Read Mixed Feelings (Empathy in the PPNW Book 1) for Free Online

he’d be safe. My nex t stop was back in my office, where I grabbed a wooden baseball bat from
next to my desk and stepped into my slippers. They had some pretty solid rubber
bottoms and would probably smash bugs well enough if it came to that.
    I stood in front of my
cabinets working up my courage, then took a deep breath and let
out a quick battle cry, yanked open the door, and hopped back. Nothing jumped
out at me, screamed threateningly, or tried to raise Anubis’ s army from Hell. I blinked, confused for a few moments
at the fact that all I spied were my boxes of cereal, oatmeal, and—and an
upturned, empty Twinkie box .
    “ No, ” I whispered, dropping the bat to the ground as I reached for what had,
only two days before, been an entire case of spongy, cream-filled delights. “ No! ” I
snatc hed the
thing out of the cabinet and shook it, as if that would activate some secret
compartment and my treats would come tumbling out. I should have known better;
there were empty Twinkie wrappers littering the inside of the cabinet. The box
remained barren, but I did notice a pink sticky note on the back.
    I didn’t recognize the
handwriting but I could read it; it said, Laurel and Hardy will be unhappy
with you if you don’t find those kids followed by a sad face. Was my food threatening me? I shook the box again, knowing it
was futile.
    Maybe I was dreaming.
    Slamming the cabinet shut, I
eyed the rest of my kitchen. Who knew what else the Twinkie thief had taken or
touched? Maybe my pastries weren't the only thing it put its hands all over.
Marching to the fridge, I gave it one more scan, hoping for answers. None of
the magnets had moved. The one proclaiming “ Stay away from the baby
sasquatches ” still sat right next to “ Don't accept the ring !”
    Worrying slightly less about scorpions and
slightly more about the state of my kitchen, I went through the cabinets. Gone.
It was all gone. Not a speck of anything sugary or sweet remained anywhere, not
even in my most careful emergency hiding spots. That bastard.
    Seething, I took the time to
go through the house, checking windows and doors, checking my valuables,
checking my clothes to make sure nothing had been taken. Maybe ten minutes into
my reconnaissance, I stood at the edge of my closet, torn between being disgusted at myself for the state of it
and terrified that I’d actually have to open the box I kept hidden at the back.
    I ’d been married once, jumping into it at the tender
age of eighteen with a man who had, even at the time, deserved much better than
an immature sugar addict like me. I hadn’t spoken to him or heard from him in
ten years but that didn’t stop my guilt over how things had ended. That regret
had fueled a series of impulse purchases over the last six years, leaving me
with a box full of milquetoast mystery novels written by my ex. I’d never read
any of them, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. Stanley only had
four novels out, but I had somehow amassed somewhere around thirty copies of
his books.
    After a minute of staring at
the pile of old coats that concealed the box from prying eyes, I convinced
myself that my visitor hadn’t found the books, that I didn’t need to check to
make sure they were safe. It was just good sense, you see. Not cowardice. I
swear. I moved on to checking the other parts of my closet.
    At the bottom of my underwear
drawer, I found another sti cky
note.
    I ’m not interested in your unmentionables. Don’t be
weird.
    Somehow, despite everything
else, the note offended me the most. I wasn’t the one showing up in a
stranger’s house, leaving notes and stealing sugar. What was this creature
playing at? Irritated, I carried the pink square to my office, grabbed a pen,
and wrote in the bottom margin : I ’m not the one being weird,
you freak!
    Satisfied I’d put the
creature in its place as well as I could—considering the fact that I had
no actual access to it—I contemplated the note.