The pudding sat in a bowl on the counter, uneaten. There was no one else in the apartment to eat it. For that matter, Jeff didn’t even know who’d made it. He hadn’t.
As he flipped the light switch on, he heard a faint sound, and he turned to see the bowl fall to the floor, splattering everywhere. As he watched, the pudding drew itself together and slid towards him. He had decided he was dreaming when it oozed over his foot. Pain shot up his leg, and he saw blood squirt out. The pudding sent pseudopods to absord it.
He screamed, and shook his leg, but the pudding was stuck. He fell down, and it flowed up his leg, eating as it went.
Mindlessly, he smacked at the goo, and his hand stuck. The pudding ran greedily up his arm. His screams ended abruptly as the pudding ran into his mouth. He shuddered once, twice, then was still.
A minute later it was done and the pudding made its noisome way back to the counter. Someone would be there soon.
Maybe they would be in the mood for dessert.