THE COOKIE MONSTERS

DOUG DONNAN

Executive Editor/OMNI-GENRE+MAGAZINE!                               

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

                            

                        THE COOKIE MONSTERS

                        

                                                by

                                                   DOUG DONNAN

                                     

 

          Vista Lago, Florida

    

     “I’m just a chemist here at Green Acres Corporation Mr.

Gilbert. I do research on algae,” Professor Lamprey sighed as

he performed a small circular parade there in his tidy fourth

floor office. In his starched white cotton lab coat he resembled

some great white stork or crane as he flapped about in his frus-

tration. “If you want a baker…you should try visiting a bakery!”       

    Gilbert pulled repeatedly on his clean-shaven aquiline jaw.

He had traveled a long way to this muggy hellhole in nowheresville

Florida to consult with this half-baked, crackpot who, apparently,

was one of the world’s leading authorities on algae research. His

intelligence people back at BakroTek in Seattle told him, in no

uncertain terms, that this Professor Lamprey character was the go to

guy when it came to cutting edge research in the emerging field of

Element Exchange and Radical Algae Permutations. Knowing all this,

he still felt the urge to stand up from his chair, grab Lamprey by

his starchy lapels and read him the riot act about the reality of

the cutthroat fast snack business industry. But, he somehow managed

to keep his cool and try a subtler, less physical approach.

     “Now let’s be honest about all this professor,” he said in a

level, but pointed tone. “I work for, in fact, am part owner of what,

for all intents and purposes, is a very large bakery. BakroTek. I’ll

just cut to the chase on this. Our in house research and development

people have concluded that a vitamin fortified green tea and algae

biscuit, a super cookie if you will, is on their hush-hush drawing

board. But the vast majority of those R&D folks have strongly sug-

gested that it would be in BakroTek’s best interest to somehow get

you on board. We’re going all in on this revolutionary product, and

I’m prepared to make you a very generous offer to join our team.”

     Lamprey stopped for a second and gave Gilbert a perplexed look.

“This whole thing seems a little unclear, maybe a bit hazardous to

me,” he said softly as if someone might be eavesdropping on their

conversation. “Why am I getting Soylent Green feelings about this?

     I mean, as long as we’re being honest, green tea, algae, super-duper

cookies for Christ’s sake? You can’t be serious. Please forgive me

sir, but it seems to me that what you probably need to help you out

with all this is a maniacal group of little elves. Maybe you can get

the incredible Hulk involved. He’s got all those muscles and he’s

about as green as they come. Get him involved in your ad campaign!”

     Gilbert colored somewhat at all this, but managed to remain

calm. He reached into his suit coat pocket and extracted a gold ball

point pen. He jotted something down on a yellow Post-It on Lamprey’s

desk, then handed the little sticky to the professor. “Maybe this

will convince you just how serious we are at BakroTek.”

     Lamprey accepted the slip of paper and stared at it for quite

some time. His mouth formed a little circle, like the entrance to a

birdhouse. “You must be insane,” he half-shouted. “That’s a lot of…

that’s a real lot of…money.”

     “More than you’ll ever make in a lifetime at this little piss-

ant cement aquarium,” Gilbert replied as he pushed back in his chair.

And, as to the question as if I’m insane or not, I can assure you

that I am in full possession of all my faculties. However, I am very

determined professor. Bakrotek must have you.”

     “I must admit Mr. Gilbert,” Lamprey said as he seemed to sand-

crab-step a bit around the seated CEO. “I’m flattered at your offer,

but I’m afraid I can’t accept it. And I mean really afraid.” Lamprey

replied. “I’ll let you in on a little secret Mr. Gilbert. This kind

of thing has cropped up before. There is a little upstart bio-fuel

company just outside of San Francisco called Solazyme. They were

working on developing an algae base as a building block for a green

gasoline substitute. In this algae experimental business, as in many

other businesses, serendipity plays an uninvited, but some times wel-

come roll. They produced an algae derived flour. To make a long story

short, they were able to produce an assortment of cookies, snack

drinks, sauces and such. The folks at Solazyme haven’t as yet gone

forward on their discovery, but it’s surely just a matter of—”

     “We are well aware of Solazyme’s… efforts professor,” Gilbert

rudely cut him off. “They’ve stumbled upon a kind of pita flour.

The lipid profile of the flour is very similar to olive oil. An admirable

accomplishment indeed. However, they were just fooling around

with what they had. As for your apprehension about all this, I feel

it is unwarranted. Be that as it may, we are dead serious about our

research and development intentions professor. I can assure you that

Bakrotek is very determined,” he finished with a chilling leer.

     “I see,” Lamprey said cautiously.

     Gilbert dipped into the inner pocket of his suit again. “Here

is my business card. I’m staying at the Ramada Inn just outside of

Islamorada. Think things over. Don’t share our little visit here with

anyone, but be advised professor I must have… we want you on board.”

                                       

                                Later that evening

     The dusty hood of the little Honda Accord was still warm as

Professor Lamprey fell back into the driver’s seat. He had already

broken Gilbert’s code of silence rule by letting his wife Alicia

in on the big money deal with Bakrotek. But what real choice did

he have on that he thought as he backed out of the driveway. It had

only taken her one sip of her box wine to make up his mind for him.

‘Algae…shmalgae!’ was her tipsy exclamation after he showed her the

Post-It note from Gilbert. ‘You just drive on out to that Ramada Inn

and tell that Bakrocheck guy we accept his offer.’ As he drove off

and got back on the bustling highway he soon thought to himself that

what he should do is accept the offer, move up to Seattle or where-

ever it was and leave his dipsomaniac wife behind. But, it was too

late for that now. The better part of an hour had passed before he

pulled into the asphalt drive of the subtle and spacious neon motel. 

He eventually found himself leaning up against a ridiculously long

laminated wooden reception counter tapping on a little silver bell.

     “Halloo,” he tried innocently.

     A portly young fellow dressed in a dark blue suit emerged from

somewhere in the inner office. He looked more like a fully prepared

home plate umpire than anything else. His obligatory smile and de-

meanor were as artificial as the bending palm plants in the rattan

and tinted glass front lobby.

     “Sir,” he said coolly in a dubious form of salutation to a

finger-drumming Professor Lamprey. “May I help you?”

     “I hope so Mr.—” he strained somewhat to read the young um-

pire’s nameplate. “…Peter.” Lamprey scanned the counter for some

type of registration book, but only the dull tan back of a computer

monitor was present. “I have an appointment with one of your regi-

stered guests— a Mr. Gilbert,” he announced as he presented the

Bakrotek business card that Gilbert had given him as if it were some

sort of ticket.

     The young man hesitated a bit and then began to peck away at

the computer. At long last he looked out at the diminutive professor.

     “Mr. Gilbert has rented out the courtyard pool for a time. You

should be able to find him out there,” he pointed to a far off glass

exit door.          

     “He rented the whole pool?” Lamprey replied with incredulity.

“Does he have any… guests?”

     Peter bent down some over the top of the computer tower. “No,”

he declared as if any more questions would be at the askers own risk.

     “Okay,” Lamprey peeped and then made for the door. “Thanks…

Peter.” He threw back over his shoulder as he walked away.

                                         ____________

     Outside in the darkness he soon came to the white metal fence

and bush lined courtyard swimming pool. Lamprey thought it rather

odd that only a very few of the periphery phosphorescent tower lights

were turned on above the spacious smooth cement pool. A scant few pin

lights lit the fringe of the red brick edges. He reached the chain

link entrance gate and hesitated a moment. He saw no one.  

     “Halloo, Mr. Gilbert?” he called out through cupped hands. “Are

you here?”

     Lamprey quietly pushed open the gate and started to walk around

to the little brick cabana at the deep end side of the pool. As he

reached the halfway point, marked by a stretching stringer of blue

and white floats, he froze in his tracks as he looked down into the

shimmering water. A dark elongated shape seemed to be whirling, per-

haps gliding below in the depths. Around and about it went almost

effortlessly. Was this Mr. Gilbert? Professor Lamprey watched and

waited. Finally, after almost ten minutes, the submerged swimmer

surfaced.

     It was in fact Mr. Gilbert.

     “Well there professor,” he exclaimed as he draped his painfully

thin arms over the brick edge of the pool. “Quite frankly, I must now

admit,” he cleared his throat and made some strange shielded hand   

movements around and about his puffing, trembling neck. “I wasn’t to

terribly sure that I would ever see you again. Did you have a change

of heart?”

                                                        

     “Let’s just say I became enlightened, and felt it would be in

my best interest to come right on out here unannounced.” Lamprey

replied as he studied Gilbert’s uneasiness there in the pool. “By

the way,” he continued boldly, “I was pretty amazed at your…swimming

technique. You were down there for a good ten minutes! How in the—”

     “Could you toss me those two towels behind you?” Gilbert quickly

cut him off.

     Lamprey retrieved the two large white towels and turned back to

hand them down to him. But, to his complete and total surprise, the

mysterious swimmer was already up and out of the pool, and but a pace

or so from the taken aback professor. He was bent over somewhat and

appeared to be in some type of convulsive pain. The erratic gurgled

coughing was the stuff of nightmares.

     “Say there,” Lamprey almost yelled. “Are you alright? You’re

neck it’s… strange. Hey, you’re bleeding!” he called as he watched

Gilbert drape the towels about his spasmodically wheezing neck. “I’ll

run inside and call a… an ambulance.”

     At that Gilbert agonizingly straightened up. He held the soaking

white towels close with trembling, bony fingers. “No, no that won’t

be necessary. It will soon pass.”

     “But you’re ill man. Can’t you see that? You need—”

     “We need you professor,” he said weakly. “It’s the cookies. We

can’t seem to perfect our combination, our algae to tea ratios. It’s

still much too toxic for production. We don’t have the ingenuity.

It seems our brains aren’t totally proficient enough for the type

of exploration and fruition involved. Our people aren’t capable. 

Only… humans,” he coughed into a scrawny fist of claw-like fingers.

“Only you and others like you can help us. It’s all up to you professor.

It… we can’t exist without you. Do you understand?”

     Professor Lamprey, his eyes now wide with fright, slowly began

to back away. “No, I don’t understand,” he replied with a quivering

voice. “But I do know I was right all along, and I don’t want any-

thing to do with your crazy cookies or you.”

     He reached the chain link pool gate and broke into a determined

sprint. He called over his shoulder as he ran across the asphalt lot.

“You must be some kind of monster. A cookie monster!”

                                      _____ The End _____