My consistently numb slumber was rudely pierced by the soft, beeping cry for help.

I lurched off of the couch.

Flour bags torn to shreds. They littered the normally immaculate kitchen island. Utensils drawers and cabinets left both open and empty.

White clouds of flour filled my mouth, my eyes upturned bowls and pots, to find the source of the beeping sound that that led me to this chaos.

I stepped closer to nearly trip over a thicken wooden spoon. I vaguely recall using it only once, when we first met.

I reached out – and shut the kitchen door.

An icy breeze gusted through the open window just above the sink.

Wet silt of failed experiments clogged the drain.

Several tracks led away, the vicious creature… nos several creatures. The flour, my scourge and now my ally. Dust-floured tracks led into the barren garden – had she taken the plants as well?

Squeezing through the window, I crawled along to follow the flour footprints. They stopped at the gate. My knees chilled the ground. I found myself gripping the wooden spoon in my hand, while I reached for the latch with the other… and open.

To discover a colony of gingerbread… men? No creatures, let us be modern.

They ringed each other, dancing in concentric circles. From their mouths they sang some charming melody.

In a language I used to know.