At some point between the last time I was in editorial (around 3 am this morning) and now, an evil mysterious cheesecake has appeared. There is no accompanying note and no clue as to its origin. Just cheese and cake heated into this sinister form of mockery delivered on a platter of styrofoam. I now believe that either someone from the staff—likely Charles, as it is easier for him to hide in the dark—is tormenting me, or the heads are more powerful than I first predicted.

Something wicked this way come.
  • Something wicked this way come.