Unfortunate Cookie

"The usual lunch special, Charles?"

"Yeah, Dameon, but no Crab Rangoon this time. I'm trying not to eat so many carbs?"

"Whatever you say," Dameon said before hanging up.

To say that Charles ate a lot of Chinese food probably wouldn't put his problem into perspective.

Charles had been lucky when the pandemic hit. He was a work-from-home computer tech who rarely left his house anyway, so working on projects from his apartment was pretty par for the course. He had been getting lunch at Dameons for the better part of eight years, and they had the best Chinese food within walking distance of his bungalow. Though Covid had put an end to him dining in, it hadn't stopped Charles from getting his fix. Quite the contrary, it had only made it worse.

Charles ordered from Dameons three times a day.

Breakfast was egg drop soup and early morning rice at ten. Lunch was General Tso chicken around two. Dinner was beef and broccoli with house soup and salad at ten and was also the last delivery Dameons made for the day. Charles honestly couldn't remember the last time he had cooked a meal for himself, and it just seemed easier to buy takeout. His programming job paid him way more than he needed, especially after a lot of his coworkers had quit, and Charles was enjoying his shut-in lifestyle.

When he heard the knock on his door, Charles rolled away from the keyboard and went to get his lunch.

It was the short dark haired guy this time, the one who looked a little like a nerdy Bruce Wayne. He didn't speak a lot of English, and Charles told him thanks as he took his food inside. Dameons only had three delivery guys, and nerdy Bruce Wayne was the one who delivered most often. Charles had been hoping it would be Roger, the brown-haired Chad who liked to talk Warhammer, but it appeared he'd have to wait till dinner time to see how he'd placed in last week's tournament.

As a shut-in, Charles often had to live vicariously through those who still braved the outside world.

As Charles looked through the bag, ensuring everything was there, he smiled as he saw his favorite part of the meal towards the bottom.

It was silly, but Charles found that he really looked forward to those butter-yellow little cookies with the fortunes inside. He knew they were far from authentic cuisine, but he had liked the cookies since he was a kid. Charles had about a hundred of the fortunes pinned up on his cork board, and sometimes he liked to read them and think about their meanings on the day he'd gotten them. Had he found someone new when he'd got that fortune? Had he found untold fortune on that particular day?

Looking at them so often was probably why he had noticed the phone number.

Want more cookies? Call 1-800-555-2665.

He had never really thought about it before. It was probably the number for the restaurant to resupply their fortune cookies. The fact that it appeared on the fortunes, something inside the cookie, was strange. How would the restaurant get the number if they handed out the cookies? It didn't really make sense for the people eating the cookies to need more cookies, and as Charles sat the food on his desk, he opened the cookie and fished out the fortune as he munched the buttery cookie shell.

Today you will make a hasty decision that will change your life.

Damn, Charles thought, that one was different. It seemed benign on the surface. Everyone made decisions that changed their lives, didn't they? The message wasn't the weird part, though. It was the sinister undertones that Charles couldn't quite shake. Not just any decision, but a hasty one. He ate the other half of the cookie before adding this one to his cork board, looking at the phone number that sat under the Lucky Numbers.

Want more cookies? Call 1-800-555-2665.

Charles smiled, turning to his desk as he opened the rest of the food and began to eat.

Who wouldn't want more cookies?

Charles worked well into the night; by eleven, he had fixed the problem in the code his boss had sent him. One of the other coders had been a little sloppy in his parameters, and the results had caused the program to crash as often as it returned anything usable. Charles had fixed it, emailing his boss around ten, and had started bumming around on Reddit as he thought about what to do with the rest of the evening. He wasn't ready to turn in yet, but he wasn't really interested in any of the games he had in his Steam library. He was just kind of wasting time as he scrolled through Reddit when he came to a weird post about strange phone numbers. The poster was talking about how he had called a number he'd found and how the guitar instructor had turned out to be a real creep. They claimed they had later seen the man on America's Most Wanted, but Charles thought the last bit sounded like bullshit. The comments mostly agreed, but some of them had talked about other weird numbers they had called. Massage parlors that turned out to be brothels, Contractors who later robbed the houses they had renovated, weird numbers stations that called back after they hung up, and everything in between.

The more he read, the more Charles thought about the number on the fortune cookie.

It couldn't hurt to call it.

Maybe it would even give him a cool story to tell to strangers on the internet.

He walked over to the board, cell phone clutched in his hand, as he read that old familiar legend again.

Want more cookies? Call 1-800-555-2665.

Charles dialed the number in that stilted way people do when they dial a new number. He had to go back and try it again after putting the number in wrong the first time, and when it started ringing, Charles assumed that a machine would get it. They would probably just bury him in a phone tree, and he would never actually talk to a real person. Either that, or the number would ring twice and then tell him that it had been disconnected. They had probably had these cookies for a while, and the number would have changed or been liquidated altogether.

The third ring had barely started when a bored-sounding woman picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

Charles blinked, and the woman had said hello once more before he finally shook it off and answered her.

"Yeah, I was calling about the cookies."

"Wonderful. We'll send them right out."

"Don't you need my address or my…."

"No, sir. It's all been taken care of. Thank you for your call."

Then she hung up, and Charles was left staring into space.

Well, that had been weird, he thought. He figured it might be time to get ready for bed. The phone call had weirded him out, and he had another long day tomorrow. As he snuggled down under the covers, he couldn't help but glance over at all the fortunes on his corkboard. He wondered how long it would take him to send the cookies to his house? Would they send them all at once, or would this be a situation where they sent him a few at a time? He fell asleep dreaming of the butty taste of fortune cookies, and when he woke up, he decided that he must still be dreaming.

His hands wrapped around the plastic film of a single fortune cookie, and as he opened it, he could smell the flaky aromas of the pastry inside.

When he broke it open and felt the crumbs fall onto his chest, he opened his eyes and realized that it was no dream.

A fortune cookie was tucked under his pillow as if the tooth fairy had left him a buttery treat instead of a quarter.

Charles looked at the fortune as he ate the cookie and was surprised to find not a fortune but a thank you note.

Thank you for your business.

That's when he remembered the phone call from the night before. It was weird, but he couldn't see how the two could be connected. He must have imagined eating the cookie from last night's meal. Charles had no idea how it had gotten in his bed, but it was a nice surprise, nonetheless.

He put in a call to Dameons, and when he sat down on the couch, the phone ringing as someone, no doubt, ran to grab it, he heard the crinkle of cellophane from under the couch cushion.

Reaching under the cushion, Charles found another wrapped cookie, this one slightly broken from being sat on.

"Hello? Charles? You ordering?"

Dameon's voice brought Charles back to reality, and he munched the cookie as he placed his morning order.

He was soon eating his breakfast, the cookies out of his mind, but he would think back on that day and decide that this had been the first appearance of the strange cookies.

The next day, Charles found twelve individually wrapped cookies. They were all scattered around the living room. They were tossed haphazardly around, some under the couch and some as far as the kitchenette. Charles couldn't exactly put them off as something he'd forgotten or misplaced. How had they gotten spread across the living room?

Then his eyes fell on the small takeout bag in the trash, and felt he knew the answer.

Roger had delivered his food this morning, and he remembered telling him about calling the number to get more cookies. Roger had said it sounded a little spooky and told him to let him know when the cookies arrived. Charles had gone to get his wallet so he could pay him, leaving Roger at the door. That must have been when he tossed the cookies into his house, probably thinking he was being funny.

Charles nodded as he collected up the cookies, the explanation reassuring him until he remembered that it was almost time to order his dinner.

Roger had delivered his food around eleven, so how did Charles not notice the cookies for eight hours?

He put it out of his mind as he picked up the phone so he could order his dinner.

The next day, Charles found twenty of the cookies scattered across his house.

Not all at once, of course. Charles had sat down to eat his breakfast when he found the first dusting across the couch. Then he stumbled across line of nine or ten cookies stretched over the couch and to the far side of the kitchenette. They looked tossed haphazardly, and he gritted his teeth as he imagined Roger smirking as he covertly threw a handful of cookies into his apartment. He picked up one of the cookies, preparing to call Damiens and tell Roger how he'd gotten him good when he remembered that Roger hadn't delivered his meal this morning. Roger wouldn't be there till noon today, and the other guy hadn't even known he had called the number.

But, if it wasn't Roger, then who else could it be?

He tried to put it out of his mind, but when he found four in the bathroom sink and three more in his bedroom, it was harder to overlook. He found more in the bathtub, but by then, any thought that this might be a joke was over. None of the delivery guys could have gotten this far into his apartment. He was more confused than scared, but Charles really wanted some answers.

When he called to place his lunch order, he was surprised to find Dameon answering the phone again.

Surprised but not unhappy.

"The usual?" Dameon asked, and Charles could already hear his pencil scratching.

"Yeah, but I had a question too?"

"We don't offer discounts for frequent customers." Dameon joked, but he must have heard something he didn't like in Charles' voice.

"No, I was wondering about where you get the fortune cookies from."

"My uncle orders them; why do you ask?"

"Well, I've recently started finding them around the house. It was just a few yesterday, but they were all over the house today. I've found twenty of them so far, and the fact that no one has been in my house since right after Covid started is a little," but Dameon cut him off.

The usual good-natured ribbing was gone, and Charles believed this was the most serious he had ever heard Dameon.

"You called the number on the cookie, didn't you?"

Charles's mouth went dry as he heard Dameon get to the point.

"Yeah, but I haven't gotten any cookies delivered. They just keep appearing in the house. I don't understand how this is happening, but I want to know how they're getting in."

He was silent for a few seconds, and Charles thought he had hung up.

When he spoke, Charles suddenly wished that he had.

"You can't stop it. There's no taking it back once the deal is made."

He hung up on Charles then, and they refused to take his calls.

Charles was on his own, it seemed.

On the third day, Charles found his couch covered in cookies, and he estimated there were fifty cookies in all.

That was when Charles called the police.

The police came out and checked the house, but they couldn't find any sign of entry. Charles showed them the cookies, telling them how they had just appeared in the middle of the night, but he could tell they didn't believe him. They thought he was playing a joke, one at their expense, and they clearly didn't appreciate it. They told him they would look into it and to call back if it kept happening, but Charles figured they would be another group that would ignore his phone calls from now on. He tried to call Dameon again, but no one picked up.

He locked all the doors before bed, ensured every window was secured and checked every point of entry. He had told himself the night before that if it kept on, he would get the landlord to change the locks, too. How else could they be getting in? This had to be a trick. Someone with too much time who wanted to play a trick on someone.

Whether they were a prankster or not, Charles wanted this to stop.

Charles lay on the couch, all the cookies swept into a corner pile, and hoped they would just be gone when he awoke in the morning.

He awoke to find the floor of his apartment covered in the little yellow cookies. They crackled angrily as he set his feet down amongst them, and when he stood up, they were up to his ankles. As he trudged through them, he saw that they covered the floor from the living room to the bedroom. The bathroom door opened with some pushing, and as he waded through them so he could use the toilet, Charles was wracked with a sudden wave of angry coughs. He felt something tickle at the back of his throat and was certain for half a second that he would throw up. His urine trickled to the floor as he hit his knees, and when the thing splashed into the toilet, Charles felt something cold squirm in his guts.

The cookie floated in the filthy water like a strange buoy in an alien sea.

As he watched it bob there, Charles made a decision that would change the rest of his short life.

He slid his shoes on and left the house for the first time in months.

The bell rang as he walked in Dameons, and the staff's smiling faces curdled as they saw him.

Charles sat at the table he had taken every time he used to eat there. The staff went about their jobs, actively avoiding him, but Charles wasn't going anywhere. He knew that Dameon had answers, that he knew something, and he would sit here until he got what he was after. Even if it was Dameon telling him how exquisitely screwed he was, he was going to get some answers.

Dameon let him sit there for close to an hour before finally coming out.

"I told you there was nothing I could do. You've been cursed, don't you understand that? The least you can do is not spread it around."

"You know something about this, though." Charles said, glaring at him from between his steeples fingers, "And I'm not leaving until I get some answers."

Dameon turned his head away, seeming to think about it before finally telling Charles to wait.

"Without you calling in an order at ten I can finally close this place up on time. Wait till after closing, order whatever you want, and I'll take you to someone who has answers."

Charles scoffed, "I can't just sit around all day."

Dameon only shrugged, "If you want answers, then I guess you'll have to."

With little choice but to wait, Charles ordered lunch.

The staff kept his drink full, and Dameon was true to his word. Charles ate when he was hungry, drank when he was thirsty, and used their facilities sparingly. He couldn't help but imagine his poor apartment as it filled with the buttery little cookies, and the longer he sat, the more anxious he became. Where was Dameon taking him later? Who could explain this situation? Someone else who had called the number?

As the sun set behind him, Charles wanted to go with him less and less but knew he needed to more and more.

As the crowds faded and the restaurant emptied, Dameon finally came out and told him it was time to go.

"We can take my car," he said, indicating a small hatchback out front.

The car ride was short. They drove a few streets towards a small cluster of family homes that ended in a cul-de-sac. Charles could see several people wave at Dameon as he drove towards the house at the end of the turnabout, and the sight of it made him a little wary. Where the others well maintained lawns and houses looked well kept, the house they stopped in front of looked old and ready to fall down. The grass was mostly sand, patchy and limp, and the front porch was covered in boxes that looked ready to be shipped. The place looked abandoned, like a hoarder's house, but Charles could see people coming and going through the front, most of them carrying boxes like the ones on the porch.

Dameon killed the engine and looked at Charles, "Are you sure you want to know? It won't change your fate."

Charles nodded, unable to damn himself with his words, and Dameon climbed out and set off for the house. He followed meekly enough after, but it wasn't until he got on the porch that he realized what those boxes were. He didn't need to read the foreign characters to know what was inside. The open box contained bunches of familiar yellow cookies that Charles had come to hate.

Whoever owned the house was packaging fortune cookies in boxes.

When Dameon opened the door, a cascade of wrapped fortune cookies slithered onto the porch.

"It's even worse than usual," Dameon mumbled, wading into the sea of cookies as he beckoned Charles onward.

The inside was even worse. The house was full of boxes, and the pair had to wade through a hip-deep sea of fortune cookies. Charles could see others wading through them, shoving them into boxes as they took them back out. Charles could see a kitchen and a den as they waded through the house, and Dameon seemed to be leading him towards the back of the house. As they made their way down a hallway towards a back bedroom, the cookies got thicker and thicker. Dameon knocked on the door, calling out a name Charles didn't understand.

"Uncle?" Dameon asked, a strange gurgling coming from inside, "Uncle, I've brought a guest who wants to meet you. May we come in?"

There was another gurgling response, and Dameon invited Charles inside.

Charles was surprised to find not a room full of cookies but a neat and tidy bedroom. Inside was an elderly man in striped pajamas, his dark hair plastered to his skull and his eyes unreadable as they floated dully in his wrinkled face. His sallow skin clung to his bones like a bleached corpse, and if he hadn't turned to acknowledge Dameon, Charles would have thought him dead.

"Good to see you again, Uncle." Dameon greeted him, "This is my Uncle, Dallen. He once owned the restaurant I now own, but he made a miscalculation. He was trying to cut costs, and when he saw that he could get more cookies by calling the number, he gave it a try. At first, it was wonderful. Dallen had enough cookies to stock the store for months, and he was glad for the windfall. Soon, the cookies started taking over every part of his house. They covered the floors, they crept up the ceilings, they spilled into the yard, and finally, they started filling him, too."

The words sent a chill through Charles, but he had to be sure of what he was hearing.

"When you say they filled him, what do you…."

Dallen coughed a deep, racking cough that shook his whole body. Charles took a step toward the sick man, but Dameon put out a hand to stop him. The old man crossed his arms over his chest, trying to steady himself, and bent low over the comforter. As the coughs became thick, Charles thought the old man meant to bring something up.

Then he lunged forward suddenly, and Charles watched as a cascade of the cellophane-wrapped cookies fell onto the bedspread.

Charles trembled.

Just like the one he had brought up earlier that day.

"So," Charles had to swallow a mouthful of spit, not having the moisture to speak more than a few words, "So I'll start doing that too?"

Dameon nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll have some of my people come over and pick up the cookies they leave behind. We can pay them for you, hopefully making it easier for you. Eventually, we can bring you here. You can live in comfort for however long you have left, but eventually, you'll be no different than my uncle here."

Charles stood for a while, unable to come to terms with what he was seeing, He wanted to deny what Dameon said. He wanted to tell him how it just couldn't be real, but then his body was consumed with vicious coughs of its own as if to prove how real it was.

A single cookie pattered to the floor at his feet, and Charles realized it was already too late.