I had a perfect record. Eight straight days of stealing packages without a hitch. The houses on Milton Street always delivered around Christmas time. From electronics to kitchen utensils to bedding, every score made me hungrier for more. And when Christmas Eve arrived last week, I knew I would walk away with my biggest haul yet. A flood of packages always arrives the day before Christmas. One of the boxes I scooped up had a package of gingerbread man cookies. And they were tasty. A delicious treat to reward me for my efforts.

Before I could gulp down some milk, I realized I had consumed almost a dozen cookies. They were rich with flavor, but a stomach ache ballooned inside me. I felt lousy and bloated. My left eye swelled shut. Fingers fell asleep. Tongue tingled. I leaned my head over the toilet and tried to vomit it up, but nothing surfaced. Whatever ingredients were in those cookies had really done a number to me. When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I panicked. Face droopy, my skin looked like it was reconfiguring itself. While I had been pale most of my life, my skin was now turning browner.

I limped to my car and drove back to the house where I had grabbed the box of cookies. The driveway was empty, so I broke into the house through a backyard window. The horrors that awaited me will forever be etched into my mind. The walls and floor were coated with frosting. Rows of bloody human heads lined the walls, resembling gumdrops. Legs and arms painted like candy canes stood upright, wedged into the ground. The room was full of limbs.

As I turned around to leave, a man stepped forward from the hallway.

“Another crook to add to the display. You are right on time,” he said.

I climbed out of the window without even looking back at him. Drove home and plopped down on the couch. Since that day, my body has deteriorated to the point that I can barely share this story with you. I feel like a giant blob of dough. An odor of cinnamon and nutmeg permeates throughout the house. My stomach is covered with itchy, blotchy sprinkles of red bumps. I’ve been scratching myself to relieve the pain, but all it has done is strip away my flesh. I’m covered with holes and wounds.

I don’t know how much longer I will be alive. I’ve had time to reflect back on my actions over the years, and now I feel a deep sense of regret. I shouldn’t have stolen from others. But it’s too late for apologies. I’m paying for my actions now. There is no turning back.

When I look at myself in the mirror, my reflection smiles back against my will. That damn smile on my face. It’s not real. My lips have morphed into frosting. I am slowly turning into a gingerbread man cookie. Maybe someone should just eat me to put me out of my misery. Maybe I should just eat myself?