Mystery Cookie

A short atmospheric horror, based off of a writing prompt. It's not a refined story, since it's a prompt, but it's still a pretty fun little tale I think.

Writing Prompt �" Mystery Cookie

 

            Few things were ever out of place on Brian O’Conney’s desk.  Pens and pencils were gathered and contained in a ceramic mug. Papers stacked neatly and organized in appropriately tagged file folders. Knick-knacks were strictly forbidden. But today… today there was a cookie.

            Enticingly displayed in clear wrapping paper, bundled and tied with a pink ribbon. It looked to be chocolate chip, but there was no way to be certain without opening the wrapper. Brian sat for a moment, adjusting his glasses. The clock behind him ticked away, oblivious to the disturbance to Brian’s environment.

            There was only one thing to be done. With careful deliberation, Brian lifted the mysterious cookie and deposited it into the bin. Problem solved.

            With that out of the way, he proceeded with his normal office routine. Boot up the computer, categorize and respond to the most important emails, create a comprehensive task list. He became absorbed in his routine, and before long his stomach growled to alert him of lunch time.

            Lunch was very much an exercise in routine as well. Every day he brought in a bag lunch and ate it in the always slightly too cool employee lounge. Normally he had the place to himself, but he was on occasion joined by the odd coworker. He was not adverse to conversation, and would normally partake of the typical office banter or exchange a few thoughts on the weather.

            Today, he was alone with his tuna salad sandwich and celery sticks. He spied something odd about his usual table as he took a seat. The cookie was back. Taken from his bin? Or perhaps it was another cookie altogether. He eyed it suspiciously, as if it were about to explode. Then, a few bites into his tuna sandwich, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He binned the offending cookie, for the second time today.

            The rest of the day went by without incident, and remained cookie free. He finished up his work right on time and took the 5:30pm bus home.

            Tomorrow arrived exactly when he expected it to. He felt invigorated by the new day, but not more so than was usual. The 7:00am bus brought him to work, and his legs carried him the rest of the way to his office.

            A brownie awaited him. Wrapped in much the same way, and arguably in the exact same spot. On impulse, he glanced into the bin. Empty. He deposited the brownie without a second thought and got to work.

            The brownie followed him to lunch.

A coworker, Nancy something-or-other walked in just as he was disposing of it. She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing as she warmed up her coffee. He watched her a bit, but she seemed above suspicion, acting in exact accordance with her previous behavioral patterns.

            The following day, he found himself approaching his desk more slowly than usual, perhaps in anticipation of discovering another offending bakery item. He needn’t have worried about baked goods that day, however, as it was a snow globe that awaited him.

            Specks of white swirled around a minute representation of a New York skyline. He didn’t live in New York, nor did he know anyone personally that did. If it seemed a shame to throw such an item out, Brian didn’t feel the same way. Into the bin it went. He ate his lunch in the office.

            The “gifts” continued. A small brown teddy bear, a pocket watch, a packet of matches, three different bouquets of flowers, more baked goods, an iced coffee, a yellow ceramic bowl, a handful of blank post cards from Spain, stationary, a miniature flashlight, knitted mittens, ten packets of sugar, several pens, a “get well” card, five quarters, a green sweater just his size, and most recently, a packet of double mint gum. Save for the pens, stationary, and green sweater (his own green sweater had a hole in it), all of these items were binned.

            No one in the office was the wiser. Coming in earlier did not help, the item was always there when he arrived. After the first week, Brian had even set up a hidden camera. The feed had blanked out between 5:25 and 5:30am, and a bouquet of flowers had appeared.

            Nerves frazzled, Brian considered quitting his job. He mentioned as much to his boss, who was aghast. Mr. Fitzgerald, as he was known, promised to get to the bottom of the mystery, in order to keep what he considered his greatest asset. As far as Brian was concerned, his boss’ efforts were ineffectual.

            Monday morning. Brian stared at the ceiling, listening to the incessant beeping of his alarm. Finally, old habits proved greater than his apprehension, and he rolled from the covers and switched it off. He caught his usual bus, hair only slightly in disarray.

            Brian stood in the stairwell. A few people excused their way around him, glancing over their shoulder at him but not remarking on his odd behavior. By now, most everyone in the office knew of his predicament. A few even told each other that it was Brian himself leaving these items on his desk, in a bizarre sort of self-sabotage. They were the foolish minority, however, and knew nothing about Brian.

            “Ahem…”

            Brian turned and spied Mr. Fitzgerald peering up at him from several steps down.

            “It’s 8:13 you know…”

            The only sign that this information bothered Brian in the slightest were a few rapid blinks.           

            “You can’t let this.. this… whatever it is, bother you so.” Mr. Fitzgerald shifted his considerable weight and wiped a hand across his damp forehead. “You’ve got deadlines to meet.” He tried.

            Somehow, although he had not expected to, he’d broken through. Stoically, Brian nodded and proceeded with lead feet to his desk.

            At first, he thought it might be more stationary, and he allowed himself to feel a little grateful. He could always use stationary. However, as he took his seat he realized that the paper had a thin scrawl of writing across it.

            “Dear Brian O’Conney.”

            Perspiration beaded above his brow. He considered crying out. Perhaps Mr. Fitzgerald was still near enough to hear him. But no, what could the man do? He then thought about binning the letter. However, a dreadful thought occurred to him, causing his heart to flutter and his throat to dry. What if another letter appeared at his desk tomorrow, and the next day, and the next?

No. He had to deal with this once and for all. He must open the letter.

            With shaking hands, he did just that. After he’d finished, Brian O’Conney left the office without so much as packing away any of his effects. He said goodbye to no one, even the confused group of coworkers he passed near the entrance. Mr. Fitzgerald attempted to call him several times that week, to no avail. When, in desperation, he visited Brian’s apartment, he found a moving company and a confused young couple who knew nothing of Brian O’Conney.

            Only two people know what the note contained, and the last person to read it had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a scorch mark and some ashes on his desk.

Author's Note

If you bother to review this, thank you. Please keep in mind that it is a rough draft, and not something I'm likely to do anything with, however. (It's just a prompt.)