Milk & Cookies

***NOT RELATED TO PROMPT***

CW: Contains death, abuse, & mentions of kidnapping.

Inspired by the song Milk & Cookies by Melanie Martinez.

–*–

The sweet smell of hot chocolate and soft memories floats towards me, and I sigh, breathing them in. I can faintly hear the barking of a dog, as mom calls me in for dinner. There is laughter coming from the woods, and I step towards it. Towards safety.

Sunny rays flicker on the leaves as I crunch through the forest, not caring if I’m loud. I love this, this joy of living. Finally, I’m free.

I keep walking, and I eventually jump at the growl that floats out from behind me. I turn around, slowly, and see a black and white dog. It’s huge, and its eyes are sunken and hollow.

I let out a strangled scream, backing away and pressing against the huge oak directly behind me.

The dog creeps closer, and I whirl around, running as fast as my little legs will carry me. The dog emits calm and comfort, memories and warmth, but it’s growling and barking, snapping at my heels. I scream again and run faster.

I come to a fork in the road, and skid to a stop. So does the dog, and baring its teeth, it comes closer again. Slowly. Step by step.

I realize with horror that its eyes are no longer swallowed by blackness. It’s got blue eyes, crystal and judgemental.

It’s Lauren.

I yell again, and look at my surroundings. The dog is still growling, and I’m faced by two paths: one shrouded in darkness, one in flickering light.

I think for a moment. The dog—Lauren—wouldn’t follow me down the black path. She would lose me eventually.

So I keep running, but this time Lauren keeps chasing me, and the path darkens. I stumble, I can’t see anything, I’m getting closer and closer to a murmuring voice…

“You’ve reached the end, you are the winner.”

The words repeat, over and over, and then a black gate looms in front of me. The man smirks from behind it, motioning for me to come.

“Come, little Emma, little weak Crybaby,” he sings, kneeling down and putting out his arms. I scream. My throat is sore, and tears are streaming down my face.

I look down into my hand, and see a vial of something and a tiny glass of milk. I unscrewed the cap of the vial, head whirling from left to right, from the man to Lauren-dog. They are my three worst fears, even though I would never admit it to anyone.

I pour the vial into the cup, and the milk turns a ghastly shade of red-nearly the color of blood. Surprisingly, I feel myself giggle as I hand the cup to the man.

He drinks it in one gulp, gives me a wicked grin, and then falls to his knees. All the taunting disappears from his face as he gasps for breath. I break into real laughter when Lauren slinks back into the darkness and the man—now dead—falls into the dirt, and I walk through the black gate, feeling as alive as ever.

–*–

–*–

Creaking is what greets me when I wake up, shivering, covered in what I think might be blood. I finally come to my senses and realize that it is just sweat.

I can hear the man’s humming, but he’s a while away. I subconsciously grab my school backpack and the vial that has appeared next to me. I remember the milk and cookies I brought to school for lunch two weeks ago, and I realize that they’re expired.

Even better, I think.

I unscrew the vial and slowly pour it into the milk.

Creak. Step. Creak. Step.

“One, two, Melatonin’s coming for you,” I sang softly as the last drops poured into the sour milk.

I screw the cap back on quickly and take out my lunchbox, opening it as softly and quietly as I can. The cookies are still inside, and a new thing, too. Another two vials.

“Three, four, baby, won’t you lock the door,” I kept singing.

“Shut up, Emma!” he shouted. He could obviously hear me.

Closer. Closer.

Creak. Step. Creak. Step.

I shake the vial labeled Melatonin’s Bitter Sugar onto the cookies, and it dissolves into some kind of powder, almost immediately.

“Five, six, I’m done with this!” I shout.

Creak. Step. Creak. Step.

The locked door jingles and I take out the last vial.

“Seven, eight, it’s getting late, so close your eyes, sleep for days,” I belt out prettily.

“Open the door, Crybaby!” the man yells again. Just like Lauren used to. 

A surge of anger overcomes me. Maybe I’ll save a cookie for her, too.

I take out the last vial-the one with a skull and crossbones, and splash it all over the cookies before putting them on a platter and on the tiny table next to me.

I walk over to the door, unlock it, and the man barges out. His hands close around my throat and squeeze, tight. I thrash, trying to get out of his grip.

“You are not allowed to sing,” he growls, holding on even tighter, choking me.

“I know,” I manage to gasp out.

“You obey here. This. Is. My. House.”

“I know!”

“Say it like you mean it,” he says, holding tighter. Now I can’t breathe at all, not even gasp. I don’t want to use my last breath, but if I don’t, I will die now.

“I…promise…I won’t…ever sing…again…” I choke out.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I yell. The edges of my vision are starting to go black.

“I have a feeling you will die much sooner than I anticipated here, little Crybaby,” the man sighs, letting go of me. 

I crumple to the floor, gasping for air, red marks left on my neck, scars from his long fingernails digging into my throat. I’m bleeding in multiple places, but it isn’t bad.

“Hush, little baby, drink your spoiled milk,” I whisper, so soft he can’t hear me.

I finally, shakily, manage to stand up and stumble to the counter. “I made these cookies for us.”

“Oh, how sweet of you,” the man chuckles, picking one up and some milk. 

I do the same. “I hope they are the most delicious thing you have ever eaten, because after these, you will not be able to eat anything else.”

“I don’t doubt your skills, Emma.”

I grin as the man eats his cookie and gulps down my milk. 

“Do you like my cookies? They’re made just for you,” I sing.

Anger flushes the man’s features, and he opens his mouth to yell at me again, but then he turns pale and his eyes go wide.

The man crumples to the floor, choking, trying to spit out the cookies, but then thrashes and spasms.

I kneel down next to him and sing at the top of my lungs, “A little bit of sugar, but lots of poison, too.”

His eyes are glassed over, and I watch with glee as they roll back into his head and his heart stops.

“Never mess with Melatonin,” I whisper fiercely, before getting up and skipping happily towards the door.