A Recipe for Confusion

The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the house, a warm, inviting aroma that felt like a hug on a cold day. Mary set her keys down, smiling. She hadn’t baked, nor had her husband, Jake. Their eight-year-old son, Ethan, was still too young to handle the oven. The mystery added a playful curiosity to the air.

“Ethan?” Mary called, glancing into the kitchen. Jake joined her, looking equally puzzled.

They followed the trail of scents, buttery and sweet, to the small den at the back of the house. The shriek erupted before Mary could even process the scene fully. Her hands flew to her mouth as Jake pulled Ethan behind him protectively.

There, seated at the small table they reserved for card games, was an elderly woman with silver hair neatly pinned back. Her bony fingers gripped a spatula, and a tray of cookies steamed in front of her. Her face was familiar in a way that sent a chill down Mary’s spine—she looked like Mary’s grandmother, who had passed away ten years ago.

“What... how?” Mary stammered, her voice trembling.

The woman raised her head slowly, her pale eyes locking onto Mary’s. “I couldn’t miss Ethan’s birthday,” she said softly, her voice wavering but clear. “Family is everything.”

The room grew unbearably quiet as Ethan whispered, “But my birthday isn’t for two months.”

The woman blinked, confusion clouding her expression. She glanced at the tray, her hands shaking. “Oh,” she murmured, her voice suddenly faint. “I... must have gotten it wrong.”

Before anyone could say more, she vanished. The cookies remained, still warm, but the woman was gone.

Mary stared at the tray, her heart pounding. Jake leaned in, inspecting them. “They’re just... cookies,” he said, unsure.

Mary wasn’t convinced.