Screaming with all her might, Isadora spun around and flung herself at the heavy door, clawing at the spiderwebs that wrapped around the handle.  Slapping her hands against the door, she screamed so hard her throat ached and her teeth vibrated.

It was an insult that no one could hear her.

“Child, you must be quiet,” a voice hissed behind her.  A voice of a monster–that terrible creature behind her…all those eyes…those teeth! Closing her eyes, she shook her head back and forth.  She wasn’t going to be quiet and let some thing eat her.  If she was going to die, she was going to die fighting!  Oh she should have listened to Wren and her grandmother and Mrs. Bluebell!  Lowering her head, she buried her face in her hands.  Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“Don’t do that!” the voice hissed, panicked now.  “Don’t you know she can hear fear? She can smell it and taste it!”  A thin hand plucked at her back and Isadora jumped away, shuddering.  “Please, please, girl, turn.  I want to show you something.”

Straightening her shoulders, Isadora wiped her eyes and turned to face her death.  Her heart quivered and she reached out a hand to steady herself on the cobweb wrapped wall.  It was a even more terrifying sight the second time.

In front of her stood a giant black spider with what seemed like millions of red eyes.  Hunched over, her lips were inches from Isadora’s head.  Looking up, she watched as they stretched into a wide grin.  “Ah, that’s better. ” She leaned closer to Isadora, her furry black face tickling Isadora’s forehead.  “Your eyes are the most interesting shade of grey…Mrs. Watkins will want to look at that.”  Scuttling back, she extended one of her black legs.  “I am Samora, by the way.  I take it Poe has done this to you?” She waved a hand around her throat.

“Bite me,” a sullen voice said from the shadows.

“If you would just practice your organ music like she wanted, rather than getting into mischief”–

“I’d rather die,” Poe snarled.

“Well be careful what you wish for!” Samora snapped.  In the distance, an owl hooted.  “Oh!  Excuse me!”  she cried, galloping into a shadowy hallway.

Poe started down the hall, then turned and motioned to Isadora.  She shook her head.

“What’s your problem?” he growled.  Isadora wiggled her fingers, then mimicked eating.  Poe burst into laughter.  “Samora wouldn’t eat anyone,” he snorted.  “In fact, she only eats one thing.  Come see what it is.”  With his dark cloak billowing behind him, he rushed down a maze of dark hallways.  The dark paper was peeling, revealing cockroaches and rats scurrying through the floors.  Rusted knights of armor lined the floor, their tarnished helmets glaring menacingly at Isadora.  Taking a deep breath, Isadora reluctantly followed him.

After twisting and turning until Isadora’s head spun, she stumbled into a large open steel room.  Bright lights dangled from the cieling under warm red shades.  In the center, a long black table was covered with various bowls and jars dripping with bright orange.  Behind it stood Samora, her eight arms frantically pulling various pans out of ovens and shoving other pans in as she frosted cookies in one hand and piped cupcakes in the other.  Another hand boxed up goods while another mixed dough sprinkled with orange and black chocolate chips.  Her fourth right hand was popping cookies in her mouth, the fourth left drizzling a coke between her lips.  From a small golden cage, a suspicious raven oversaw everything.

Isadora burst out laughing, holding her sides in quiet laughter.  Samora grinned.  One hand stopped stirring and held out a cupcake.  “Help yourself, dear.  It’s just chocolate and sugar, like you’d find at your grandmother’s house.”

Isadora sniffed the cupcake, flicking her tongue against the smooth orange icing.  Her eyes widened and she shoved the entire cupcake into her mouth, pulling out the wrapper between her teeth.

“Good, isn’t it?” Poe asked.  He reached for a black cupcake and a quick black hand slapped him away.  “Hey, why did she get one and not me?

“I’ve got orders to fill, Poe.  You know it’s my busiest time of year.” Glancing at Isadora, Samora explained, “I make cupcakes and cookies boutiques and clients all over the nation.  People purchase them for parties and things.  During October, I work day and night making thousands of sweets.  Once Halloween is over, I sleep for three months.  It helps Mrs. Watkins with the expenses.” Gulping down the cupcake as she listened with half of her attention, Isadora reached for another and shoved it into her mouth.  “Besides, Isadora’s was a special cupcake.”  Widening her eyes, Isadora spat out the cupcake in her hand and stared at the chewed mess of icing and cake in horror.

“Go on dear,” Samora urged, her red eyes glittering.  “Can you talk now?  Say something.”

“If I could say something, don’t you think I would be talking?” Isadora snapped.  In her mind, she heard her voice, her throat felt the words.  But it was as if someone had pushed a mute button.  Samora shook her head.  “Poe, I never knew you were this powerful.”

“I told you I was practicing my spells,” Poe reminded her with a smug smile.

Putting two of her arms on her hips, Samora shook her head.  “I can’t help her.  The only thing we can do is take her to Mrs. Watkins.  You’ll have to take her through the Great Hall.”

“The Great Hall?”  Poe ran his fingers through his dark hair and gave Isadora a worried look.  She licked the chewed cupcake off her hand and glared at him.  “Think she’s ready for that?”

“She’ll have to be,” Samora said grimly.  “It’s the only way to get to Mrs. Watkins.  And she can’t leave–not until midnight, at the very least.  Not until she’s gone.”  Isadora raised an eyebrow and pointed at the ceiling.  Samora shook her head.  “We can’t talk about that now, dear.  The walls have eyes and ears.”  She pointed to a wall, and Isadora turned and jumped.  Two green eyes stared at her, while a giant brown ear twitched on the ceiling.

“Literally,” Poe drawled, making her jump.

With a burst of movement, Samora boxed up three dozen cupcakes, four dozen cookies and shoved four more pans in the oven and took four out to cool.  “Let me know when they go off,” she informed the raven, who squawked.  Brushing her hands on her frilly red apron, she wrapped three affectionate arms around Isadora’s shoulders.  It took all her willpower not to shrug them off.

“To Mrs. Watkins’ we go!” Samora cried.

Not for the first time that day, Isadora felt a sense of dread.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a delicious new recipe tomorrow and a new Dallas Jean Friday!  Plus lots more whimsy and fun!  Stay tuned!