Sticky Fingers

The lights were out for ten minutes before David made his move. There could be no mistakes. He had played this out in his head until he could do it blindfolded. He rehearsed when no one was looking until he knew every creaky bit of the floor, where to hug the walls and the blindspots to pause in and wait for any signs of danger. He had been denied far too long, and tonight was the night that he got what he wanted.

As he tiptoed past the last room in the hall, light spilled out under the door, a shadow sweeping across it. David froze. It was all for nothing. He held his breath until he was about to burst, and the light turned off. He felt a pang of guilt, but he came too far to give up.

He crept into the room that held the treasure, calming the electric excitement in his belly. With steady hands, he slowly opened the door. There they were, his for the taking. He would leave enough that they would never know.

Sudden blinding light made his head sank in defeat.

“David,” his mother said, “you put those cookies back right now.”