Creepypasta #1069: Doughnuts
When I was a kid, I worked at a bakery called Blissful Bites.
It was independently run, extremely quaint, and owned by a lady called Naomi Sutton. She made all of the goods herself. Cakes, pies, pastries - she could whip up just about anything if you gave her the right ingredients. Her specialty, however, was doughnuts.
My job was running deliveries on my bike. Naomi had two other teenagers, James and Abby, running the storefront on a rota. We were banned from the kitchen due to supposed “safety hazards”, but we were all sure it was actually because Naomi thought we were thieving teens with the capacity to steal merchandise.
I’d been there a little over three weeks when Naomi’s husband disappeared.
At the time, it didn’t seem like a huge deal. There hadn’t been a struggle, or signs of foul play, or really anything in particular; according to her, he just hadn’t come home from work the prior evening. She didn’t even seem all that fussed about it.
“No point getting the police involved,” she told me, when I clocked in that morning. Despite how sensitive she got over people trespassing in the kitchen, she was a good boss, and always up for a chat if you caught her outside her domain. “Not yet, at least. He’s done this before, the bloody prick. He’ll probably show up back home tonight asking me why his dinner’s not on the table.”
But he didn’t.
Naomi was snappier and more private than usual the following day, and looked as though she hadn’t slept. Her response to James - usually her favourite - asking if she was holding up okay was a sharp, “Mind your own sodding business.”
So, given the tense atmosphere in the shop, I was more than a little grateful when Naomi emerged from the kitchen with a box for me to deliver. I hopped on my bike and rode over to the address she’d given me.
The woman who answered the door of said address - Juliet Wells, according to the card- was young and pretty, albeit rather overweight. She seemed bemused by the delivery.
“Who’s it from, then?” she said.