Granny always made cookies. That was the one rule every time we went over to her house.

I always helped. I would whisk the batter, and stir in the chocolate chips. Then I would get to lick all the spoons.

When the cookies were baking in the oven, we would pull up a chair and stare directly into the oven. Watching the batter rise and then fall.

Then the timer would go off. I always grabbed the tray too fast. I always grabbed it without thinking and buned my fingers every time.

I never did learn.

When we both finished eating our share of cookies, I would look up at the highest shelf.

“Granny,” I asked her as I stared at the blue, porcelain jar. “Why don’t me put the cookies in the cookie jar?”

And everytime she would ignore my question and resch for the plastic container from the botton drawer.

Every time I went home, I would ask my mom about the cookie jar.

“I don’t know honey,” she would respond. “I think it’s just really expensive.”

And then I wouldn’t ask for the rest of the day.

When I got older, I just had more questions.

One day, when I was taller, Granny was outside in the garden and no one else was in the house.

I grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it over to the counter.

I stood on the chair and reached up for the cookie jar.

It was finally in my hands after years of gazing up.

I wobbled and gently pulled the lid off, as a cloud of dust came out.

Inside was a tiny vial.

On the label was a skull and crossbones.

Just then I heard a creak come from the living room. Someone was coming inside.

As quickly as I could, I placed the jar back on the shelf and returned the chair to its place.

Why did my Granny have poison in her house? Let alone in a cookie jar.

I tried so hard to forget about it. Everytime I came over I would look away and pretend it was not there.

I almost convinced myself that I had imagined it.

Almost.

A few years passed and my whole family gathered at my Granny’s house.

Of course me and my Granny made our cookies.

We had left the cookies by the window in the living room to cool.

Then I headed back to the kitchen to clean up.

On instinct, I looked up.

I had to do a double take.

The jar was always there. But now it was gone.

A fear rushed over my whole body. I had to do something now.

I started running over to the living room. I tried to get to the cookies first.

Thump.

I was too late.