In the magical country there was a famous confectioner, and the fame of him was raging throughout the fabulous federal republic (and why should the magic countries necessarily be monarchies?)
At one point, the pastry chef realized that he was no longer coping alone - it was time to prepare the next generation for his work, and since he had devoted all his life to cooking, he did not have a family and had no children. He decided to find an apprentice and made an announcement.
From all shires of the magical country young boys and girls began to come to him who dreamed of studying confectionery from the brilliant cook. But the confectioner was extremely strict and very critical, brought many contestants to tears, rushed at them with their cooking, stamping with rage with his feet because of their inept cooking. Seeing how another contestant ran away in tears, one young boy, timid but talented, despaired and could not present her dish. He decided that he definitely had no chance to please the pastry chef, threw out his cake and left the competition.
The boy came to the bridge and stood there for a long time looking into the water and thinking about what he would tell his mother and how he would explain that he was so close to his cherished dream of becoming a famous pastry chef and learning from such a master, but did not even dare to try and now he again will have to return to his native village and feed the cows for the rest of his life. An old woman in a black cloak interrupted his sad reflections.
- Why are you sad, boy? She asked.
- I came to become an apprentice of the famous confectioner but he is so strict. I am afraid that I will not succeed, and in fact my cake was clearly worse than the concoction of the guys in front of me. I have no chance.
“Of course, you need to believe in yourself and try,” said the old woman after some thoughts while leaning on her crook. “But it seems I know how to help you.”
- Really? – The guy questioned. - Can you teach me?
- No, but I can give you a magic meal. Just knead the dough out of it, and you will see for yourself how perfect your dish is.
- Magic flour? What is this ingredient?
- This is the usual flour, but conspired, it turns out everything to better. Here you are.
The old woman gave the boy a bag, and while he looked at it, she was gone.
The guy returned to the inn and studied the contents of the bag. In appearance it really was the most ordinary flour, and it tasted as well the same. All night he was making a cake, and while cooking he felt an incredible surge of strength and inspiration, completely insane ideas came up to his head for the design and it seemed to him that all of this was entirely feasible. When the cake was ready, the guy could not believe that what he sees in front of him is the fruit of his labor. He tried a piece of the test cake, which he cooked in parallel - the same cake, but in miniature, and to the taste it turned out to be perfect.
The next day, the guy came to the pastry chef, fearing that the competition was already closed, but the pastry chef never found a student. All the nerves, he went to the master and showed him his cake.
- What is it here with you? Another mediocre cooking? - The confectioner responded wearily. “Well, let's see what's wrong with her.”
He bent over the cake and froze.
- Cannot be! He exclaimed. “Either my eyes are fooling me, or I smoked too much magic grass.” Explain to me what I see and how this is possible. Why is it MOVING?
“This is a cake in the form of your pastry shop,” the boy began to tell. - Behind the walls - your kitchen, here you are cooking a cake, here are your visitors. This is the working model of the cake.
- Does the cake bake the cake??? It's impossible!
- No, look, he gets a small cake; visitors buy it, leave, go around the candy store, eat and return there, taking on the appearance of new visitors. And now the pastry chef makes a cake. Look, this pastry chef is you, he has your mustache. If you try the cake, you will see that it is made according to your recipe. This pastry chef is you, he is your exact copy.
- The mind is failing to comprehend!!! - shouted the pastry chef. - I lived many many years and never saw such a miracle. Admit it - he grabbed the boy by the collar. - are you a magician?
- No, I'm just a boy, I came up with it myself and cooked it. I studied your pastry shop and your recipes. More than anything, I want to be your apprentice!
- And you will them! - and he shouted, chasing the other contestants. - Go away, idiots! You are not worth the nail of this guy! He will be the greatest pastry chef in the world! .. Well, after me, of course. But let's try what your wonderful cake tastes like.
The confectioner scooped up a piece of cake roof, and froze, savoring.
“Perfect taste,” he whispered. - This is the best cake I have ever eaten ... It is even ... better than my cakes and pastries ...
- What are you saying? – the guy did not hear the chef. - You like?
“Yes, yes, not bad,” said the pastry cheerfully, casually. - Of course, we still need to work, but you should come to me, come tomorrow morning, I take you as an apprentice.
The boy was delighted, not believing his happiness. He will be trained by the ingenious pastry chef! With this thought, he fell asleep tonight.
When the boy left, the pastry chef considered the cake pastry for a long time, in which his copy worked tirelessly, making cakes, eclairs, cakes, cookies and all kinds of pastries. He had no doubt - these were his own dishes, but in miniature. If a boy at such a young age managed to create such an amazing cake, then what will he become? His fame will undoubtedly eclipse his fame, the pastry chef. It was not the boy who had to learn from the pastry chef, but the pastry cook to learn from the boy. No, he will never even come close to something as matchless as this cake. That night the pastry chef got drunk on rum, and hanged himself right in the kitchen.
The ginger pastry chef has seen this scene through the window of his mini-pastry shop. When the pastryman stopped moving, he and other gingerbread men ran out, poured the contents of various jars from the shelves onto the floor and ate the confectioner's corpse along with the rope and clothes, jamming it with yeast and sugar. The more they ate, the larger they became. Then they merged into one viscous mass and began to turn into an exact copy of the deceased pastry chef, only now in full scale. The ginger confectioner brewed a seagull and ate the cake pastry, thinking about how to get the guy's talent and get rid of him, the boy who brought him to suicide.
“Us,” corrected his second voice, thinner, coming from his chest.
“Yes, us,” the monster agreed. - We'll get rid of the boy.
And when in the morning the guy came to the pastry shop, the ginger pastry strangled the boy, burned him in a large oven to the ground, took his ashes, added a piece of his own body-dough to it and made a cake from the resulting mixture, the exact same operating model of the pastry shop. From the remnants of the dough, he baked cookies in the form of a copy of the boy and set his own and revived figures in the cake so that they continuously make baking. The figures possessed the souls of a deceased pastry chef and a boy, but they could not resist witchcraft. For days and nights they baked cakes for ginger visitors.
At night, a visitor came to the pastry shop.
- We are closed, it is night already! The monster shouted. - Now leave.
- Even me? - the old voice was heard from behind the door. “And I thought I was a special visitor.”
As you realized already, it was the same old woman who gave the boy the magic flour.
“Give me some magic flour,” she said, and showed a bag. The monster opened its mouth and poured powder from it.
“I'll be back in a couple of days,” she said, and left.
Years went by, the pastry shop still worked and the fake pastry chef was becoming more and more popular and getting richer by the day, and new recipes were invented for him at the cake pastry shop, which did not spoil and did not dry. But one day early in the morning, before the opening, a visitor broke into the pastry shop, where the monstrous golem burst in and said that he knew that they were engaged in black magic, for which they burn publicly and that the cake is a ginger dungeon souls of the deceased pastry chef and his apprentice. It turned out that for many years this man conducted his own journalistic investigation.
“I take the souls cake, and you must surrender to the authorities and tell them how to catch the witch that gave birth to you, you will do it if you have at least something human in you.” And if you are thinking of killing me, then if I do not come today before midnight, then a video investigation about your blasphemous pastry shop will be automatically posted on my blog. Go to the authorities right now and tell them where the witch is, and perhaps you will be spared.
With these words, the journalist grabbed a shower cake from the window and ran away.
The golem hung a plaque that the pastry shop was closed and began to think what to do. Soon the witch came to him and said:
“Bake bread from your dough and feed the birds under the windows.” They will arrive and kill the journalist, and return the cake. I held him on the way with witchcraft, and I have no strength to kill him, our little men have not developed enough sugar energy for me, and you gave me little flour so that I could regain my great power. But we have little time.
The golem baked bread and fed them pigeons under the window. The birds ate bread and flew, mingling in a flock on the way and turning into a giant pigeon (and partially to a sparrow).
Meanwhile, the journalist was already changed the fourth cart. The first one turned over and her horse died, the second one flew off the wheel, the third one got stuck in traffic, because the cart with the beer turned over and he had to cross the street and find a new cart. Ginger boy told him about how he and the pastry chef hard in the slavery of a candy store. A pastry chef told that he knows the history of this witch.
Many centuries ago, she was sacrificed on a pagan feast of pies when she was still a young girl. She was baked in a big pie and ate all over the city, and the soul of the girl vowed to take revenge on the inhabitants. Since then she moved from body to body and with each birth received more and more sorcery knowledge. After many years and lifes, she discovered a recipe for great sugar power, which was produced in the cake by ginger men. Another couple of days, and she will gain this power and be able to open a portal to culinary hell, and then people all over the world will be captured by the demons of this hell, and she will become their queen.
When they finally arrived at the journalist's house, he sat down at the computer to publish a video, a giant pigeon (made from smaller pigeons and some sparrows) burst into the house and devoured the journalist. And when the birds finished eating , they turned into a witch. Geinger boy and pastryman flew, the cake was destroyed, and the video was gone forever. Nevertheless, the progress of the accumulation of witch forces has rolled back for many years. Gingerbread men were able to gain freedom from the witch’s spell and wrote this text, which you are reading now, its purpose is to give people information about impending disaster.
However, I, the immortal witch, the lady of culinary hell, was able to spell this text by inserting this registry into it and depriving specific names, dates and names, giving it a fabulous fantasy look. This is all that I have enough strength for now, but beware, this is temporary. Anyone who will distribute this text will be damned, just like the one who reads it from their friends. No one should see this story. Otherwise, I will come for you and you will be the next one from whose dust I will make a Soul Cake. Maybe not tomorrow or the day after tomorrow but I will definitely find you. Of course, you should decide by yourself to believe or not believe in my curse.
Sleep well, reader, and I advise you to consider whether you should go against the mighty witch. Sweet Dreams. Sweet like cakes of my pastry shop.