Spell Cookies Novels & Stories

“So good.” “I’m very happy you have enjoyed them. There are several more flavors I would like to try. Are there any flavors you do not like?” He asks. I consider that for a minute. There are a lot of different kinds of cookies and I haven’t tried then all yet. “One I know for sure I don’t like is snickerdoodles.” “Noted.” He actually makes a note of it on a whiteboard he has set up on the fridge. “Thanks!” I hold up the plate and walk out with my loot in hand.

Just…different. “You taste that?” I asked. Ivan frowned, expression changing. “Actually…” “What?” His eyes widened. “I do not think these are the complimentary cookies.” “What?” I spluttered. “They’re the special menu.” “The what now?” “The—” His chair scraped backward, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Oh…” I blinked. “What?” “They’re cannabis cookies.” I stared at him. “…You have got to be kidding me.” He winced.

“Then, because I was so scared I'd get caught, I paused right there in the middle of the street and decided to get rid of the evidence. I eat those cookies up so fast.” “Oh, god.” “Yeah, it was horrible. I got sick right after. Threw up in the trashcan closest to me. To this date, I can't look at a sugar cookie without feeling sick.” “Really?” He asked and she hummed out a response, her face tilted towards him, a wide smile on her face. “So if I were to give you a sugar cookie right now, you wouldn't try it?” “Nopes. Not at all. I've been scared of sugar cookies ever since.”

The visions never lasted long enough for real connection before the brutal return left me reeling. The Parkers’ troubles started small. Toys moved from one room to another overnight. Zoe insisted on leaving cookies by the basement door for “the sad lady.” Rachel laughed it off at first as childhood imagination, but Jake grew quieter each time the lights flickered during dinner or footsteps sounded on the stairs when everyone was accounted for.

‘They should rename their whole corporation Satan's-Army’ I think to myself and then chuckle at my own joke. The shelves of the store are littered with wrapping paper, red and green bows and everything, I mean everything, is themed with either santa or snowman. My annoyance grows as I go to grab a pack of oreos, which are now only available with red or green centers. Forget it! I’ll wait until January to quench my oreo craving; I’m not going to encourage these companies. I head to the refrigerated foods, only to find the premade sugar cookies are now only available in the shape of a snowman. “Craving cookies?” comes a familiar voice.

Unable to stop it. No. I refused to stand here and cry. I needed answers, facts and proof. Not feelings. I headed straight back to the dining hall. Most of the festival guests had already left, and servants moved quietly through the room, cleaning the aftermath in silence. My gaze swept over the scattered remains of the celebration until something caught my attention. A cookie lay half-hidden beneath a table. Untouched. I crouched and carefully picked it up with a napkin. The scent reached me immediately—honey, milk, and butter, with a faint bitter note lurking beneath the sweetness.

“Sorry to interrupt… the flour supplier is on the phone, and she’s making noises about not being able to get the next shipment here this afternoon.” “Aw, hell,” the man so-aptly-named-Spider said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Tomorrow morning? Early?” “Yeah,” the woman said. “Between three and four.” “Hell,” Spider repeated. He sighed. “OK, Mirrie. Tell her to bring it by four at the latest, and I’ll be here to collect it.” “OK, boss,” Mirrie said. “I’ll do that, then if you want, I can start the next batch of ginger cookies. We’re running low.”

“Jules might not have baked it, yes. But, he assisted me in getting the measurements right. That counts for something, no?” “What do you call them?” I asked, pointing at the tray in front of him. “The cookies you made, I mean. They ought to have a flavor or something like that.” “Oh, yeah. They’re spicy cookies.” Cole said, scratching the back of his head. “Spicy cookies?” I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’ve never heard of those before.” “Well, now you have,” Cole said as he placed one on a plate and handed it over to me. “Here you go, try it out and tell me what you think about it.”

Carson, another teacher, English major, was hired in the same school she is working. Will Casy continue on sugarcoating despite of what she feels for Kate? Or will she pursue her love and face the inevitable death? - Title: Stop Sugarcoating, Baby Written by: aristeia_maria 2020®