name escapes me at the moment). She had come in to ask about setting up a booth to sell a variety of things including: items for casting dark sorcery, semi automatic weaponry, and baked goods. Brian had to inform the crone that because of health code regulations she could not sell the baked goods on the premise but she was welcome to peddle the rest of her wares. So she quickly thanked him and bustled out.

Later in the day Brian stopped into the gypsy witch’s booth to see how things were going. Brian was amazed at the air of dark forces at work that filled the stall, that ambiance was such a nice touch on her part. He was impressed on how each weapon and spell-casting component was laid out on convenient knee level tables. Next to each was a little place card outlining the amount of damage each item was capable of and the cost monetarily and soul wise.

As the flea market employee inspected the various items of destruction a wraith like creature approached him from behind. With a voice like a crypt door opening the gypsy startled Brian. "So you like my stuff come see the present I have for you in back." Her eyebrow cocked up in what Brian assumed was supposed to be an enticement. He tried to escape the Mrs. Robinson hopeful quickly by back pedaling while mumbling nonsense about priorities elsewhere. Yet the zombie like pagan cleric was faster and much stronger then even the butchest of Brian’s Lesbian friends. Her viselike grip latched on like a needy lover. "Silly boy, I have no desire for you carnally", came the females dust ridden voice. Mildly reassured he allowed himself to be pulled into a dark corner of the tent.

The only items in the corner were an EZ bake oven and a coverless book Brian assumed was a cookbook. "Now let me explain how to use this…" The witch began when Brian interrupted, "No problem I had one of these as a kid thanks."

Brian scooped up the oven and book and exited quickly. The rest of day sped by. Brian walked home from work daydreaming about his new toy and the delicious array of baked goods he would produce with it. Completely ignoring the many near collisions with passing automobile he avoided barely at intersections and the form darting from shadow to shadow behind him. On arriving home at his near tenement quality apartment he began to read the supposed "cook book" he had gotten with the oven.

Skimming through the book he saw recipes for, the creation of hellfire (possibly a chili recipe?), a vortex of evil (which Brian assumed was a kind of pudding), and shortbread cookies of you hearts desire. That last recipe seemed the best so he went about gathering the ingredients. One by one they were mixed into a bowl,"let’s see butter, milk, sugar, vanilla, a drop of blood, your begotten soul, and a tear. " The oven was turned on, the raw cookie was placed inside, and then…. a heat like all of Satan’s Hells flaring at once sprang to being in that little oven. Brian jumped back his eyebrows seared. After a few minutes a dark dense smoke flowed from the oven enveloping Brian quickly robbing him of consciousness.

When the world returned to Brian he was lying on the floor of his apartment. He was awakened by a strikingly handsome man striding in the door speaking words that Brian had always longed to hear, "Hi honey I’m home." The dashing man helped Brian to his feet and deposited him in a chair, then began cleaning and preparing dinner. He asked questions about Brian’s day and seemed genuinely interested in the mundane happenstances of the flea market. A nutritious and delicious meal was placed on the newly cleaned dinning room table. It slowly dawned on the stunned flea market worker that this perfect boyfriend was a result at his culinary dabbling in the dark arts. Brian smiled to himself and silently thanked the gypsy and her dark elder gods (whose names escaped him at the moment)

Fade out several weeks go by of domestic bliss.

Well Brian’s perfect pastry boyfriend was everything he had ever dreamed of attentive, attractive, intelligent, funny, sweet, and great in bed. Yet something was still missing. The confectionary prince charming should be all he needed but it was just that, he was so, well, perfect. He was never wrong, never rude, and never got upset. No matter what Brian did, no matter how annoying Brian got the muffin man just said, "oh sweetie" smiled and went back to cooking, cleaning, or whatever other chore he was handling.

Brian was starting to wonder if maybe he had added just a tad to much sugar to the recipe for his dream boy. The saccharine sweetness was getting to be a bit much. Like a Pollyanna marathon your forced to watch the first hour is fine but after that you just want to smack the bitch. Now Brian would never resort to violence but he had to escape his sugar cookie lover before he got sick.

Brian went to work the next day with the specific intent of seeking out the chronologically impaired worshiper of darkness. It was her quote unquote gift that created this dream turned nightmare, so hopefully she would know how to fix it. Arriving earlier then usual only a half hour late Brian quickly navigated the sea of trash and their items for sale to the booth he had rented to that sinister spinster of evil. Ripping the hefty bag curtain aside that acted as a door for the booth he strode in to an empty area. There was a small slip of paper pinned to the back "wall". In letters as thin and archaic looking as their creator was a note, " That’s just the way the cookie crumbles, evil laugh, evil laugh." That was a bit silly of her to actually write out evil laugh but nonetheless her point was made. What should our intrepid Brian do now?