Chapter 4
Gretel
It feels like we've been traveling a long time when the fog starts to fade into sky.
I try to remember how long it took before, but I quickly put an end to the memories. I don’t necessarily trust my memories of that time and even the good parts have soured over time.
The fog doesn’t completely disappear, but it settles into more of a fine mist than the thick, choking fog surrounding the village and everywhere around it.
Above us, the sky is a wintery grey. It’s not exactly sun bursting through the clouds, but even that grey is a welcome sight after so much time hidden in the fog.
It doesn’t take long though for the open fields to be lost to a forest of black, leafless trees. The branches block out a lot of the light. And so we move through the forest in the evening shadows.
This time, I don’t try to be casual about getting closer to Hansel.
He wanted to kiss me after all and his warmth is a welcome distraction.
His lips on mine are more than I dreamed.
And I have dreamed of him so many nights.
I needed to just to fall asleep and keep the demons of the past away.
I can still feel the warmth of his touch even as we’re surrounded by the coldest winter.
The shadows on either side of the path are unnerving and seem to move in ways they shouldn’t. This part of the forest does not look friendly, and I can’t imagine how we ignored it when we were younger.
The answer is that we didn’t. We saw them, and we were scared, and we kept going, because—
I shiver and pull my cloak tighter around me. My left side pressed against Hansel as I huddle under the cloak. Everything is warm enough but the tip of my nose and my toes. But the bits of me that press against Hansel feel safest of all.
The path leads us deeper and deeper into the forest.
Hansel urges his horse down a branching path, and then another. It's a good thing he's here. I don't remember taking these paths before. They all look the same to me.
But then Hansel calls the horse to a halt.
The horse stops beside a gap in the trees.
Hansel hops down, but I stay frozen on the bench seat until he comes around and offers me his hand.
"It's fine, Gretel," he says, but the look in his eyes says it’s not.
"Promise?” I whisper and he nods, “I promise.”
I'm the one who asked him to come here. So I take his hand and hop down.
My shoe sends a small pebble flying off the path. There's not much snow beneath the branches, but the pebble disappears into it.
Back then, we left stones along the path we took so we could find our way out. They were the same sorts of stones that have been appearing outside my house now. White quarts with a crystalline shine. They looked so pretty in the light back then. But now all I see is the sharpness of the stones.
Hansel curls his hand around mine, keeping the reins in the other, and leads Cinnamon through the gap in the trees.
At the sight of the shelter, my heart races. My blood goes cold. I can barely breathe.
The witch's cottage is in the middle of a little clearing. It’s a small, wooden cottage with a peaked roof, all of it deep brown, like tree bark. I can’t see in the front windows. They’re too dark.
It looks…lonely. Almost abandoned.
Hansel ties his horse up to a post in a small, covered area attached to the house, but takes the harness off and rubs him down a bit with gloved hands.
There’s a trough on the other side filled with melted snow, and from a covered wooden box, he grabs dried straw.
Hansel rummages around in a wooden trunk nestled next to the house and comes up with a thick blanket, which he puts over the horse’s back.
It’s almost like he’s been here before. Like the cottage was prepared for him.
Although my feet are firmly planted, I feel the need to run. Fear tramples through me.
The horse, though, is calm. He eats the straw without worry. Huddled under a roof and seemingly content with its shelter.
Hansel must think his horse will be fine here, because he pulls off his gloves and bends down to scoop some snow off the ground.
Hansel uses it to clean his hands, then pats them dry on his shirt.
He tucks his gloves into one of his pockets.
With a nod, he gestures for me to follow and although it’s difficult, I move one foot after the other.
“How did you find it?” I ask Hansel as we approach the cottage. “When you first went back.” His knuckles brush against my hand. I'm quick to hold it. Our fingers thread between one another. Each step brings me closer and closer to a place that holds such horrors.
He squeezes my hand. “It took a while.” The pain in those simple words brings on memories I’ve tried my hardest to avoid since we came back.
I haven’t forgotten anything. Not a single thing, other than the way to get here.
The witch’s face, terrifyingly happy to have us there with her. The stew that bubbled in a huge cauldron over the fire. The sound of Hansel’s muffled gasps. The way the screams felt as they ripped themselves out of my throat. How heavy the chains were around my wrists.
I swallow hard, my stomach turning. My skin prickles with goosebumps. The witch was a monster, and she was nothing like the scary stories my father told when I was young.
She was real.
I pull on Hansel’s hand until he stops, mere feet from the door.
“Hansel.” My mouth is sticky with fear. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we shouldn’t—”
His hand tightens on mine and he presses his lips into a thin line. “We’re going in, Gretel. You need to see that she’s not here. There’s no one here.”
I don’t want to. I never want to go into that cottage again. But I don’t think the witch is dead, and if Hansel’s right—
I need to know if he’s right, or if I am. I need to know how to fix this.
Hansel tries the door.
It must not be barred from the inside, because it swings open with ease. All the while my blood rushes in my ear. There’s a small scream in the back of my head begging me to stop. To not go back. He drops my hand when I don’t move. Paralyzed by fear.
“Dark in there,” Hansel says, and steps forward, holding the door open with his shoulder and peeking in. “Doesn’t seem like anyone’s here. Come on.”
I glance back at the horse. We have a way out this time. We have a horse and a wagon. We’re older now. We’re not trapped. She’s dead. I repeat the truth, she’s dead. She can’t hurt us anymore.
I take a deep breath and let Hansel lead me inside.
I jump when the door thumps shut behind us, whirling toward it. But it's only Hansel.
He pats the door with the palm of his hand. His blue eyes shine with sincerity as he waits for my heart to calm
"Just me," he says. “Now we won’t freeze while we’re looking around.” His lips lift slightly as if offering a smile but it falls short. His stubble is rough, his skin thicker and it’s only now that I realize just how handsome a man Hansel’s become.
I would rather keep the door open, even if it means we freeze, but Hansel’s right. We should do our best to stay warm. He turns the latch and tugs on it, testing its strength.
It doesn’t come apart in his hand, so I hope it can keep the door closed to any intruders. As if there’s anyone else so far deep in the wild woods.
The main room of the cottage is as it was—dim and dusty.
It’s surprisingly neat in comparison to my memories.
We didn’t make a mess, but we went through a nightmare, and I expected the cottage to match the despair I felt.
But it’s quaint. It’s not exactly how I remember although small bits of it reflect my memory.
A woven rug that used to be brightly colored squats in front of the fire. One of the wooden chairs is turned over by the table, which is one of the only signs that something horrible happened here.
The table itself is bare, except for one metal plate. A few other dishes line a shelf over the sink. Dried herbs hang from hooks by the window. Nothing looks like it's been touched in a long, long time.
It certainly doesn't look like anyone's living here right now.
But my skin is still covered in goosebumps. I can’t help the chill just being in this place.
I don't trust my own eyes. I don't trust the emptiness here. It reminds me of the fog, somehow, only I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe it’s just another reminder of the pain I caused. It’s pain that’s followed us to this day.
I brace myself and turn towards the last object in the main room, the big iron oven.
My heart thuds in my ears. If the witch pushes open the oven door and crawls out, the image flashes in front of my eyes and a scream tries to claw up my throat.
But it’s not real. The oven is still. The reality is that this place is empty.
Still, I’m slow to move. Terrified that the nightmares are real.
It's dark as the windows, no fire lit inside, but the sight of it makes me want to be sick.
Hansel holds my hand tighter and pulls me with him to the oven. He doesn’t release my hand when he bends down and opens the thick door on the front. It creaks on its hinges like it hasn’t been opened since.
“Come look, Gretel.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Come look,” he urges. “I’m here. Right beside you and there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
I hesitate until he adds, “I promise.”
Slowly, and cautiously, I bend down next to him.
The oven is empty. There’s nothing inside. Not even the ash.
There’s no sign of her at all. Just an old oven, in an old cottage. No proof of any wickedness at all. Because she’s gone. She’s dead.
Relief slowly spreads through me, although I still don’t quite trust it. Foolishness runs through me. Embarrassment almost. Of course she’s dead. She’s long since perished. The stones… perhaps I imagined them. I don’t know anymore. Perhaps I’ve gone crazy with fear.