The Gingerbread Man

The Cookie Who Ran

An old woman and an old man lived in a cottage at the edge of a village. They had no children, but they had a very good oven — the kind that makes the whole house smell like warmth.

One morning, the old woman made a gingerbread boy. She gave him raisin eyes, a gumdrop nose, and three icing buttons down his front. She drew a smile with the tip of a spoon.

"There," she said. "Perfect."

She put him in the oven. The kitchen filled with the smell of ginger and cinnamon and brown sugar. And when she opened the oven door—

He JUMPED.

Right off the tray, onto the floor, and out the kitchen door before she could blink.

"Come back!" cried the old woman.

"Come back!" cried the old man.

But the gingerbread boy ran down the path, his little icing shoes going pit-pat-pit-pat, and he called over his shoulder:

"Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me — I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

He passed a cow standing by a fence. The cow's eyes went wide.

"Stop!" said the cow. "You smell DELICIOUS."

But the Gingerbread Man ran faster. Pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat.

"Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me — I'm the Gingerbread Man! I ran from the woman and the man, and I'll run from YOU — yes I can!"

The cow galloped after him. Clop-clop-clop. But the Gingerbread Man was faster.

He passed a pig rolling in mud by a pond.

"Stop!" said the pig. "You smell like BREAKFAST."

Pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat.

"Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me — I'm the Gingerbread Man! I ran from the woman and the man and the cow, and I'll run from YOU — and how!"

The pig scrambled after him. Squelch-squelch-squelch. But the Gingerbread Man was faster.

He passed a horse grazing in a field.

"Stop!" said the horse. "You smell like DESSERT."

Pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat.

"Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me — I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

Now the old woman, the old man, the cow, the pig, AND the horse were all chasing him — a whole parade of huffing, puffing, galloping, squelching chaos, and the Gingerbread Man was winning.

Then he reached the river.

The river was wide and cold. Gingerbread cannot swim. Water and cookies do not mix.

A fox sat on the bank, cleaning his whiskers. He looked at the Gingerbread Man. He looked at the parade behind him.

"Need a ride across?" the fox said.

The Gingerbread Man hesitated. His raisin eyes looked at the water. His icing smile wavered.

"I won't eat you," the fox said. "I don't even LIKE ginger. Gives me heartburn."

The Gingerbread Man climbed onto the fox's back. The fox waded into the river.

"The water's rising," the fox said. "Climb onto my head."

The Gingerbread Man climbed higher.

"It's STILL rising. Climb onto my nose."

The Gingerbread Man climbed onto the fox's nose. The fox opened his mouth and—

"WAIT," said the Gingerbread Man.

The fox paused. One eyebrow up.

"If you eat me," the Gingerbread Man said, very calmly, "I'll be gone in one bite. One bite! And then what? You'll be hungry again in an hour. But if you DON'T eat me — I know where there's an oven. And an old woman who makes the BEST ginger cookies in the village. I could introduce you."

The fox thought about this. He thought about one bite of gingerbread versus a lifetime supply of ginger cookies. It wasn't a difficult calculation.

He closed his mouth. He carried the Gingerbread Man to the other bank. And together — the fox trotting, the Gingerbread Man riding on his head — they walked back to the cottage.

The old woman opened the door. She saw her gingerbread boy. She saw the fox. She looked at them both for a long moment.

Then she smiled. "I'll put the kettle on."

That evening, the cottage smelled of ginger and cinnamon and fresh cookies. The fox sat by the fire, a cookie in each paw. The old man poured tea. The old woman set the Gingerbread Man on the mantelpiece where he could see the whole room.

The cow, the pig, and the horse pressed their noses to the window. The old woman brought them cookies too.

"Not bad," the Gingerbread Man said from his shelf. "Not bad at all."

The fire crackled... the kettle hummed... and the little cottage at the edge of the village glowed warm and golden in the dark... full of the smell of ginger... and the sound of animals crunching cookies... and the quiet, contented sigh of a cookie who finally stopped running... because he'd found a place worth staying.

And outside, the river whispered past... carrying the smell of cinnamon... all the way to the sea.