The Rabid Cupcake
Today I asked Claud Sonnet 3.5 to write a 5,000 word story about a rabid cupcake. The story, though only 3,500 words, did not disapoint
The Rabid Cupcake
A rabid cupcake, courtesy pixlr.com
As she set the cupcake tray on the cooling rack, the bell above the door chimed. Gladys looked up to see her granddaughter Poppy bounding in, pigtails flying.
“Grandma! Grandma! Guess what?” the 8-year-old exclaimed.
“What is it, sweetpea?” Gladys asked with a smile.
“Mom said I can help you in the bakery today! Can I frost cupcakes? Please?”
Gladys chuckled. “Well, I suppose that would be alright. But you have to be very careful and follow my instructions exactly. Deal?”
“Deal!” Poppy agreed enthusiastically.
For the next hour, grandmother and granddaughter worked side by side. Gladys showed Poppy how to fill a piping bag with buttercream frosting and demonstrated the perfect swirl technique. Soon, dozens of picture-perfect cupcakes lined the bakery counter, ready for the afternoon rush.
“You did a wonderful job, Poppy,” Gladys praised. “Why don’t you pick out your favorite cupcake as a reward?”
Poppy’s eyes lit up as she surveyed the colorful array. After careful consideration, she pointed to a vanilla cupcake with pale pink frosting and a smattering of rainbow sprinkles.
“That one!” she declared.
Gladys placed the cupcake in a small box and handed it to her granddaughter. “Here you go, dear. Now run along home - your mother will be wondering where you are.”
With a gap-toothed grin and a wave, Poppy skipped out of the bakery, precious cupcake in hand. She hummed happily to herself as she made her way down the sidewalk.
The late afternoon sun was warm on her face, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the oak trees lining the street. It was a perfect summer day. Poppy couldn’t wait to get home and devour her sweet treat.
As she rounded the corner onto Maple Drive, a flurry of movement caught her eye. A small brown rabbit darted out from behind a hedge, zigzagging erratically across lawns. Its fur was matted and patchy, and foam dripped from its mouth.
“Aww, poor bunny,” Poppy cooed. “Are you okay?”
She set her cupcake box down on the sidewalk and took a step towards the rabbit. It froze, beady eyes fixed on her. Then without warning, it lunged.
Poppy shrieked as razor-sharp teeth sank into her ankle. She stumbled backwards, falling onto the grass. The rabbit latched on, shaking its head violently from side to side. Blood stained Poppy’s white sock as she frantically tried to kick the crazed animal off.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the rabbit released its grip. It scampered away, disappearing into the bushes as quickly as it had appeared. Poppy sat on the lawn, sobbing. Her ankle throbbed with pain.
Mrs. Henderson from next door came rushing out of her house. “Poppy! What on earth happened? Are you alright?”
Through her tears, Poppy explained about the rabbit attack. Mrs. Henderson helped her to her feet and ushered her inside to clean the wound. As they headed up the driveway, neither noticed the small pink box still sitting on the sidewalk. Nor did they see the drops of foamy rabbit saliva that had splattered onto it during the commotion.
Inside the box, something strange was happening to the innocent-looking cupcake. Microscopic rabies particles from the infected saliva seeped through the cardboard and into the frosting. They multiplied rapidly, colonizing the sugary confection.
By the time Animal Control arrived to search for the rabid rabbit, the cupcake box had vanished. A neighborhood dog had sniffed it out and carried it off to gnaw on. The rabies-infused treat was now loose in Sugarville, its deadly secret concealed beneath a coating of sprinkles.
Over the next few days, bizarre reports began trickling in to the Sugarville Police Department. Mrs. Abernathy’s prize-winning petunias had been found shredded to bits, with chunks of pink frosting smeared among the destroyed flowers. The statue of the town’s founder in the park had somehow grown a coat of rainbow sprinkles overnight. Most alarmingly, three people had been admitted to the hospital with unusual bite marks and symptoms resembling rabies.
Police Chief Dan Harper scratched his head as he reviewed the mounting pile of strange incident reports on his desk. In his 25 years on the force, he’d never seen anything like it. What the hell was going on in his quiet little town?
A knock on his office door interrupted his musings. “Come in,” he called.
Officer Jenny Chen entered, looking troubled. “Chief, we just got another call. This one’s…weird.”
Harper sighed. “They’re all weird lately, Chen. What is it this time?”
“It’s old Mrs. Sprinkle from the bakery. Says she’s being held hostage…by a cupcake.”
Harper stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Chen shook her head. “I wish I was, sir. She sounded terrified. Said it cornered her in the kitchen and she’s afraid to move.”
“A cupcake,” Harper repeated flatly.
“Yes sir. She kept saying it had teeth and was growling at her.”
Harper pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Alright, I’ll check it out myself. Probably just dementia setting in, poor old gal. You hold down the fort here.”
“Yes sir. Good luck,” Chen replied, clearly relieved she didn’t have to deal with this particular call herself.
Ten minutes later, Harper pulled up in front of Sprinkles Bakery in his patrol car. The “Closed” sign hung in the window, which was unusual for this time of day. He tried the door and found it unlocked.
“Mrs. Sprinkle?” he called out as he entered. “It’s Chief Harper. Everything okay in here?”
A muffled whimper came from the back of the shop. Harper made his way behind the counter, hand resting on his holstered gun just in case. He pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Gladys Sprinkle huddled in the corner, clutching a rolling pin like a weapon. Her eyes were wide with terror as they darted around the room.
“Mrs. Sprinkle? What’s going on?” Harper asked gently.
“Shhh!” she hissed. “It’ll hear you!”
“What will hear me?”
“The cupcake!” Gladys whispered urgently. “It’s possessed or something. Tried to bite me!”
Harper fought the urge to roll his eyes. Clearly the poor woman was having some kind of mental break. He’d have to call her family to come look after her.
“Now Mrs. Sprinkle, I’m sure it was just your imagination. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll-”
A low growl cut him off mid-sentence. Harper spun around, gun drawn before he even realized what he was doing.
There, on the stainless steel prep table, sat a cupcake. It looked perfectly ordinary - vanilla cake, pink frosting, rainbow sprinkles. Except…was it vibrating slightly? And did those sprinkles just…move?
As Harper stared in disbelief, a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth suddenly split the cupcake’s surface. It gnashed and snarled, launching itself off the table directly at his face.
“What the f-” Harper’s expletive was cut short as he ducked. The cupcake sailed over his head, leaving a trail of rabid frosting in its wake. It hit the wall with a splat before dropping to the floor.
But it was far from defeated. The cupcake shook itself, sprinkles flying, then turned to face them again. Harper could hardly believe his eyes as it began to…grow. The rabies virus coursing through it caused rapid mutation, and within seconds the cupcake had swollen to the size of a large dog.
Its frosting rippled as it growled, stalking towards them on legs that had sprouted from its base. Wicked claws extended from what used to be a paper wrapper. But most terrifying of all were the eyes - crazed pinpricks of red that gleamed with rabid bloodlust.
“Holy shit,” Harper breathed. He raised his gun and fired twice. The bullets merely sunk into the cupcake’s spongey flesh with no effect.
The monstrous pastry lunged. Harper dove to the side, pulling Mrs. Sprinkle with him. They scrambled behind an industrial mixer as the cupcake slammed into it, leaving a frosting smear on the metal.
“How is this possible?” Harper muttered, trying to wrap his mind around the situation.
“I told you it was possessed!” Gladys cried.
The cupcake threw itself against the mixer, rocking it. A few more hits and their shelter would topple.
Harper’s mind raced. Bullets were useless. What killed normal rabies? A vaccine, but that was hardly an option right now.
The mixer groaned as the cupcake slammed into it again. They were running out of time.
Suddenly, Harper had an idea. “Mrs. Sprinkle, does your oven still work?”
She nodded, confusion evident on her wrinkled face.
“Turn it on. As hot as it will go. Now!”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. Gladys army-crawled to the industrial oven and cranked all the dials to maximum. The gas burners whooshed to life.
Just then, the mixer toppled with a thunderous crash. The rabid cupcake loomed over them, frosting dripping from its maw like toxic saliva. Harper grabbed a nearby baking sheet and held it up like a shield. Claws screeched against metal as the cupcake swiped at him.
“Mrs. Sprinkle, run!” Harper yelled.
She didn’t need to be told twice. Gladys booked it for the door with surprising speed for her age. Harper was right behind her, batting away the cupcake’s attacks with the baking sheet.
They burst out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind them. Not a moment too soon - a split second later, the cupcake smashed through the round window in the door, spraying glass everywhere.
“The front door!” Harper urged. “Go!”
But as they raced for the exit, Harper realized with horror that the cupcake was herding them. It had circled around through the dining area, cutting off their escape. They were trapped.
The monstrous pastry advanced slowly, savoring their fear. Harper and Gladys backed up until they hit the wall. This was it. They were done for, about to be devoured by a rabid baked good. What a way to go.
Just then, a shrill beeping pierced the air. The oven had reached maximum temperature.
Harper’s eyes lit up. He grabbed Mrs. Sprinkle’s arm. “When I say now, run for the kitchen. Got it?”
She nodded, trembling.
The cupcake was only feet away now. It crouched, preparing to pounce.
“NOW!” Harper bellowed.
They took off, ducking under the cupcake’s slashing claws. It roared in fury and gave chase as they bolted through the kitchen door.
Harper ran straight for the open oven. At the last second, he dove to the side. Unable to stop its momentum, the cupcake tumbled right into the scorching hot oven. Harper slammed the door shut.
An unearthly shriek emanated from inside as the cupcake began to bake. The smell of burnt sugar filled the air. Slowly, the shrieks faded to whimpers, then silence.
After several long minutes, Harper cautiously opened the oven door. A charred, shriveled lump sat on the rack. The rabid cupcake was no more.
In the days that followed, the bizarre happenings around Sugarville ceased. Those infected by the cupcake’s rabid bites were treated and recovered. Harper filed a very creative incident report, knowing full well that no one would ever believe what had really happened.
Mrs. Sprinkle decided it was finally time to retire. She sold the bakery to her daughter and moved to Florida. But she never ate another cupcake for the rest of her days.
And so life in Sugarville returned to normal. The Rabid Cupcake Incident faded into local legend, a story told around campfires to spook children.
But every so often, late at night, the staff at Sprinkles Bakery swear they can hear faint growling coming from the kitchen. And sometimes, if you look closely, the sprinkles on the cupcakes seem to move ever so slightly of their own accord…
Dr. Evelyn Cho frowned at the lab results in front of her. She’d run the tests three times now, but the data remained the same. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet…
“Dr. Cho?” Her research assistant, Trevor, poked his head into the office. “You wanted to see the latest batch of samples?”
Evelyn waved him in. “Yes, bring them here please.”
Trevor set a tray of petri dishes on her desk. Each contained a small amount of frosting in various pastel hues. To the naked eye, they looked perfectly innocuous. But Evelyn knew better.
She peered at them through a magnifying glass. Sure enough, microscopic movement was visible in every sample. The rabies virus was still active, even weeks after the incident.
“I don’t understand,” Trevor said, watching her. “How is this even possible? Rabies can’t survive outside a host for this long. And how did it infect baked goods in the first place?”
Evelyn sighed, removing her glasses to rub her tired eyes. “I wish I knew, Trevor. None of this makes any scientific sense. We’re dealing with something entirely new here.”
She’d been called in by the CDC after reports of the Sugarville incident reached them. What she’d discovered was unprecedented - a mutated strain of rabies that could somehow infect non-living matter. Specifically, sugary baked goods.
The implications were staggering. And terrifying.
“What do we do now?” Trevor asked.
“We keep this contained,” Evelyn said firmly. “No one can know about this yet, not until we understand it better. If this got out…”
She didn’t need to finish the thought. They both knew how catastrophic a rabies outbreak could be. And that was just normal rabies. This new strain had the potential to be apocalyptic.
“I want all samples secured in the biohazard vault,” she instructed. “Level 4 containment protocols. No one touches them without my direct authorization.”
Trevor nodded and gathered up the petri dishes. As he headed for the door, Evelyn called after him.
“And Trevor? No more taste-testing the specimens.”
He gave a sheepish grin. “Yes ma’am.”
Once he was gone, Evelyn turned back to her computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she compiled her latest findings into an encrypted report. The higher-ups at the CDC needed to know what they were dealing with.
Just then, a notification popped up on her screen. A news alert about a case of “weaponized pastries” in a town called Bakersville three states over. Evelyn’s blood ran cold.
It was spreading.
Megan hummed to herself as she pulled into the parking lot of Sweet Treats Bakery. The smell of fresh-baked goods wafted through her open car window, making her mouth water. This was her favorite part of the week - picking up a box of cupcakes to share with her book club.
The cheerful chime of the bell announced her entrance. Sally, the owner, greeted her with a warm smile from behind the counter.
“The usual, Megan?”
“You know it!” Megan replied. “How’s business?”
“Booming!” Sally said proudly. “Ever since I started using that new frosting recipe, I can barely keep the shelves stocked. Folks just can’t get enough.”
Megan peered into the display case. Sure enough, it was nearly empty despite it being only mid-afternoon.
“Must be some frosting,” she remarked. “What’s your secret ingredient?”
Sally winked. “Now that would be telling! Let’s just say it’s to die for.”
As Sally boxed up an assortment of cupcakes, Megan noticed something odd. Was it her imagination, or were the sprinkles on top…moving? She blinked and looked again, but they appeared perfectly still.
Must have been a trick of the light, she thought.
“Here you go, hon,” Sally said, handing over the box. “Enjoy!”
“Thanks, Sally. See you next week!”
Back in her car, Megan couldn’t resist sneaking one cupcake before the drive home. She selected a pretty pink one and took a big bite.
“Mmmm,” she moaned in delight. Sally wasn’t kidding - this frosting was incredible. Sweet but not cloying, with a unique tangy flavor she couldn’t quite place. Megan polished off the cupcake in record time.
As she licked the last of the frosting from her fingers, a strange sensation came over her. Her skin felt hot and itchy. Her vision blurred slightly. And was that…growling she heard?
Megan shook her head to clear it. Must be low blood sugar from the sugar rush, she reasoned. Nothing a little nap won’t fix.
She put the car in drive and pulled out onto the road. If she’d checked her rearview mirror, she might have noticed her eyes beginning to glow an unnatural shade of red.
But Megan didn’t notice anything amiss as she drove home, unaware that with each passing minute, the mutant rabies virus was multiplying inside her. By the time she arrived at her book club meeting that evening, the infection would be in full swing.
And her friends were in for one hell of a surprise when they opened that box of cupcakes…
Deep in an underground bunker, a group of scientists huddled around a glowing computer screen. Lines of code scrolled past, too fast for the human eye to follow.
Dr. Reginald Bakerson adjusted his thick glasses nervously. “Are you sure this will work?” he asked the woman seated at the terminal.
Dr. Sprinkle nodded, not taking her eyes off the screen. “It has to. It’s our only shot at stopping this thing.”
When the rabid cupcake virus first emerged, the world’s governments had turned to the most unlikely source for help - an elite team of pastry chefs turned mad scientists. Who better to fight a baked goods-based apocalypse?
For months, they’d worked tirelessly to develop a cure. Conventional treatments had proven useless against the mutant strain. Their last hope was a computer virus designed to rewrite the rabies’ genetic code.
“Initiating upload sequence,” Dr. Sprinkle announced. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
The other scientists held their breath as a progress bar crept across the screen. 10%…25%…60%…
Suddenly, alarms began blaring. Red lights flashed as a computerized voice warned: “Alert. Containment breach in Sector 7. This is not a drill.”
Dr. Bakerson’s face went pale. “Oh god. They’re here.”
A distant roar echoed through the bunker, followed by the sound of rending metal. The infected cupcakes had found them.
“How much longer?” someone shouted over the noise.
“Just a few more seconds!” Dr. Sprinkle yelled back. “Come on, come on…”
The blast doors at the end of the lab began to buckle. Frosting oozed through the seams as the rabid pastries threw themselves against it.
90%…95%…
With a screech of tearing steel, the doors gave way. A wave of snarling, snapping cupcakes poured into the room.
“Upload complete!” Dr. Sprinkle cried triumphantly.
A pulse of energy emanated from the computer, washing over the attacking cupcakes. They froze in place, twitching. Then, one by one, they began to shrink. The razor-sharp teeth receded. The rabid gleam faded from their sprinkle-eyes.
Within moments, the lab was filled with perfectly ordinary, harmless cupcakes.
The team of scientists cheered and hugged each other, tears of joy and relief streaming down their faces. They’d done it. The world was saved.
Dr. Sprinkle slumped back in her chair, exhausted but victorious. She’d sworn off baking after the incident that started it all, but now…she had a sudden craving for a cupcake.
Maybe it was time to fire up the old oven again. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
Epilogue:
And so, dear reader, we reach the end of our tale. The great Cupcake Rabies Pandemic of 2023 faded into history, remembered only in hushed whispers and obscure internet forums.
Life returned to normal. Bakeries reopened without fear. Children’s birthday parties featured cupcakes once more.
But some say the threat is not truly gone. In dark corners of the web, conspiracy theorists trade stories of mysterious pastry-related incidents in remote towns. Blurry photos circulate of cupcakes with too-sharp sprinkles and frosting that seems to move of its own accord.
Are these merely urban legends? The fevered imaginings of those who lived through trauma? Or is something sinister still lurking in the world’s bakery cases, waiting for the right moment to rise again?
Perhaps it’s best not to dwell on such troubling thoughts. After all, life is short. We should eat dessert first, shouldn’t we?
So go ahead. Have a cupcake. I dare you.
Just don’t be too surprised if it bites back.