The Cookie Crumbles

Cookies.

We all love cookies, don't we? Yummy cookies. Yum yum yum yum. Yummy yummy cookies!

Or do we?

For Jonathan Petridish, the humble cookie was far from being a satisfying snack, instead leaving him traumatised for the rest of his life.

Jonathan Petridish worked full-time as a human resources manager at a large insurance firm. It was a job he didn't particularly enjoy, except for the half hour break he got mid-morning which he looked forward to with fevered excitement.

On one such break, Jonathan Petridish decided to enjoy a cup of tea and a couple of cookies, while he took some time out to fill in a crossword puzzle in the newspaper.

Nothing wrong with that, was there?

So you would think. But the tea plus cookie plus crossword equation was to prove to be Jonathan's undoing.

While puzzling over the clue for twelve across in his crossword, Jonathan Petridish decided to dunk his cookie in his tea.

Cookies are normally quite resilient to dunking, and hold their form far better than your common or garden Rich Tea, or Digestive biscuits. But so preoccupied with the crossword was Jonathan Petridish, that he left the cookie dunked in his tea for slightly too long.

Then it happened.

The cookie, now soggy with tea, broke apart, crumbling into poor Jonathan Petridish's tea.

Jonathan heard the gentle splash as the biscuit collapsed into his drink, but it was too late. Not only had Jonathan Petridish lost half a cookie, but by now his delicious cup of tea was ruined as well, awash with tiny, squelchy chunks of cookie.

Jonathan Petridish cursed himself loudly. Then, to add further insult to biscuit-based injury, Jonathan realised that his break was now over, so he could not even make himself a fresh cup of tea.

Thirsty, hungry and dejected, Jonathan Petridish left the staff-room and returned to work, having had his break well and truly ruined by the humble cookie. He never did find out what the answer to twelve across was, that fiendish crossword clue that had played such an important role in this whole, terrible tragedy.

The cryptic clue read, "12 across: This biscuit will save you on the internet."

Do you know what the answer was, dear reader? Are you ready for the big, chilling reveal?

The answer was...cookie.

A desperate warning to Jonathan Petridish, sent by unknown forces from the other side to warn Jonathan about his imminent cookie-related calamity, or a mere coincidence?

You decide.

Sleep well, readers. If you can!

- The Book-Keepr.

TERROR dog

Little dogs.

We love them, don't we? With their little fuzzy faces, their small black noses and tiny paws.

Or do we?

Maybe not, after you hear about the horror that befell one Martin Windpipe...

Martin Windpipe was a lonely man, who lived alone in a small, one-bedroom flat in London. He wanted some company, and so decided to get himself a dog.

He scoured the local pet shops, looking for the perfect canine companion. But he just couldn't seem to find a dog he liked. That is until, quite by accident, Martin Windpipe stumbled across a small shop tucked away in the back streets. He had never seen this particular store before, so decided to give it a shot.

Inside, he found a small, wizened, Chinese man. The Chinese man seemed affable and friendly enough, and set about helping Martin Windpipe find the dog of his dreams. After a short time spent browsing, Martin Windpipe clapped eyes upon the adorable figure of a small hound in a cage. The dog leapt up at the bars, and wagged it's little tail furiously.

Martin Windpipe was overjoyed, and quickly a deal was struck and the dog was his.

"I must warn you," said the shop-keeper as Martin Windpipe left, "do not overfeed this dog, or spoil it with sickly treats...or else...you will come to regret it."

Martin Windpipe smiled, nodded and left, little knowing how important that warning would be...

The pair arrived at Martin's small flat later that afternoon, the little dog having been christened 'Shorty' during the bus-ride home.

"Well, I don't know about you, Shorty, but I could really use a bite to eat," said Martin, rummaging through the cupboards. Shorty wagged his tail in agreement.

Martin Windpipe made Shorty a bowl of dog-food, while he sat down to a meal of steak and chips. As he ate, Shorty finished his meal and padded over to Martin. The little dog sat down, and looked up hungrily at his owner.

"Still hungry, huh, little fellah?" said Martin. "Guess they didn't feed you so well at the shop, huh? Well, here you go."

Martin tossed Shorty some morsels of steak, and a few chips. Shorty eagerly chomped them down.

Later, Martin decided to get some dessert, and so went back to the kitchen and grabbed himself a slice of chocolate cake. As he sat down to enjoy his sweet treat, Shorty scampered across, and eyed the cake with longing eyes.

"My my," said Martin Windpipe. "We are a hungry little doggy tonight, aren't we? Hey, I don't suppose it'll matter if you just have a little bit of cake..." He passed Shorty a small slice of cake, which the dog happily ate.

It would be a slice of cake too far.

Martin Windpipe went to bed, after ensuring Shorty was comfortable and asleep in his new basket. "Goodnight, little pal," said Martin, and retired to his room.

The next morning, Martin Windpipe awoke and blearily staggered into his lounge. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and looked around for Shorty.

What he saw HORRIFIED and SICKENED him.

There, in the middle of the lounge, was a pile of dog-poop.

But it gets worse, dear readers. It was not the firm, solid poop. Oh, if only it was that simple. No, readers...it was slightly gooey, and runny.

"Sh-Shorty..." said Martin, as Shorty innocently wandered into the room. "What...what have you done?"

The little dog stared up at his master, and Martin Windpipe swore he could hear the far-off laughter of a Chinaman...

Terrifying, isn't it readers? That's what happens when Man's Best Friend....shits on Man's Best Carpet.

Sleep well.

- The Book-Keeper.

Welcome friends of the foul

Welcome, friends!

I do hope you are sitting comfortably. Or if not sitting, at least lying comfortably. Or maybe crouching, or kneeling comfortably.

The main thing is that you're there, and are comfortable.

For soon, dear readers...soon this place will play host to some of the most SHOCKING and TERRIFYING tales ever placed into a blog bearing this particular name.

Stories so VILE, you may wish to vomit all over yourself, and then kill yourself with a knife and set your corpse alight so you cannot remember the details of the horrors you were witness to.

They'll shit you up something rotten, man.

So stay tuned, you poor saps, as we prepare to open...

THE ANTHOLOGY OF AWFUL!

Sleep well, my pretties.

All the best,

The Book-Keeper.