Great Afterlife Bake Off

The tent sat in the middle of a field that had never known a plough, fence or reason for existence. Rolling hills of ridiculously green and fertile grass stretched in every direction, interrupted only by wildflowers that bloomed in colors the living world hadn’t yet invented. The sky was blue. Not Earth’s sky-blue, a blue that was so reassuringly beautiful that the official color name was ‘Cosmic Cerulean’(patent pending). Translucent birds perched on tent poles and sang songs that sounded like sea shanties if you weren’t paying attention and faded into uncanny valley levels of bird song.

The tent itself was white canvas, enormous and was bigger on the inside. Eight exquisite baking stations, each with a full oven, stand mixer, and enough counter space to land a dragon (don’t recommend the clean up is not worth it). A judging table sat at the far end draped in stark white linen. Camera rigs on tracks that moved with smooth and silent precision of a kraken stalking its prey lined both walls. Lighting rigs overhead made everything look warm and inviting, they were even enchanted to have the same effect on the contestants, who were neither.

This was the afterlife’s most popular competition.

This was The Great Afterlife Bake Off.

Joel Weirding stood at the entrance of the tent with his arms spread wide, as if he planned to embrace the entire viewing audience. He was tall, pale in the way that suggested 1600s aristocratic breeding or a severe vitamin D deficiency (Technically it was the latter as vampires don’t process sunlight, but he’d also been pale prior to being turned and considered it a happy continuity). His suit was velvet, pocket was silk and they were both mismatched, contrasting, and very loud patterns. Today’s outfit was blue and gold cupcakes (the suit) and orange and pink houndstooth (the pocket square). He carried a thermos with him everywhere. It was ruby and covered in glitter with a small bat sticker on the side that a production assistant had given him as a joke. The joke was lost on him, he loved that sticker.

“Welcome,” Joel said, rolling the word around his mouth like a sommelier with a fine Bordeaux, “to the most spooktacular season of the Great Afterlife Bake Off. I am your host, your confidant and occasional taste-tester, Joel Weirding. He winked at the camera. “And joining me is the incomparable Madison Lamont.”

Madison stepped into the frame holding a clipboard and the expression of someone who had already handled three HR violations before her second cup of coffee. She was 28 (perpetually, death having frozen her at the age where you’re old enough to be responsible for your own choices but too young to be taken seriously). Hair pulled back and blazer pressed flawlessly, clipboard loaded with a spreadsheet (designed herself), with color-coded columns for timing, incidents, and a third category labeled “Misc.” that took up the majority of the page.

“Good morning,” Madison said. “Before we begin a few housekeeping items.” She did not look up from her clipboard. “No summoning inside the tent. Familiars must remain behind the workstation line and wearing the appropriate hair nets. If your bake achieves sentience, please alert a producer before attempting to communicate– or murder it. The fire extinguishers are located every three feet on the walls and are rated for both non-magical and arcane fire. However, they are not rated for plasma. If you are unsure if you will be producing plasma, err on the side of caution and don’t do it. At all.

She lowered the clipboard, looked at the camera and her face communicated a very professional smile while her eyes seemed to scream, “this job is insane. Help me. Oh please, anyone. Help.”

“Now, let’s meet our judges.”

Saul Follymood did not enter a room. He arrived in it the way a storm arrives on a sunny summer day. One moment he wasn’t there, and then he was. The temperature dropping by two degrees as everyone present fell under his icy gaze.

He was a broad man, thick through the shoulders and forearms, with hands that looked like they’d spent decades kneading dough and were now perfectly content to fold across his chest while he studied you. His hair was silver, and his apron spotless. His expression suggested that he had once tasted perfection, remembered it in exact detail and would spend the rest of his life searching for it again.

“Right,” Saul stated, which for him meant, “Hello.”

Rue Thief came in behind him already talking.

“Oh, look at this tent. It’s gorgeous isn’t it? The flowers outside are just simply marvelous. I don’t know what they’re called but they smell like lavender and this one witches brew I tried at a rave last year. Did we import the birds? They’re phenomenal.” She turned to the camera operator who did not answer because neither did he know– nor was it his job. “I love them,” she finished with a grin.

Rue was an elf, which in the afterlife was uncommon. Most elves simply stopped existing when they were ready. Rue however, perished in what she would only describe as an ‘unfortunate baking incident.’ She was shorter than Saul, rounder than Saul and far far warmer than Saul, which to be fair described almost all people and several household appliances. She wore bright glasses on a chain around her neck and never met a contestant she didn’t want to encourage.

“Shall we bring them in,” Joel asked, already vibrating at the frequency of a kid sipping espresso due to him not being the center of attention for nearly forty-five seconds.

Madison checked her clipboard. “Everyone is prepped, they’ve been briefed, and all safety equipment has been triple checked. Bring them in.”