Chapter 1

Right before the fall harvest holiday, my uncle's bakery suddenly rolled out a special holiday pie, priced at a hundred dollars.

The rule was dine-in only, no takeout, and just ten made each day.

The strange part was that everyone who ate one swore it was something else entirely.

Aiden Lambert, a man in the last stages of cancer, ate one and slept straight through to morning.

Mamie Finch, who'd played mahjong for more than twenty years, ate one and couldn't be bothered to leave the house anymore.

A young girl who used to scroll videos until dawn didn't touch her phone for days after.

My younger brother, so hooked on games he'd go a month without stepping outside, ate one and never touched a game again.

"Games are boring. Nothing in this whole world is as interesting as those pies."

Something in me went cold at that.

I do biological research. I know normal food can't make pain disappear.

And it certainly can't make someone hooked on games suddenly lose all interest in them.

There had to be something in those pies.

So I went to buy one myself. Five days in a row, and I didn't get a single one.

I even camped out an hour early, and still came up empty.

The clerk told me the pies were already sold out, but there was clearly no one ahead of me in line.

Then, on the evening of the fifth day, my uncle called.

"Been trying to grab one for a few days now, haven't you?"

My stomach tightened.

"You've been curious about that pie this whole time, right? Why don't you come by the shop tomorrow?"

"I'll show you exactly how it's made."

...

The next morning, before the shop opened, my uncle brought me in through the back door.

"You wanted to know how the pies are made, didn't you? Let me show you."

The back kitchen was cleaner than I expected, just a few workers kneading dough.

I watched the whole thing, from the kneading straight through the seasoning, barely blinking.

No strange powder. No unidentified liquid.

I even picked up the seasoning jars and smelled every one of them. All completely normal.

My uncle laughed watching me.

"What's the matter? My pies taste good, so now you suspect me?"

I set the seasoning back down.

"I'm just curious why everyone who eats one acts like a different person."

Half an hour later, the first batch came out of the oven.

The smell filled the whole kitchen fast.

They really did look no different from ordinary savory meat pies.

My uncle picked one up, dropped it into a paper bag, and held it out to me.

"Fresh out of the oven. Want to try it?"

I took the bag, but I didn't take a bite.

"We've got a rule here. The pies have to be eaten in the shop. No takeout."

I hesitated. I still didn't dare eat it.

My uncle raised an eyebrow.

"You chased one for five days, and now that I'm giving you one, you won't eat it?"

Then he took the pie back out of my hand and broke it open.

Steam rose off it. Inside was ordinary meat filling.

He ate half himself, then handed the other half to a worker beside him.

The worker finished it in two bites. Nothing happened.

"Dare to eat it now?"

I shook my head again.

"Suit yourself."

But the more he did this, the stranger it felt.

If there really was something shady in the pies, why would he let me watch the whole process from start to finish?

He'd even eat one right in front of me.

On the way home, my brother's words kept running through my head.

"Nothing in this whole world is as interesting as those pies."

When I walked in, he was, of course, sprawled on the couch again.

The computer was off, his phone tossed on the coffee table, the whole of him looking like his soul had been drained out.

"Get up. You're coming to the hospital with me."

"I'm not even sick. I'm not going."

"Today you're going whether you want to or not."

In the end I dragged him off the couch and forced him into the car.

I had him screened for addictive substances. Everything came back negative.

My brother yawned beside me.

"I told you, I'm fine. Can we go home now?"

But if it wasn't any of these things, then what was it?

That evening, I swung by the bakery again.

The shop was already closing.

I was about to leave when the motion light over the back door suddenly flicked on.

My uncle came out the back, a black plastic bag in his hand.

The bag was heavy. He was walking slowly.

As he passed under the streetlight, I saw a large wet patch at the bottom of the bag.

A drop of red liquid slid down the corner and fell to the ground.

Whatever was in that bag, it looked like meat.