The Nose

By Susan Lyttek

Hot. Smoky. Sweet with an acidic tang. So fresh-from-the-oven it made your mouth water.

Ginger.

I groaned. So much for Aruba. There’s no way the boss would let me go out of town with a gingerbread man on the loose in Cityville. And after I’d just packed my new swim trunks, too.

I shook my head. Duty was my middle name. It’s why I forwent a great job out west when this crime wave hit my hometown. I’d been so looking forward to trying a job that didn’t rely on the talents of my king-size proboscis.

I hit redial on my phone. “Chief?”

“Johnson? I thought you were heading on vacation.”

“I would if I could, sir.” I drew a deep breath. “There’s a new ginger.”

He mumbled a few choice epithets. “Who’s baking these murderous treats?”

“I wish I knew. Then I’d be off to the beach.”

“I’ll send a squad to your location,” he said, ending the call.

If I could smell it, that meant the ginger was within a five-mile radius. We needed to find it before it found someone, anyone, eating a baked treat.

Otherwise, they were ginger food.

Last week, we hadn’t gotten there in time. The victim had been eaten alive, leaving only clothes, bones, and hair behind. We caught the oversized cookie red-handed, trails of blood dripping from its mouth. We used a firehose to melt it, but it was too late for the victim.

We dissolved thirteen abominations last month, after a dozen people met that grim fate. The mayor assured us it wasn’t bad odds in a city of two million, but for me, one death was too many. While I waited for backup, my phone rang.

It was one incoming call I couldn’t ignore. “Hi, Mom.”

“Ranny,” she whined, “when are you coming for dinner?”

I rolled my eyes to relieve some of the irritation. “I don’t know. I’d be on my way to the tropics if I hadn’t been called into a case.”

She tsked. “You work too hard, my little Ran-ran.”

I massaged the aching spot between my eyes. “Ma, I told you not to call me that. I’m almost thirty. I’ll put up with Ranny, but I’d prefer if you called me by the name on my birth certificate.”

“Ugh.”

I could envision the way her mouth twisted. She’d never liked the name my father had given me.

“It is an honorable family name, Mom.”

“It insults my baby boy.”

I sighed, loud and drawn out, so she could hear it. “The team is here. I’ve got to go.”

“Dinner?”

“Soon. Promise.” I hung up before I could hear further protests.

Knowing the troop would ask about the direction of the scent, I took a deep breath and filled my nose. The aromas tingled all over my olfactory nerves. There. North? No. Northwest.

I stood on the corner of Main and State. Northwest would put the ginger close to Mom’s house. I imagined her chewing on a brownie as the creature neared her house and shuddered. If anyone loved sweets, it was Mom.

“What’s the verdict, Johnson?” The team lead was Greg Ash, a fireman whose aim with a hose could liquify a ginger from a block away.

“Northwest. About two miles away. In the Park District.”

Adjusting the portable hose on his shoulder, he asked, “Isn’t that where you grew up?”

“Yep. Where my mom still lives.”

He turned to the other squad members “Let’s get a move on. Park District. You all know what to do.”

As they spread out in an attack pattern, each held up a securely wrapped cookie. If a civilian was in danger, they were trained to open the package and take a big bite to distract the ginger. “No more deaths!” I cried.

As I jogged northwest, the scent changed. I radioed Ash, who was monitoring my position. “Relay caution. This one is different.”

“Different how?”

Though horrible creatures, Gingers usually smelled pleasant. This one stunk like a bag of overcooked microwave popcorn. “Not sure. Maybe… burnt?”

Imagining her dangling over the mouth of a gingerbread, I headed straight for Mom’s. As I turned onto Memory Lane, the stench was nearly unbearable. I burst into Mom’s house.

A blackened gingerbread man stood next to her.

“Mom, get away from that thing!”

She munched calmly on a carrot stick. “Gingy, look who finally showed up for dinner.”

“Mom, that’s a killer gingerbread man. Move away from it… slowly.”

She waved the vegetable in my face. “I’m fine. I know better than to eat a cookie around one of my boys.”

“But Mom…” My nose twitched. “Your boys?”

She giggled like a demented child. Patted my arm. Giggled again. “How else could I keep you in Cityville? You needed a reason for your seven-inch overly sensitive nose to stay. So, I baked up a crime just for my Ranny.”

Through the window, I saw Ash approaching. He’d already opened his cookie wrapper and readied the hose to the fire hydrant out front.

Mom followed my gaze. “The hose won’t work on this Gingy. He’s hardtack strong. I was tired of you melting them.”

I shouted toward Ash. “Don’t bite! It’s her!”

But Ash took a mouthful of cookie. The gingerbread man’s eyes turned bright red, and it charged out the door.

“Now you’ve done it.” Mom cackled.

Ash sprayed the creature, but it kept walking. It picked up Ash and was about to drop him into its mouth.

Burnt cookie. What could I do to a burnt cookie?

They crumble.

I ran out front and tackled the six-foot dessert, plunging my hard nose into its belly, breaking it into pieces.

Ash fell to the ground, bruised, but alive.

“No!” Mom howled, rushing to try and put her creation back together. “Ran-ran, how could you?”

“The name, Mother, is Cyrano.”

As an officer drove my mom off to jail, I headed to the airport with thoughts of Aruba.

This nose needed a vacation.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Susan A. J. Lyttek, author of five novels, award-winning writer, blogger, wife and mother to two homeschool graduates has temporarily given up job-hunting and instead spends her days tutoring over Zoom and writing the strangest tales she can. Learn more at her website.

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