Cookies

Journal Entry

When things feel wrong, listen.

The house was oddly perfect inside. It smelt amazing, and a lovely fire crackled in the hearth. Interestingly, a table stood in the centre of the room, set for two: two chairs, two cups, two plates. Not three. Not one. Two. And in the middle of the table sat a stack of fresh, warm, golden cookies.

“Someone must live here,” Smudge concluded.

Unsurprisingly, the room did not answer.

Biscuit was already sitting neatly in one of the chairs, tail wagging politely, as if waiting to be served. As you may imagine, he had a particular weakness for cookies.

“Biscuit,” Smudge warned, “we shouldn’t. Really. We don’t know—”

Then the smell hit him too.

Warm. Sweet. A little bit magical.

“Oh…” Smudge murmured. “Oh no. That smells delicious.”

His stomach rumbled loudly, as if to say, I’ll take over the decisions from here, thank you.

“Fine,” Smudge sighed as he climbed into the other chair. “Just one. One tiny taste. One crumb.”

He reached out. Biscuit reached out. Their fingers and paws touched the warm cookies at the same time.

They lifted the cookies.

They looked each other in the eyes.

They slowly took a bite.

And—

WHOOSH.

The floor dropped.

The chairs vanished.

The table folded like paper.

Caught in a chaotic whirlwind of ropes and knots, Smudge tried to shout, “THIS WAS A TERRIBLE DECISION!”

But all that came out was:

“AaaaaaAAAHHH!”

Up they went.

Down they fell.

And then—

SNAP.

Everything stopped.

Smudge dangled upside down, swinging gently from his ankles. Biscuit dangled beside him, his little paws tied together in neat knots, swinging gently like a puzzled furry pendulum.

Confused, Smudge swallowed his mouthful of cookie and blinked. “Biscuit…?”

Biscuit gave a soft, embarrassed whimper.

They didn’t struggle. Instead they dangled in the calm resignation of the mildly naughty, who knew this was at least partly—all right, entirely—their own fault.