(This excerpt from “The Cookie” is the intellectual property of Forgotten Lore Publishing, llc) – continued from A Further Word About A Story.
As she towered over her servant, the worker saw the witch held her long black wand, in her bony right hand. She pointed it at the supervisor, and said in an angry whisper, “I’m very disappointed with you Snak. You were one of my favorites. I gave you clothing; trusted you with my secrets; and even let you taste honey wine. And you repay me with betrayal!”
“We live only to serve you, mistress,” Snak replied in a shaky voice.
“Then why are you plotting in dark tunnels? Why are you stealing my crystals?” The witch demanded.
“It was Treat’s plan! he said…”
“Treat?” The witch snapped. “Treat said it was Crumb’s plot. And Crumb said it was yours! It’s plain to me now that you’re ALL scheming against me! This is my reward for giving you life!”
“You only let us live so you can make us your slaves!” Snak shot back. “We have no real life, except one of toiling endlessly in this dark prison! We mine ore for you until we crumble from the effort; or get eaten by you, or one of your horrible pets! What kind of life is that? We don’t want to be your servants! We want to be free of you! And we will be!”
Snak held out the object in his hand, as if it were a weapon, and continued to back away from the witch. “I found out, that as long as I hold this gemstone, you cannot harm me!” He exclaimed.
The witch stared angrily at him for a few moments, then an evil smirk stole over her face. She raised her wand in turn and said, “You’re a thief, and a liar! Let your clothes be on fire!”
When she uttered those words, the supervisor’s shirt and pants burst into bright, hot, flames. He turned, and ran screaming, toward the watching worker. The flames from his clothing was so hot, and fierce however; that as Snak drew near the worker he was overcome by them, and fell to the floor with a gasp. The object he’d been holding slipped from his grasp, and landed near the worker’s feet.
As if by reflex, the worker bent forward to pick it up. When he reached for it, the witch shouted, “DON’T TOUCH THAT, my little tidbit.”
But the stone was already in his hand.
“Bring the pretty stone to mommy; my dear, precious cookie!”
The witch’s tone suddenly became friendly, and sweet; but the worker was sure that she was still angry. He hesitated a moment, from both indecision and fear. He still remembered Snak’s earlier threat about the witch making lunch of him; and he had now seen her kill gingerbread men on a whim, more than once.
When the worker did not move, she asked, “What is you name, sweetie?”
“I don’t have a name, Mistress,” the worker answered meekly.
“Nooo?” The witch purred in a honeyed voice. “From now on you shall be called Dab. Does that please you? It is a better name than many of your brothers have. Perhaps you will even prove that it suits you.”
She said this as she walked towards him slowly; and though her voice was pleasant, the look on her face wasn’t. Dab backed away from her, in fear. He saw the still smoking remains of supervisor Snak; smoldering in front of him. The smell of burnt sugar was heavy in the air, and he had a sick feeling that he would be the next cookie to burn.
The witch suddenly stopped where she was and commanded, “Bring it to me, little one; there is nowhere for you to run.”
Dab heard a sound behind him, and turned to see one of the witch’s massive dogs racing toward him. He looked about wildly, left and right, for some escape; but he discovered what she said was true, there was no place for him to go.
“Take it! Take it!” He squeaked in terror, as the giant beast lunged for him.
Dab whirled desperately to avoid being seized by the tremendous jaws that snapped for him. His frantic move caused him to lose his balance, and fall on the path. He landed, and with one small bounce, went sailing beyond the edge of the narrow path; and down into the abyss below.
As he plummeted toward bottomless depths, a scream came to his lips; but he could not force it out. Dab realized he was doomed, but the shock of this sudden end, stunned him. He was only a cookie, and was certain that when he hit the floor, he would be smashed into tiny crumbs. His long fall seemed to last forever; but when it abruptly ended, there was nothingness.
This is the end of the beginning of a story. To read more of the story, follow this link A Story Continues: Chapter Two.
J. A. Stubbs, Editor-In-Chief
Forgotten Lore Publishing, llc