The Case of the Stolen Cookies

A Story for All Ages by Aaron McEmrys

One night, Patrick’s mom baked the best cookies ever. They were called, “Oatmeal-Chocolate-chip-Peanut-butter-Monster-Cookies.” Not only did they taste awesome, they were huge, as big as a small frisbie!

Patrick and his sisters LOVED those Monster-Cookies. But this time, Mom said they couldn’t eat any. This batch, she said, was for her to take to work for the big office party the next day.

Oh the agony! The smell of freshly baked Monster Cookies filled the house, but no one was allowed to eat even a single one. It was torture!

When the cookies were done baking and cooling, Mom wrapped them up in a pretty box and tied a shiny green ribbon around it.

Sometime later that night, as the kids were watching T.V. in the living room, Mom burst into the room and switched the T.V. off with an angry click. One look at her face told them that somebody was in very deep trouble.

“Where are the cookies?”

Silence.

“Where are the cookies? They were on the counter ten minutes ago and now they’re gone! Where are the cookies?”

Patrick and his sisters protested their innocence vigorously: “I don’t know! I didn’t do it! I was just sitting here watching T.V.!”

Mom looked at the three kids with tight lips and said, “Go to your chairs.”

Uh-Oh. The chairs. Patrick and his sisters went into the kitchen and pulled three chairs from the table out into the middle of the kitchen floor, and Mom turned them so they were all facing away from each other.

“You will sit here until somebody tells me what happened to the cookies.”

And so it began. They knew what lay before them – sitting in silence in those hard wooden chairs for hours until somebody confessed. They could hear the inviting sounds of the T.V. in the living room, where their toys had been left with no one to play with them. It was looking like the most boring night ever.

“Just admit it, Dawn, you know you did it.”

“Did not, I bet YOU did it!”

“Maybe Shelley did it, I think I see some chocolate on her face!”

“You do not see chocolate on my face – it’s on your face!”

And so it went, in low angry whispers for at least an hour. But the clock continued to tick and it got later and later and still no one would confess.

Finally Patrick switched tactics: “Ok, Dawn, maybe you didn’t do it – but just say you did anyway. You won’t get in trouble, you’re the littlest, you never get in trouble – but Mom’s still mad from when I put that frog in Shelley’s shoe last week – if I confess I’ll be grounded for a week. Come on, if you confess now then we can go watch T.V. for a little while before bed. Otherwise we’ll be here all night!”

Shelley joined in, “If you say you did it, I’ll let you sleep with Miss Bunny tonight…” (Miss Bunny was Shelley’s favorite stuffed animal and she almost never let Dawn play with her).

And so eventually, little Dawn gave in and confessed.

Mom was very angry and so Dawn had to keep sitting by herself in the kitchen for ten more minutes while Patrick and Shelley ran off to watch T.V.

Sometime that night, Patrick woke up. He went down the stairs to get a drink of water and he saw that the kitchen light was still on, even though it was very late at night. He peeked around the corner and saw Mom in her bathrobe, baking cookies. She looked very, very tired, and very, very sad.

Patrick knew that she had to get up early for work, and he knew how tired she was by the time she came home every night – and here she was – baking monster cookies. Suddenly he felt terrible.

“Mom?”

“Patrick, what are you doing up?”

“I took the cookies.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I took them up to my room when you were on the phone and I ate most of them while Shelley and Dawn were watching T.V. I’m really sorry.”

“You ate a whole batch of Monster Cookies!”

“Yeah. My stomach kinda hurts.”

“Good.”

“Mom, I really am sorry. Really, really sorry.”

Mom nodded, and Patrick thought he saw a tear in the corner of her eye, which made him feel even worse. She went back to stirring the cookie dough. Patrick stood there for a minute and then stepped up the counter and started silently scooping the dough out onto the baking sheet.

They worked in silence at first, and soon the batch was out of the oven and cooling on the kitchen table. It was two in the morning.

They looked at one another and Mom ruffled Patrick’s hair like always, “Go on now, back to bed.”

“But Mom, I didn’t get to eat the extra cookie dough yet!” Patrick stopped himself, almost before the words were out of his mouth. “But I don’t think I deserve any cookie dough tonight. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, dear – there will be plenty of cookie dough next time.” She replied, hugging him close as they were enveloped by the glorious smell of freshly baked cookies.