The Swiping of Ms. Flannery’s Other Worldly Secret Ingredient

1

I don’t know what it was that caused me to wake without reason at three-sixteen in the morning on the morning of December twenty fifth. Sure enough, however, by three-seventeen I am standing at the foot of my bed wide awake. This is highly unusual as it is unheard of to find me out from beneath my sheets before noon. I stand at the foot of my full sized mattress in my tiny eight by eight foot bedroom, hands on my hips, listening. Listening for… for anything, really. Surely it had not been solely random that my eyes peeled opened at such a ripe hour and instinctively, I rose from the warmth of my heated blanket to stand at the foot of my bed without cause. After a minute of silence, I scoff at myself for such foolish behavior. I turn back towards the heat and comfort of my rectangular safe haven, when all of a sudden, I hear what awoke me in the first place; yes, it had to be the initial cause for this unusual situation. 

From outside my bedroom window, I hear a suspicious rustling. I look to my bedside digital clock sitting upon my nightstand, three-eighteen. I stand there pondering for a moment and then decide it’s much too late for myself to get involved in anything less than an alien invasion. I fluff my pillow and grab hold of the sheets and then… I hear an ever so faint crash; like a child dropping their rubix cube upon the hardwood floor as they sneak to the kitchen for a snack past bedtime, alerting their parents of the mini-heist. I groan quietly as I pull back from the bed and turn in the direction of my bedroom window. It really is much too late to concern myself in the affairs of another but I suppose there’s no harm in a quick peek. It was, after all, much too late for innocence down in the alley. 

I step to the window and pull back the shade just an inch so I may peer out over the alley that separates my apartment building from Ms. Flannery’s bakery. At first glance, I don’t notice anything out of the regular and relief takes place of the itsy-bitsy bit of anxiety that may have moved into my lower belly. With an exhale of relief, I release the shade but at the last second, my eye catches something odd. I peer back into the alley and anxiety takes its rightful place back in my lower belly. I notice the emergency exit on the bakery’s alley side exterior wall is just the slightest bit ajar; so slight that I think to myself, there’s no way I should have been able to notice. 

My anxiety escalates as I think the situation over; Ms. Flannery only uses that door for one purpose and that is to receive deliveries. The current problem, if it needs any evaluation at all, is that there is no food truck in sight and I waved goodbye to Ms. Flannery five and a half hours ago as she locked up to go home for the night. She or one of her part time bakers may have returned after realizing they forgot something but why so late and why use the alleyway door? I almost decided it’s not suspicious enough and to just get back in bed. Then I remember assuring Ms. Flannery I would keep an eye on her place of business while she’s not around. After all, she does always hook me up with amazing pastries that don't sell by the end of the day, and she makes the best pastries I’ve ever tasted in my life. I always ask her how she does it but I’m reminded each time of her very secret ingredient. 

My pondering of the situation is interrupted by a beam of light moving around inside the bakery; a flashlight, I presume, and that settles it. I reach for my jacket and keys and step out into the narrow hallway. As I make my way down the stairs toward the alleyway exit of the apartment building, I decide to send Ms. Flannery a text message, “I think one of your employees forgot something, alleyway exit ajar and someone moving around inside. Going to check it out.” I click my cell phone off and slide it into my jacket’s interior pocket as I reach the exit leading into the alleyway I was just watching from above.

2

I gently push in the crash bar mechanism of the old metal door, that hasn’t had a working alarm in the last 15 years, so that I don’t make much noise. I quietly push the door open just enough so that I may slip out into the night, and then let the door fall closed as I apply enough resistance to the handle so it shuts without a sound. I look toward the bakery exit and find it still slightly ajar but I no longer hear any rustling inside; maybe, I think to myself, they heard my footsteps coming down the stairs and bolted outta there. I cling to hope that this is the case so I may lock up for Ms. Flannery and return to the comfort of my worn out mattress. 

I relax my nerves convincing myself that the perpetrator is gone but the retreat of my anxiety is short lived. I hear a voice come from the other side of the ajar door; a deep but quiet voice sounding like that of a monster in your closet, “Come on, where is it? I know she keeps it around here, somewhere, I know it.” My eyes widen and my heart begins beating painfully in my chest. Someone really has broken into Ms. Flannery’s bakery and they’re looking for something. 

I reach into my jacket pocket and very slowly pull my phone back out, trying desperately not to make any noise. I type out a new message to Ms. Flannery, “Not an employee. Somebody looking for something. Break-In. Not a joke.” I press send and then I hear the voice from inside again, “Ah-Ha! Oh Flannery, you’re a sly fox without doubt but I've always known I’d find you.” I close my eyes and silently groan to myself; whoever’s in there has found what they’re looking for and it won’t be long before they come out of there. As I evaluate the situation and think of the best possible course of action, my cell phone pings loudly. I squinch my eyes tightly realizing  I forgot to put my cell phone on silent! 

I hear a gasp from inside and a loud sound of impact as if whoever’s inside stumbled against a big piece of cooking machinery in surprise. Silence follows as I look down at my phone and see the message from Ms. Flannery, “You’ve got to stop them. They’re after my very secret ingredient that’s immensely special to my bakery. Don’t let them leave!” The silence is interrupted by the voice from inside, “Who’s out there?” The voice is now harsh and threatening like a momma bear and her cubs backed into a corner by hunters. 

Restricted by shock and anxiety, I open my mouth to respond but I’m unable to find my voice. Another text from Ms. Flannery, “Whatever you do, you can’t let them leave. On my way.” The ping from the second text seemed to come from an air horn and echo through the alleyway and into the bakery. The voice inside grows desperate now and sounds slightly fearful, “I’m not someone who’s known for playing games, okay! You’ve got your hand dangerously close to a furnace, my friend, and if you’re wise you’ll pull that hand back.” Ms. Flannery’s text message plays back over and over again in my head, “can’t let them leave.” 

Finally, enough anxiety stands aside allowing me to find my voice, “Look, I don’t know what you came here for but it’s no concern of mine. I don’t care who you are but I can’t let you leave here with anything.” With those words, I prepare myself mentally and physically, fully expecting the monster from the closet to come running out those doors clawing and gnashing away at me. Instead, there’s another moment of silence, and then a sudden crashing sound erupts as if whoever’s inside just sent baking utensils soaring across the floor. 

Before I can piece together what’s playing out inside, one of the bakery windows on the far side of the alley swings open and a slim shadowy figure leaps outside. A tall outline of a man turns and stares through me with silver moon-like eyes that could pierce steel. All I am able to see of the man in the darkness are those two silver eyes with black slits down the middle, the brim of a fedora style hat, and a long overcoat that runs the length of his tall body. Hovering at his waist, but undoubtedly held in one of his unseen hands, is a brown sack that’s tied at the mouth by a skinny sliver of rope. The bag glows brightly and emits an intense purple aura. My brain is screaming at my legs to advance on the perpetrator but my instincts and anxiety force them to stay put. 

I do the only thing I can think to do, “H..H..Hey! W..Wa..Wait right there!” My eyes unconsciously continue drifting back to the glowing brown sack in his hand. What in the world could be in there making it glow that way, I think to myself. And that aura that surrounds the bag, that’s not normal, is it? A monstrous voice bellows through the alley from the shadowy figure, “You’ll be smart to go back upstairs, go to sleep, and pretend this was all a bad nightmare.” The dark outline turns from me, those moonlight eyes disappearing, and runs with intensity and speed I’ve never even seen on olympics television. He turns the corner at the end of the alley, where the front of the bakery and my apartment building face the street, and disappears like a twinkle in the night sky. 

3

My phone pings a third time and I bring it before my eyes again. Another message from Ms. Flannery, “Pulling up now.” I glance at the time on my cell phone screen, three-twenty-six. Amazing the things you can experience in only ten minutes. I see headlights run across the face of the alleyway from in front of the bakery and then a car door opens and slams shut. I hear Ms. Flannery’s frantic low voice, “Please still be inside, oh please please please.” Disappointment floods my conscience as I realize I must go tell the sweet bakery owner that I let the burglar get away with her special ingredient, whatever that may be. 

I make my way to the front of the shop as I hear keys jingle and then find their way into the locking mechanism with a click and a turn. “Alright you slimy crook, just go ahead and show yourself and I won’t make this too ugly,” Ms. Flannery’s voice echoes harshly throughout the bakery. I stop in my tracks and my eyes widen profusely at the sound of her threatening demeanor. Never in my life have I heard Ms. Flannery speak in any other tone than sweet and loving, different circumstances I suppose. I turn the shop corner and enter the bakery through the open front doors only to be taken back, yet again, by the small loving middle aged baker. In Ms. Flannery’s sturdy hands, exists a large colorful spaceship looking gadget that resembles a pistol shooter. 

She waves the end of the gadget from side to side searching for the intruder and continues to yell out threateningly, “I don’t know how you finally found me but I’m not letting you walk out of here with what’s mine!” She apparently doesn’t hear me walk in and turns on me defensively as I accidentally kick a rolling pin across the floor. She faces me now with the barrel of her gadget locked on me and I see rage in her face for the first time in my life. I raise my arms to show her my hands are free from any potential threats and cry out, “Ms. Flannery, please, it’s only me!” 

Her eyes squint and adjust on me in the darkness. “Oh my good lord, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes sincerely. “But… if you’re here then where’s the Griever?” 

“The… Griever?”

“I’m sorry, hun. The dark figure with the silver eyes. That’s what they’re called, Grievers. Where did it go?” 

I peer at her in the darkness bewildered. “I’m sorry, Ms. Flannery. I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about. The burglar ran out of here right before you pulled up. We were out in the alleyway and he took off at a speed I didn’t know was even possible.”

I see disappointment flood through her as the alien looking weapon she’s holding falls to her side. “Well then he’s probably made it back to the other side with my secret ingredient by now.” I interrupt her loathing in a concerned manner, “Ms. Flannery, what are you talking about? What other side?” She leans against one of her pastry display counters and gestures for me to take a seat on a nearby stool. “Have a seat, please. I need to explain some things to you.” I do as instructed and all prior thoughts or intentions of getting back to bed fade away. 

“That ‘man’ was no man at all. Not even a human, that is. That thing was a Griever, a dangerous being from an alternate dimension. One who came here the same way I got to where it lives and then eventually got back.” 

“You’ve completely lost me Ms. Flannery. I’m not in a weird dream am I? Would I know if I were?”

“You’re not in any dream, sugar, I promise. Just, try to stay with me, okay? Years and years ago, when I first opened this bakery, I found a way to travel to an alternate dimension in search of a secret ingredient that would revolutionize baked goods. I searched different dimensions for years until I finally found the one I was looking for, Oshanna. Oshanna is a universe that harbors a precious ingredient that I use in all my pastries. The secret ingredient that makes my pastries unlike any other bakeries in this universe.” 

Regret begins to set in my lower belly mixing with its original destructive tenant and intensifying my anxiety twenty times. I can’t really be hearing what I’m hearing can I? 

“Hey,” Ms. Flannery snaps at me. “Are you still with me?” I nod my head and she continues on with her story. 

“I found the ingredient I had been searching for in this universe. I found it in great bulk as matter of fact, literally growing in large fields. The only problem was Oshannans are an extremely greedy bunch; taking immense pride in what’s theirs and not willing to share with anyone else. So I stole what I needed and I returned home through a time warp.” 

“A time warp?” 

“Yes, a rip in the time continuum; allowing you to hop between dimensions and time periods. Anyway, I made it back and swore to never return because I knew they would kill me if they ever saw me again. I never imagined they’d make it here and find me, though.” 

I look back to the weapon at her side and ask, “That gadget you have, what is it?”

“It’s a weapon I took from their dimension in case they ever did find me. It’s the only thing that can kill a Griever.” 

“Well we don’t have to worry about that, I imagine he’s long gone, like you said.

“I agree, and that’s the problem.”

“The problem? I’m glad that thing is long gone.”

“Yes, a big problem. It got away with my special ingredient. You and I know my bakery won’t hold up much longer without it.” 

“I don’t believe that’s true, you’re an amazing baker. Surely you don’t need whatever that stuff is to keep selling your pastries.”

“You’ve never had anything I’ve made that hasn’t had that ingredient. And I’d bet you’ve never had any pastries in your life better than mine, am I right?”

I nod my head in agreement. 

“You’re right.”

“Listen, I know it’s late and I just hit you with a lot of information. However, I need that ingredient and I won’t make it there and back, alone. I know it’s a lot to ask but…”

“I’m in.”

“Really? Just like that, huh?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut since I was a kid, go see space and all that. How different can this be?”

“Oh honey… you have no idea.” 

“Alright, let's do it then.”

Ms. Flannery gives me a great big smile and takes my hand in hers. She gives me a big hug before leading me out the doors and into her sedan parked out front. 

“Wait a second, where exactly are we going from here,” I ask. She smiles mischievously and answers, “We’re going to where that Griever crossed over.”