Omen of the Oven
by Larry Hodges
A psychic immortal witch, in a wedding dress she took from her lunch that day, cooks a child for her upcoming dinner date, with full details on the temperature and time needed, and herbs, spices and veggies that go with it. The front of the oven is caked with grime, but she keeps seeing images through the oven's window. Since she often sees the future, she keeps cleaning the window, trying to get a better look. And when she finally sees what's inside, she gasps in shock and horror. Then a hand from behind clutches her shoulder, she screams, and....
Horror, 3 pages.
Originally Published in Necrography Magazine, 2009
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It takes about six hours to cook a small child. While it cooked, Blenda chopped fresh tomatoes and lettuce for a garnish. After popping the boy in the oven and waiting for the screams to end, she’d changed into something more formal to enjoy the meal. She’d settled on a lacy white wedding dress she’d taken off a young bride she’d eaten a few months previously.
The smells from the oven and her vegetables were delightful. She could barely wait and kept looking from the oven to her watch, salivating about her next meal. Red wine would do nicely, she thought, perhaps a 1948 Cheval Blanc. She felt alive, despite her 200 years. While witchcraft made her nearly immortal, her diet kept her young, her complexion clear, her hair long and blond.
Earlier she’d had a vision that there would be a visitor sometime soon, someone tall and strong. Now she was glad she’d had that wart removed from her nose. She felt beautiful.
Something caught her attention. She was sure she saw movement through the dirty glass window on the oven door. That wasn’t possible; the boy was dead. She remembered exactly when the screams had ended. This one had lasted longer than most.
Frowning, she opened the oven and looked in as the heat and the scent of roasting flesh poured out. There was nothing there except the boy and he certainly wasn’t moving. Shrugging her shoulders, she closed the door and began chopping fresh onions.
She glanced toward the oven and again saw movement. She peered through the glass window. She could barely see anything through the years of grease buildup.
She opened the oven again. It was still empty except for the cooking boy. Using oven gloves and a rarely used washcloth, she wiped the inside window clean and closed the door.
The meal would be ready in about ten minutes. She began shredding cheddar cheese with a knife.
She again saw movement through the oven’s window. She’d cleaned the grease off the inside, but not the front. But it was clean enough. She dropped the knife as she stared.
A small human figure in white, perhaps eight inches tall, was standing in -- [End of Preview.]