Horror Nights
The cake was still there on the table.
The four fingers were gone.
In their place, etched into the frosting of the cake, were four deep, fresh indentations, as if something had been pressed into the sponge with immense force. And lying beside the cake was a small, handwritten note, written in a shaky, adult hand I recognized immediately.
It was from my neighbor, Mr. Henderson, a man I had seen mowing his lawn just that morning. I’m sorry, Alice. I couldn't reach the party in time. Here are the ones you asked for.
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