I was walking down the street one day when I bumped, literally, into Mrs. Creele, my neighbor. Mrs. Creele had always been an odd sort of woman, with her refusal to do more than mumble in the tone of an old witch comforting a small child. Even stranger was the fact that she insisted on everyone calling her Mrs. Creele, even though it was a well known fact that she had never been married, and that the name on her government issued ID was "Gladys C. Dorne."

On this particular day, Mrs. Creele was standing in her front yard, holding a plate with a freshly baked cheesecake on it. Mrs. Creele was known for the peculiar recipe that she submitted every year at the fair. This happened to be for her "Cotton Candy Cheesecake", which she claimed was made with fresh cotton for that "lovingly baked taste." In truth, it tasted like a hot mitten which had been soaked in cherry-flavored cleaning agent, then used to soak up a large puddle of spilled lard.

"Come here dear," she mumbled, her face brightening as she shuffled towards me. "Have a slice of my cake."

"Uh, no thank you Mrs. Creele," I said, smiling and trying to be as polite as possible. "I just had lunch a short while ago, and I'm still feeling rather full." Mrs. Creele's faint smile dropped, then melted into a sneer. Her face darkened considerably, and I noticed her grip on the plate holding her "cake" was to the point I thought she might snap the plate in half with the force.

I had just enough time to wonder why she looked so surly, when she lunged at me with the speed of a striking cobra. I was caught off guard as this woman, who looked as if she couldn't weigh more than 90 pounds and all of 5 feet tall when standing at her full height, slammed into me like a linebacker, causing my head to hit the pavement. I blacked out almost instantly.

Later, I awoke in a room the color of a metallic onion. I noticed it was a hospital room, which I appeared to share with an older man, who talked constantly of the excruciating pain his wife had caused him when he complained of the smell of her cooking. Her solution to this was to, rather cleverly, attempt to jam her spatula into one of his nostrils. The problem was that she accomplished this by wedging the spatula end in first, and it was still coated in scalding hot grease.

After several hours, a doctor came in to alert me to the fact that I was in the Downtown Hospital, and that I had suffered a severe concussion from the assault by Mrs. Creele, who had apparently smashed the entire cake into my face, and then placidly walked into her house. A bystander heard her muttering about what a wonderful day it was, and was kind enough to call for an ambulance. The police arrived as well, but didn't appear worried about Mrs. Creele.

As the doctor explained that I had been in a coma for two months, I wondered what had become of my home, as it appeared I hadn't been able to ask anyone to watch it for me during my hospital visit. After insisting I needed to call a friend, the doctor allowed me to have my cell phone, which a nurse had confiscated from my belongings for some odd reason. I dialed the number for a friend of mine, Cecil, who was a lawyer.

After calming me down, as I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, Cecil assured me that he had come by the house, but unfortunately, it had been too late. It seemed that an unknown vandal had systematically removed every last wall from my home, leaving the ceiling supported by only the barest of supports. Everything in the home smelled strongly of melted sugar, and in some places, what looked like frosting had been crammed into the electrical sockets.

I asked him what I could do, and he said that insurance would settle the matter with the bank and I would get a check that would cover the expenses of locating and purchasing a new home. He also added that I could gather a few of the belongings that were undamaged, but there wasn't much to salvage.

Shortly after my call, the doctor came in to let me know that I'd be released from the hospital that evening. I got dressed, and a nurse insisted that I be escorted out of the hospital in a wheelchair. What she neglected to mention was that she'd fling me out of it and onto the street as soon as I was out of the revolving doors. This was a fact I found out soon after it happened.

The next day, I made my way to my home, gathered the few things that I was able to salvage, and went through several reams of paperwork. Afterwards, I contacted a real estate office, and I was soon the proud owner of a Victorian mansion, which I acquired for a relatively small amount of money. It was painted in a wonderful array of autumn colors, with a spacious yard and a large oak tree which was off to the side. The real estate office even gave me a brand new plasma television as a promotional gift.

I soon understood why they were so happy to sell it to me. There was a gruesome, 30-foot tall statue of a lemur, standing on its hind legs and swinging an axe into the helmet of a knight. The lemur seemed to be stained with blood, and the knight had clearly lost a few limbs in the process. The real estate agent assured me that the statue couldn't be removed due to the fact that it was bolted directly into the foundation that ran underneath the home and lawn.

I entered the home, still distracted by the statue, and decided to try out my new television. Soon, I was enjoying a television show, and had momentarily forgotten about any of the previous problems of the day.

As it got dark, I ordered a pizza, which was delivered exactly an hour later than I had expected. The man delivering it looked visibly disturbed, and refused a tip. As I tried to shut the door, he suddenly forced the door open, and behind him came a sudden crowd of teenagers. I barely had time to register what was going on when they infested the house, and began to set up for a party. I demanded that they leave, but they ignored me. After several different attempts, including wielding a garden hose, I finally called the police.

Upon showing up, the police joined in, enjoying my recently acquired pizza and new television. I soon gave up, took the few belongings I had unpacked, and went back to the real estate office. The agent apologized profusely, assured me that he would have "certain people" investigate, then suddenly became shifty and refused to elaborate. He quickly signed a deal that left me with a very nice cottage in a nearby town.

The next morning, I awoke to the chirping of birds, and stepped outside to pick the newspaper up from where it lay on my new driveway. I heard a faint rustling noise, and as I turned to my left, I noticed something horrific. It was Mrs. Creele, charging towards me, wielding another "cake," and letting out a scream of pure rage. I tried to run across the street, but she tackled me, and slammed the cake into my face, yelling nonsense. Someone nearby came over to pull her away, but she turned on them, lunging and mercilessly bashing them with a cake pan. I turned my head to the side, realizing the mistake I had made by moving back here.

Suddenly, Mrs. Creele returned, smashing the cake pan into my face and holding it there so that I could barely breathe. I tried to move my arms but it felt like they were completely paralyzed. A warm puddle of liquid was forming around the back of my head, which I realized was blood, and as she continued to assault me, I could feel bones beginning to break, and a sharp pain in my chest. As I realized my fate, I decided to hold my breath, since it was too painful to continue breathing, and began to hear a distant thudding that grew louder with every moment. Everything else was being drowned out by the increasingly louder thudding noise.

I was suddenly standing on a path, in the middle of a forest. The ground was covered in tiny stones, somewhat like gravel but much smaller. Trees stretched into the distance on either side of me. The path curved slightly here and there, but seemed to be endless. Shrugging, I began to walk.