Quote:
Your Christmas cookies turned out great for once! There was no burning or dropping of the batter and now you have dozens of cookies just waiting to be eaten or given out as gifts. However, as you leave the cookies to cool and go about your business, the smell of gingerbread seems to follow you, no matter if you made gingerbread cookies or not. A strange feeling as though someone is watching you takes over and from time to time you swear that you can hear a strange little voice saying the same thing over and over. “You can’t catch me”. The feeling passes after a few hours, but it might be best to avoid gingerbread for the rest of the holiday season…just in case.
The house smelled of sugar and vanilla. Fingerprints of flour adorned the kitchen bench, the oven door, the baker’s reddened cheeks. Gigi drew a deep slow breath, wiping her hands on her apron as she surveyed the cooling tray. She wasn’t much of a cook, and definitely not compared to some of her friends, but this year, finally, she’d managed to make a perfect unburnt batch of Christmas shortbread. The cookies were plump and buttery-blond, little stars and Christmas trees, waiting for a final dusting of sugar. Then she’d need to box the whole lot up, half for the family celebration, and the rest for her friends. She just hoped they’d taste as good as they looked – if she’d done it right, they’d be perfect with coffee.
Unfortunately, the cooling tray was the only neat spot in the bombsite that she’d made of the kitchen. Before she thought about putting the kettle on, she’d better make a start on the clean-up. And she still needed to brave the late-night shopping crowds later on... Her mind bubbling over with her extended to-do lists, Gigi turned her attention to stacking up the dishes and wiping away the scattered flour.
That was when she noticed another smell, more spicy-sweet than her cookies. Kind of gingerbread-y. It wasn’t a nasty smell, but it didn’t belong to anything that should have been out today. She must have knocked over some of the other spice jars when she was hunting for the vanilla essence earlier, she figured. With a groan, Gigi stepped up her cleaning, searching for the spill. But nothing gingery was open.
The smell only intensified as she worked, to the point where it overpowered the fresh-baked shortbread, and the scented dish-washing detergent. It was definitely gingerbread something. It would make sense that she wasn’t the only one baking today – but with all the snow this season, all the doors and windows were tightly sealed against the cold. Even if the neighbours were making gingerbread, she shouldn’t be able to smell it from here. Maybe her mother had bought a scented candle?
“…catch me!”
The little voice startled her from her puzzling.
“Mum?” she called back.
There was no answer. Taking off her apron, Gigi checked the front hall. Her mother’s keys were absent from their hook – she was still out shopping.
The little voice sounded again. “You can’t catch me!”.
The gingerbread odour was even stronger in the hall. And now Gigi felt like someone was watching her. She drew the curtains, but the feeling didn’t go away.
“Kirra?” she tried. Her little cousin was rascally enough to try and prank her. But not controlled enough not to be giggling about it. “Kirra, I’m warning you!”
“You can’t catch me!”
It didn’t really sound like Kirra, though. It was a strange, sing-song little voice, and it seemed to come from no-where and right behind her all at once. And it kept repeating the same words, like a taunt.
“You know what, I will catch you, and when I do, you’re not getting any cookies for the rest of the year!”
Gigi was certain now that someone was watching her, playing a trick, but no amount of searching or threatening revealed the owner of the voice. The gingerbread smell was overwhelming, permeating the house. Frustrated, Gigi opened the windows to the cold. Wind and snow rushed inside, replacing the stuffy ginger and nutmeg atmosphere with crisp fresh air. The voice didn’t sound again.
“…I’m the gingerbread man,” Gigi sang to herself, shivering. That was so creepy. No more gingerbread lattes for her, she decided. She was sticking with peppermint mocha from now on.
(609 words)
