Killer Cake Next Door

Killer Cake Next Door

Author: Mary Schmidt

Chapter 1: The Countdown Starts

Late at night, waiting for takeout, bored.

I asked an AI chatbot how much longer I had to live.

There was a beat—a little spinning icon—then the AI spat out: 3 minutes and 15 seconds.

I actually laughed, but the sound was thin, like it belonged to someone else. My heart squeezed tight, and I was about to fire off another question—maybe something to break the weird spell—when someone knocked at the door. The timing made my skin crawl.

It was that kind of night in Ohio—the kind where the glow from the streetlamps outside made the blinds look like faded jail bars, and even the hum of the fridge felt lonely. The radiator clanked somewhere behind me, and the scent of fried chicken from the bag outside made my stomach twist. My phone’s blue light flickered over my face as I watched the numbers tick down, my thumb hovering over the AI app, wondering if this was all just some late-night mind game.

"Delivery! Open up!"

The sudden knocking startled me so much I nearly dropped my phone.

The delivery guy ignored the sign I'd taped outside that said, "Please leave deliveries here," and still went ahead and banged on the door.

I live alone in a rented apartment in a mid-rise building in Toledo. At this hour, there’s no way I’d open the door to a stranger.

The radiator clanked somewhere behind me as I forced myself to call out, "Just leave it at the door, thanks!"

After a moment, the guy finally set the food down and grumbled,

"You’re in there, right? C’mon, just open up for a sec."

"The strawberry cake’s at your door—don’t forget to take it!"

As his footsteps faded away, I let out a long sigh of relief.

Just as I was about to open the door and bring the food in, I glanced at my phone and noticed the AI had updated its answer.

[6 minutes and 15 seconds]

My apartment always felt especially cavernous at night, the HVAC humming through the thin walls, every creak making my heart jump. I tucked my phone tighter in my palm, peeking through the peephole out of old habit even after the footsteps were gone.

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