BECKIE AND THE COOKIE TROLL

January 24, 1994
Story by dc HILL  Illustrations by Patty Peters

The story I’m about to tell you is true. It’s a magical story that has a secret. Every reader must promise to keep it. You can tell it to someone only if they will treasure your inner most thoughts.

Do you promise?

If you do, read on. But let me warn you. If you break your promise, the secret will be lost forever. Then you may never find the adventure and wonderful friend Beckie and I have come to know.

I.

Beckie’s a pretty girl, about eight years old. It wasn’t too long ago that I remember her standing at her doorway with her feet apart and hands poised on hips. There was a fixed, quizzical stare upon her face. Now, I’m Beckie’s favorite uncle and confidant (I elected myself to that role). So I inquired,

“What’s up Beckie? You seem confused.”

Her questioning face turned into a frown. Then she blurted out,

“I can’t understand it. Mom and I made a big batch of oatmeal cookies yesterday. I counted them when they went into the cookie jar. There were twenty-six of them. Since then, I’ve been keeping my eye on that jar and counting. I’ve only had four now, the best batch of cookies we’ve ever made is almost gone. There should be six left. I just looked in the cookie jar; it only holds three. I can’t understand it.”

“Well, I account for two I snuck when I came in this morning. Oatmeal cookies are my favorite, especially with the nuts and raisins you put in.”

“I’ve already counted yours. I heard you ring the cookie jar just after you came in. You’ll have to be more careful next time. Mom almost caught you.”

Her furrowed frown turned more contemplative.

“I remember other times when cookies have been missing from that jar. It seems every time Mom makes a batch, they don’t last long enough. Whoever is taking them is real smart. I’ve been watching real careful for over a month and I haven’t caught ‘em yet.”

This mystery began nibbling at my mind. Finally I ventured,

“Let’s think about this awhile. We can polish off the last of the cookies with a glass of milk, I need a little food for thought.”

As I poured the milk into two glasses, Beckie turned from the pantry, cookie jar in hand.

“Would you believe? Now there are only two cookies left. No one has been in the kitchen sinc you came in? You didn’t take more than two did you?”

I gave my most angelic pose and crossed my heart,

“Hope to die if I lie.”

II.

We each savored a lone cookie with an oversupply of milk and began to think out the mystery. Then a hazy, long-ago incident came from back to me. A time when I visitedmy Grandma Hill for a week, I must have been about Beckie’s age.

My Grandma made the best toll house cookies in the world. I recall remarking that they too disappeared from the cookie jar faster than they should. So, Grandma took time away frm the stove. She looked me straight in the eye, sizing me up – see if I could be trusted to hold a secret. Then, she made me take a scared oath never to reveal what she was going to tell me unless they were trul trustworthy.

Now, I sized up Beckie that same way my Grandma measured me. And I knew that she was ready. She swore the solemn oath (as near as I could remember it), then we settled in the over-stuffed sofa in front of the fireplace. I began Grandma’s secret.

To solve any mystery, you have to look beyond what you think is real for truth. Sometimes, what the eyes see or what the brain reasons can deceive you. Then, only a sketchy picture appears. It’s much better if you open up your heart to all of the possibilities. Put imagination and intuition to work. If you do, the whole spectacle in all its perspectives can be seen and appreciated.

Grandma (Beckie’s Great-Great-Grandma) knew that magic surrounds us every day. She saw and knew that the morning’s sparkling dew are really diamonds gathered up by fairies. And the lights reflecting off the sea are really mermaids’ pearls. Such treasures can only be held by the invisible ones.

Grandma told me that fairies come in all sizes and shapes. They are like children, usually good but very mischievous. They never grow old. Grandma thought that the cutest and most loveable fairies were trolls.

Well now, there are big and small trolls. The smaller ones are unsually shy. They can make themselves invisible whenever they want to. That’s why they have remained a mystery to most of us. Trolls like to live underground or inside things. They have enchanted tools and can make secret doors and rooms in the most unlikely places.

Some trolls make secret homes with people. With their tools, they can fashion doors with invisible seams. Doors that only they can see and open. They too look for rewards for guarding places near where they live.

Long ago, when the cookies were first made, some sweet toothed trolls decided to make their homes near cookie jars. They made trap doors in the bottom of the jars and secret passageways to their inner homes. When a fresh supply of cookies were stored by the people, the troll felt obliged to protect the cookie jar and its contents from all other sweet toothed creatures. He always carried his knapsack with tools and his enchanted knife that would chase the biggest of monsters away. He need only raise his trap door and chase them away from the cookie jar. For such a service, the troll would collect his reward, an occasional cookie from the jar that he protected.

Over the centuries, Cookie Trolls have perfected protection scheme and rewards collection cunning. They would try to take cookies that wouldn’t be missed by their unsuspecting family hosts. They value their privacy and wouldn’t take unnecessary chances on being discovered. But sometimes, Cookie Trolls make mistakes.

Occasionally, smarter humans would notice something amiss. That’s when shy, sly Cookie Trolls have to be extra careful.Whenthe occasion suited them, hey could, likebears, hibernate or sleep for long times. That’s what they do when they are afraid of being discovered. They sleep away until the suspicious person is n longer around. Then sometimes, a Cookie Troll will become so nervous of being discovered, he might just pack up his belongings and leave. Sneak off and seek another less suspecting home with a big cookie jar and a good supply of cookies.

Usually though, a Cookie Troll will calm down and go back to snatching his cookie rewards.

                                    From a comfortable inner home, he’d steal

                                    Through secret paddage, a trap door feel.

                                    Listen hard, open quick, hear some more.

                                    Snatch a cookie, secure the door.

                                    Shuffle down to his retreat

                                    And savor his tasty stolen treat.

That is the good and simple life of a Cookie Troll.

Grandma first became aware of a troll in her cookie jar while she was raising seven children. At first, she thought Grandpa was sneaking cookies late at night., something he denied with convincing innocence. Later, it was obvious that unseen powers were involved.

Grandma’s home-made cookies must have provided great temptation. There were always three or four missing soon after a fresh batch went into the cookie jar storage. Her toll house recipe was the most popular with family and troll alike.

Her children grew and went forth to explore the world. Baking, cookie jar filling and troll looting diminished for a while. Grndma thought her Cookie Troll had moved away. Then, grandchildren, such as I began coming by. Fresh baking aroma began to linger in her kitchen. Opening Grandma’s cookie jar was an experience. Sweet fragrances would stay throughout the day. That was when I noticed, how quickly Grandma’s cookie jar would be empty before its time.

            “It pleasures me to know I have a content, happy Cookie Troll in the house,” exclaimed Grandma. “He’s been a friend and leaves me signs of his presence. Such a mischieveous invisible friend, and lately, he’s left his smile behind. He’s no trouble, someone I can count on and I haven’t seen a mouse in the house since we moved in.”

I remember Spot, the calico cat, raising her head at that remark. She looked at Grandma and licked a fresh formed frown from her face. She settled back to napping in the box next to the wood stove.

In the end, Grandma cautioned me not to get too curious. Don’t open the cookie jar too often. Cookie Trolls are sensitive. They’d pack up and leave on the littlest impulse. Grandma knew she had a good one, accustomed to the home, content. He wouldn’t leave without good cause. I impressed on Beckie that she should do the same. I said Grandma’s rhyme that she taught me.

                                    Good Cookie Trolls share; they earn their keep.

                                    Give them peace, full jars, sweet rewards.

                                    Bad ones leave only crumbs to sweep.

                                    Be fine friends and considerate landlords.

Beckie and I finished our secret discussions. She informed me that she would ask her mother’s permission to refill the cookie jar. It was time for me to go. I turned to look for the rest of the family to say my goodbyes. Her father was standing on the stairs – with a smile, twinkling eyes and I thought a bit of cookie crumb at the corner of his mouth.

When I left that day, Beckie was busy in the kitchen, singing and rolling out a batch of sugar cookies on the breadboard. The cookie jar would once again be filled with freshness that every child and troll should know.