Short Stories Archive

baking with grandma

Wasting no time, I marched to Grandma's cabin, my cheeks practically numb from the wind whipping so forcefully overhead. The freezing cold had taken its toll on me despite my seething rage, yet my soggy boots and I trudged on, sinking further deep with each step into the snow. Finally, I saw my beloved grandmother's front lawn come into view— although, between the flashing strings of lights littering her roof, the ornaments rattling through the trees, and the muffled screams of those poor gingerbread men from inside the house, there's no way I could've really missed it.

"Oh, goodness! You're home late, aren't you?" Grandma watched me burst through the door and merely scoffed, dismissing me in favor of another bite into her prize-winning recipe. "In any case, you have to try these. No offense, but I think these gingerbread cookies I made are our best yet."

"Grandma," I cried, sinking to the floor, "I don't know why I even thought you cared for me."

Just then, she rose from her seat and turned to me without even the decency to wipe the bloody sprinkles from her mouth. "So, you've finally learned."

"How could you keep something like this from me? I trusted you!"

"And yet, I could say that you've also done your fair share of lying, no?" She slowly hobbled closer towards me, a cunning smile creeping onto her face. "I know you, my child, wouldn't be so foolish as to go back on your word."

"Grandma, please." I knew the truth now, and nothing would stop me from fighting back. "You need to stop. They're people."

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Her eyes wandered back to another batch of cookies that waited anxiously in the oven. "I thought this was our favorite Christmas tradition."

"No," I pleaded, "it's not." The fireplace roared on beside me, but the storm from her open window still sent a violent shiver down my spine. "I don't want to bake cookies anymore. Not like this."