Eclair Cookie Run Novels & Stories

It tastes like grape juice that’s been through a traumatic event, but somehow, with him watching me over the rim of his own mug, it glides down like an expensive cabernet. “So what’s the plan?” I ask. “You lure me in here with wine, lock the door… what’s next? Do I wake up in a Hansel and Gretel oven situation?” He smirks. “Close. Éclairs.” “Same difference.” He pulls a tray from the cooling rack, neat rows of golden shells waiting to be filled and frosted. “Help me finish these, and I’ll let you live.” I gasp. “You’re making me work for my wine?”

I tapped the counter three times and placed a gold coin on the glass counter. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened for a moment but he regained composure pretty quickly. He handed me two large eclairs. I opened the one with the red wrapper and scrawled quickly. ‘Point 1’ and added a tick mark beside it. Then I wrapped the sweet again before handing it over to the shopkeeper with the vial. With a curt nod, he handed me a pouch of colorful candies. I pocketed the other eclair quickly and rushed back. Hera’s arms were crossed over her chest and she was tapping her foot impatiently, “What took you so long?”

She was running and running along the path laid out not knowing where she was going. Eloisa ran all the way to the hospital from the pub, which was almost on the other end of the village. As soon as she heard the news, she closed the pub and ran all the way to the hospital. When she reached her mother's room, she saw her sleep and nurse fixing her saline tube. Eloisa entered the room and the nurse looked up at her. The room smelt so stale and filled with medicinal smell that it made her almost choke. She had never really liked hospitals anyway. She came to the hospital only three times including today. Not once she felt comfortable here. Hospitals always smell of stale and death to her. The

“Eclaireuse. How’s your energy and how long would it take to empty out again?” “Not that good kid. Half of your energy only replenished a fifth of my soul force. And I say about 2 hours of run time? Maybe an hour for a safer estimate.” I frowned hearing Eclaireuse’s words. I decided it was safer to fill her soul force to full first before attempting to head up once more since it would be dangerous to pass out due to exhaustion and having Eclaireuse near empty during that time.

Ryan nibbled on the rest of the cookie in his hand, commenting casually, “What if it has poison in it? You might die eating it carelessly.” Darius narrowed his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows, starting at him and the cookie on his hand, “YOU will be the first to die, haha,” he chuckled, taking the mini éclair from the blue box. His friend took the entire box on his lap after Darius took the dessert, rustling to see if there’s anything else, mumbling, “There should be some note or…” Darius was so busy devouring the sweetness of the éclair, he didn’t notice what his friend was doing or saying, but his fantasy broke as soon as he heard Ryan yelling, “It’s Luke. Look here, Darius. Luke sent it.”

Running across the sand. Fair. With Adrian's shoe in his mouth. Reasonable. Proudly. God. Very proudly. Fair. Like he'd hunted it himself. Reasonable honestly. Then the chase began. God. Cookie ran. Fair. Adrian ran. Reasonable. Peanut ran. God. Then everybody else ran too. Fair. The entire beach. Reasonable honestly. Then Cookie turned it into a game. God. The worst possible outcome. Fair. Because puppies love games. Reasonable.

Inside, ovens blast, timers beep, the morning rush hums. Jules spots me first and lifts a tray above his head like a trophy. “Look at her. She returns.” “Put me to work,” I say, tying on an apron. “I’m here till ten.” Alex slides a sheet pan onto the table. “Éclair shells are flat. We doubled the batch and they sulked.” He sets one in front of me like evidence. I pick it up, check the bottom, then bite. “They’re fine. Fill more aggressively. Top with a thicker line, add cocoa dust. Call it rustic. Halve the normal price.”

Pushing me down the route it wants me to take. Jim was panting and his lungs were beginning to burn. He wasn’t in the best shape and the running was taking its toll. Halfway down the new path he saw the grave. He recognised it instantly. The gravestone was unique; Jim knew every inch of it intimately. The moment he saw it he knew why the thing in the ground had guided him here.

The dimly lit bar pulsed with music and laughter, a contrast to the turmoil brewing in Marco's mind. Everyone's faces were barely seen because of the darkness and lights from the club's dance floor. Crowds swayed in response to the strong beat of the music, excitement lingering in the air along with the strong odour of alcohol. Marco, a twenty-two year old intern, sat on the velvet stool, swilling down various glasses of alcohol. “More..” He slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol as he extended his empty glass to the bartender, gesturing for him to refill it.

The eyes were still bright and burning with desire. Then the light in the bathroom ceased to stutter, and the image was gone, her parents, the ghastly sailors and the cursed ship. Claire heard the scream continue for a few more seconds before she realised the sound was coming from her. *** Maud took a sip from a huge mug that had the image of Homer Simpson playing guitar on it. On a small occasional table there was a plate piled with Beatrice’s home baked chocolate chip cookies, a particular favourite of Maud’s. She helped herself to another cookie. “Ye’re spoilin’ ol’ Maud this evenin’, young’un.”