The Pumpkin Pie

It seemed like a normal day for Frank as he walked down the main street with a small list. He mumbled to himself occasionally as he glanced at the piece of paper in his hand. He drew to a halt outside a bakery shop and looked up at the sign. It read 'Claire's Bakery'. He entered and watched various other customers moving about and inspecting the goods on the shelves. From freshly baked bread to cinnamon rolls, donuts, and lovely-looking hedgehogs. The food laid out and on view was all delicious. It was hard to make a choice of what he'd like to get. Then he remembered the list, and he looked down at it. On the list was 'Pumpkin pie'. He mused thoughtfully, before spotting an elderly woman as she came out from the back room and smiled at him.

"Hello there Frank, picking up the pumpkin pie for me?"

He gave a nod of his head. "I got the rest you wanted, are you planning a party?"

"Just a small one." She smiled lightly. "I'll be right back."

He nodded his head, shifting position a couple of times as customers came and went, buying what they wanted or needed from the bakery.

"Here we are." His gaze rested upon a freshly baked pumpkin pie. The smell of cinnamon and pumpkin spices wafted into the air. It was enough to cause the entire shop to stop for a moment and breathe in the lovely scent. Frank cleared his throat and reached out to take the pie which the woman had carefully put into a box for safe travels. She smiled at him lightly. "Keep it safe, I'll see you tonight at 7pm at the house."

Frank nodded his head. "What about the rest of the stuff?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, hand that over, I just want you to hold onto the pie for me."

He nodded his head and handed over the couple of bags he had been carrying on his person when he had stepped into the bakery.

The old woman smiled as she took them, disappeared into the back of the bakery, and then returned. "Now remember, 7pm sharp. Not a minute late."

Frank nodded his head, pie in hand he stepped outside and sighed softly. He looked down at the box, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to walk back the way he had come.

It took him half an hour to walk to the small house he shared with a couple of other roommates. He unlocked the front door and walked in, he was immediately blasted with loud rock music that made him grimace for a moment.

"Hey, Frank! What's you got?"

Frank's grip on the pie tightened as he eyed off one of his roommates warily. It was Tom who was known for fridge-thieving of everyone else's food. "It's a Pie made by my Aunt Claire," he explained simply.

"Can I have a taste?" Tom was circling him like a vulture now.

Frank held the pie all the closer to his chest. "No, I have to take it to her tonight for dinner." He abruptly shifted toward his room and closed the door with a sound click.

Frank breathed a sigh of relief. He walked over and set the box carefully down on his desk. He took off his jacket and hung that on the back of his chair then flopped down on his bed. He shuffled around some textbooks until he found the one he was looking for. He loved history, he picked it up and flicked through the pages before settling in to read a bit about the 1920s, during the Prohibition years. He read about how Speakeasys became a thing for those who wanted to still enjoy alcohol. The various police raids to shut down the illegal alcohol transports and how with every Speakeasy that was shut down, another sprang up. It seemed to be a fun time to live and enjoy life.

Every now and then the door knob would turn and Frank would turn his head and yell out, "Go away, Tom! You're not getting a taste." He smirked as he heard muttering on the other side of the door. He figured Tom was hoping to catch him napping so he could sneak a piece of this pumpkin pie. He had to admit he was tempted himself, it sure smelt good even with it cooling in the box. He would have put it in the fridge for better care but he couldn't trust Tom as long as he was in the house with any food. His eyes drifted to the locked pantry and little fridge he had in his room. The fact he had to put locks on both was a testament to what lengths Tom went, to sneak food in the middle of the night. "Not on my watch," he muttered under his breath as he shifted position on the bed and went back to reading his history book.

When he looked up next blearily, he made out the time on the clock to be 6.45pm. Frank shook himself into focus and tossed the book aside. He scrambled to his feet and hastily changed into nice pants, shirt, vest, and jacket. He checked himself in the mirror to make sure the colors matched. He had been once told he was a mess with colors. He quickly brushed his hair, then put on some shoes. He grabbed the box that held the precious pie and hurried out of his room. He stopped a moment to lock his bedroom door before heading out of the front door of the house. He turned to lock the front door and tucked the keys into his jacket pocket. Humming he hurried down the street as Aunt Claire lived just a street away from where he was boarding. She had offered one of the empty bedrooms in her overly large house, but he had refused. He hadn't wanted to become an inconvenience to her. Plus he wanted to prove to his parents that he could go to University, get his degree, and work a part-time job on the side. If others could do it, then so could he.

He turned right and walked down the street named 'Apple Cider', it was a unique name in his mind. Most streets were named after famous families or people who had been in the area or paid the council to change the street to their last name because they had lots of money to throw around. He had to wonder where 'Apple cider' came from. His thoughts drifted back to the Prohibition days back in the 1920's then shook his head. He noticed cars were pulling up and dropping people off. The cars oddly looked out of place, they looked like the sort he'd have seen back in the 1920s. He stopped a moment to allow a car roll past, before crossing over and halting out the front of Aunt Claire's house.

The house was an old Victorian style. It was two stories high plus a large rambling attic at the top. It was painted cream, with brown outlines around the windows and roofing. People dressed in roaring twenties paraphernalia were walking up the steep steps towards the front doors. He looked down a moment suddenly awkward in what he was wearing. Swallowing he started up the stairs behind a chatting couple then halted as a man in a suit was letting each through after checking their name on a list he held in his hand. Frank came to a halt and the bouncer now focused on him.

"Name?"

"Uh Frank....Frank Malone," he answered.

The man looked down at the list. "Yer names not on the list son."

"My Aunt Claire lives here," stated Frank, he held up the box in hand. "She told me to be here at 7pm sharp with her Pumpkin Pie."

"Aunt...Claire?" the bouncer looked confused.

"There you are!" a lovely young woman with golden curls showed up. She wore a beautiful silver dress with a matching scarf tossed around her shoulders. She beamed brightly at Frank and grabbed his arm while softly touching the bouncer's arm. "He's ok, he's with me." She then dragged Frank into the house while she spoke. "You're right on time, come along into the kitchen."

Frank found himself dragged through the main entrance, past the archway that revealed the lounge full of partygoers, a jazz band, and a minibar. He ended up in the grand kitchen and set the box on the island counter. "Where is Aunt Claire?" he asked curiously.

"She will be down soon enough." The young woman smiled as she took a lovely-smelling roast chicken out of the oven and set it on a nearby counter. She then turned to inspect the box. Flicking it open she frowned slightly. "Frank, did you eat a piece?"

Frank blinked and walked over to note the pie was missing a piece. He shook his head. "No, I had it in my room the entire time. I have a roommate who...steals food."

"Hmm..." she nodded her head as she started cutting up the pie into smaller pieces. "He'll have to learn not to steal." she set a small piece on a plate and held it out to Frank. "That's for you." she smiled softly. "Now, enjoy yourself hmm? Stay a while at the party."

Frank nodded his head as he asked. "What's your name?"

The bright-eyed blonde-haired woman smiled as she winked at him. "Claire," she said simply. She shooed him out of the kitchen before disappearing back within.

Frank was startled of course; he took a seat on a couch in the lounge and started to slowly eat his piece of the pumpkin pie. The jazz music flowed over his ears, and the partygoers chattered, sang, or danced the night away. It felt as if time moved swiftly, or he fell asleep at some point. He wasn't sure which. Frank jerked awake in the lounge. The jazz band, mini bar, and partygoers were all gone. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes as he yawned. Brushing crumbs off his jacket he looked at the plate sitting on the couch next to him. It was empty of the piece of pie he had eaten.

The sound of a door opening startled him. He got to his feet and turned as Aunty Claire made her way into the lounge and smiled at him. Her grey hair was trussed up in a loose bun and held in place with a hairpin. "Hello Frank." she offered in greeting. She held out a cup of coffee.

He took the offered cup and sipped at the black liquid. He looked around himself, the furniture didn't look anything like it had last night. It was all modern and up-to-date. He looked over to the elderly woman. "I brought the pie here," he said softly. "A young woman took it and dished it up to her party guests. I thought it was for you."

"Oh..." she nodded her head. "She likes to hold a party every so often and that pie is very special to her," she said lightly. "Though...we need to discuss this thief of yours."

"You know?" he asked.

"My friend told me about your problem in regard to the pie," she explained lightly.

"Oh..." he nodded. "Yeah, Tom eats anything in the house that isn't locked up. Me and my other roommate stopped putting our food in the kitchen. We keep our food locked up in our bedrooms now. Means Tom has to go out and do his own shopping and his own cooking. He'll steal anything that isn't nailed down or locked up." He sighed and sipped at his coffee.

Aunt Claire gave a slow nod of her head. "Well then. Why don't you help me bake another pie hmm?" she motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen.

Frank blinked at her offer. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." she beamed as they walked into the kitchen.

Frank watched her move around the kitchen, it hadn’t really changed. It still looked like a kitchen out of the 1920’s other than the oven was modern for baking and good cooking. He sat on a stool and watched as Aunt Claire got out various ingredients along with a good-sized pumpkin. She set to work cutting it open, getting the innards out, and then started working on making the pumpkin spice sauce. She started mixing up a batch of shortbread dough. 

Frank watched in a curious manner. It reminded him of watching his mother bake pies and cookies when he was a boy. He didn’t realize how many steps went into making a pie. He rested elbows on the counter as she stirred up the pumpkin spice sauce. Then watched her roll out the dough before setting it in a couple of pans. She looked up and smiled at him.

“Do you make a lot of pies?” he knew it was a stupid question as she ran a bakery, the moment he asked.

“I do.” She nodded her head. “I’ve baked since I learned to cook. My mother taught me, and I loved the smells that came out of the oven. I like to make my oven smell just as nice.” She smiled lightly as she motioned him to come around to where she stood. “Now, take this bowl here, and pour an even amount of the pie sauce into each pie pan.” She instructed.

Frank nodded his head and moved around the counter. He took the bowl and tipped it. Using a wooden spoon, he started scraping it out. A certain amount into one and then the other pan. He looked over to Aunt Claire asking. “That alright?”

“That’s perfect.” She smiled as she then turned and put the pies in the oven. “This is the waiting part. We will soon smell that delicious scent a pumpkin pie is known for.” She moved to start washing the dishes.

Frank took his place next to her and helped by drying and managing to put everything away in its place. He felt oddly at home in this old kitchen.

“They're ready.” Aunt Claire smiled as she opened the oven and took out the pies. She set them carefully on the island counter so they could admire the pies.

Frank was assailed by the scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, pumpkin and other spices. It was mouth-watering, to say the least. He found himself leaning in just to sniff more at the cooked pies and their aroma. “That makes me so hungry.” He mumbled.

“Good, I’m hoping it will have the same effect for Tom.” Aunt Claire moved to put the pies in two boxes, she set them on top of each other and then handed them to Frank who had a puzzled expression on his face. “Go straight home and leave these on your kitchen counter.” She instructed.

Frank frowned a little bit as he looked down at the boxes and then back at the elderly woman. “Aunt Claire, I don’t understand.”

She smiled. “You don’t need to, just promise to visit me on your birthday. I’ll bake you your favorite cake.” She winked.

Frank gave a slow nod of his head. “Alright, but you’ll have to explain to me sometime.”

“When the time is right.” Came Aunt Claire’s response as she started to escort him to her front door. “Now remember what I told you yes?”

Frank gave a nod of his head. “Put the pies on the counter in the kitchen back at home.”

“Good boy.” Aunt Claire smiled and petted his cheek. “I’ll see you again soon hm? And I’m sure you’ll have quite a story to tell.”

Frank frowned a bit but nodded his head. “I will see you soon Aunt Claire.” He then started his way down the stairs to the street below. He paused at the bottom step and turned to look up. He smiled at Aunt Claire who waved before she went into her house, the front door softly clicked shut.

Drawing in a soft breath, Frank headed down to the corner and then turned down his street. It didn’t take him long to reach his house. He could hear voices from within as he unlocked the door.

“Hey! Where were you?”

Frank blinked at the first roommate to greet him, boxes still held in his hands. “Oh, Mark? I was visiting my aunt.” He smiled lightly as he moved past and headed into the kitchen. He put the boxes on the counter and then looked at his friend. “Want to go out to lunch with me?”

Mark gave a nod. “Sure.” He eyed the boxes. “Don’t you want to lock those up?”

“It’ll be fine,” Frank assured him, he went into his room and grabbed his wallet then headed out, motioning for Mark to follow.

As soon as the two left, the door to Tom’s room opened and he stuck his head out. He glanced around curiously before stealing down the hallway. He paused again, sniffing the air. The aroma of the pies called to him. He had that little taste and found himself wanting more. He scurried into the kitchen once he was certain that the other two roommates were gone and grinned widely at the boxes.

Tom grabbed a box, flicked it open, and started stuffing large handfuls of pumpkin pie into his mouth. The more he ate the strangest things started to happen. His ears began to turn wide, flabby, and pointed. His nose turned into a snout. He started making pig noises as he slapped the second box onto the ground.

The front door flung open and in bolted Frank, looking wildly around calling out, “Tom!” He heard a grunting from behind the counter and slowly peered around and into the kitchen. There, standing over a box, finishing the last bits of pumpkin pie was a pig. Frank was surprised but oddly he found this suiting. “You are a bit of a pig aren’t you, Tom.” He muttered softly. An interesting way to teach a thief a lesson.