By Austin Grisham
Samuel T. Clemens stared down the white sugar slope. He had a task before him that would cause many a man’s knees to melt. Not him though; he wasn’t some soft butterscotch cookie. No, his was a legacy of proud, hard, gingerbread men.
Samuel’s piercing green frosting eyes measured the distance. “Come on!” he called to Billy.
“Brrh!” Billy replied, the orange icing of his mouth forming a jagged line. “I’m so cold!”
Samuel held up his hand. “Billy, the last thing a gingerbread man needs to worry about is frostbite! Besides, my sweety Ginger and the orphanage desperately need these provisions. Since those no-good monster cookies tore down the bridge three weeks ago, they haven’t been able to get any supplies. If they don’t get these spices soon”—he waved at the bundles on their sled—“things will get real bad for them!”
Billy muttered, “But we’re going through some tough terrain—”
“Don’t you start getting soft and gooey on me!” Samuel yelled. He grabbed his friend’s arm, and they jumped on the sled.
Whish! The sled blades sheered sugar to each side as they tore their way down the slope. Ahead sprouted a grove of caramel apple trees.
“Be careful, Samuel! You know what happened to my cousin Phil!”
Pulling on the right side of the sled, Samuel expertly swooped around the first of the trees. “I remember, they gave him sticky fingers, and he got caught stealing some ‘hot’ cider.”
The sled bobbed back and forth, shimmers of brown shooting past on either side. “Got his just desserts and went to jail.”
The frosty green dots of Samuel’s eyes grew big. One of the trees had fallen right across their path. He pulled on the front of the sled, tilting its nose up just as they hit. Their momentum carried them over the tree, and they flew through the crisp air for a thrilling moment—before landing in a patch of dirty brown sugar. The dark grains splashed up in their faces.
“Ugh!” Samuel wiped the syrup from his eyes. He blinked, then elbowed Billy. “We’ve got company.”
A napoleon led the baker’s dozen blocking their path. Short and stout, his cream filling tart as he gave orders, he headed a batch of hulking monster cookies.
“I don’t know about the napoleon, but those monster cookies ain’t gonna be a piece of cake!” Billy yelled. “What’re we going to do?”
The first of the monster cookies careened toward them. His dark round body, pockmarked with an uneven array of nuts and candy, opened to reveal a wide maw and two rows of pointy candy corn teeth.
Samuel yanked his trusty lasso from his side and shook out a loop. He tossed it over the center of the cookie, tugged the rope tight, and pulled to the side. Keeeer-runch! The monster cookie careened into his brethren. Billy steered the sled through the gap. Samuel let out a sigh of relief—just as the napoleon launched himself at them.
“I got this!” Billy yelled, pulling out his black licorice whip. He flicked the cord and hit the napoleon right in the center of his cream filling. The cream, now whipped large and fluffy, expanded into an unwieldy mass. The napoleon fell to his side in the snow.
The sled raced onward, and the remaining monster cookies faded into the distance. Ahead of them loomed the town, protected by a wall of gingerbread. Getting closer, Samuel recognized one of the orphans, Nancy Sue, behind the gate, and waved to her. She waved back as the gate opened for them.
Four brown feet hit the ground dragging the sled to a halt.
The two-story orphanage stood before them with a large cookie door in front and four windows on top with yellow wafer shutters to either side.
“Come on.” Samuel nodded to Billy, and they got off the sled. But they’d only walked half a dozen paces when the door broke open.
Billy’s face fell like heavy cookie dough. “Cousin Phil?”
“Yes, it’s me!” Phil wore a dark chocolate hat, pulled low over his equally dark chocolate eyes. His black licorice mustache curled sinisterly on either side of his mouth. One arm was wrapped around Ginger. Granulated sugar sweated down her face, and her purple lower lip quivered as she eyed the silver-frosted revolver Phil aimed at her face.
“It took me forever to eat my way through the chocolate bars of that prison. But now I run this town!”
“I’m sorry.” Nancy Sue ran toward them. “He said if I warned you, Ginger would be—”
“Quit your yapping, grab some spice from those supplies, and make yourself useful in the kitchen,” Phil yelled.
“Do as he says.” Samuel pointed at a red bag on the sled.
Grabbing the bag, Nancy Sue headed into the orphanage.
“Now you, get those sticky fingers off my sweety!” Samuel barked.
“Ha, like you can make me do anything, vanilla wafer! The last thing you’d do is put your sweet treat at risk,” Phil replied.
Samuel stood silent, his green frosting eyes unwavering.
“Come on.” Phil chuckled. “What’re you going to do?”
Samuel said nothing. A couple grains of white sugar blew past his face.
“Well son, if you ain’t going to say anything—”
An orange candy pumpkin fell on Phil’s head, and he collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.
Nancy Sue smiled from the window above. Billy wiped his forehead in relief.
“Good job, Nancy Sue!” Samuel yelled. Ginger threw herself in his arms.
“At first, I thought you’d told me the wrong bag by mistake. But then I saw those big ole pumpkins and knew you had a plan!” Nancy Sue replied.
“Yes, Samuel certainly had a great recipe.” Ginger nodded to Nancy Sue. “But I’m sure glad you’re a smart cookie too!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Oh, the puns! The puns! :-)
bwahaha! absolutely delicious!
Loved this sweet and funny story!
This is Wilfred Brimley’s nightmare
A sweet story!
Loved all the puns in this! And made me hungry for gingerbread cookies, too!