There once was a story told long ago,
Where two children were abandoned-left all alone!
Now they story's replayed, two different children in tow,
Wandering the forest with creatures unknown.
Pampered and praised, their parents had been talking,
Fear grasped their hearts, so they left and started walking.
"It's dead," Margaret whines as she smashes her phone back into her jean pocket. "Now we're lost."
"I told you to charge your phone before we left, dummy," Hans replies, looking skyward, as if the leave would give him an answer to the predicament they've fallen into.
"At least I have a phone, Mister Irresponsible," Margaret chides, sticking her tongue out at him.
"Whatever." Hans crosses his arms over his chest and looks around, ultimately upset. "Now mom and dad are really gonna leave us behind."
"They wouldn't do that. They love us, Hans."
Hans kicks a rock, sending it flying into a tree. "Oh yeah? Mom was talking about moving without us."
Margaret shakes her head, trying to turn her phone on again. No luck. "She was joking, stupid."
"Don't call me stupid!"
"Stupid!"
Hans walks off in a huff, deeper into the forest.
"Wait!" Margaret calls after him, rushing to his side as an owl hoots overhead. The trees begin to look the same as they continue to walk, technology failing them as they wander deeper into nowhere. They huddle close as the night gets cooler.
"I'm hungry," Margaret whimpers as her brother jumps at the sound of her voice.
"Well, then you should have brought a snack, Gret."
Margaret grumbles something beneath her breath at her brother, causing Hans to shove her.
"Hey!" She shouts. "I almost fell!"
She pushes him hard, in hopes to get across she doesn't want him doing that, but alas, he shoves her back and her butt hits the ground. Tears spring into her youthful eyes and she begins to cry.
"I want to go home!"
"Crybaby!"
"So mean," the twins hear. A womanly voice carries through the trees and into their ears, twinkling with a pretty, music-like sound. When they turn to see who spoke, their faces crinkle in disgust. A frail-looking woman stands in an open doorway, a long, worn dress draped over her, the orange color making her look sickly. Her silver-streaked black hair is unruly, and rose higher than the trees, it seems.
"You must learn to be nicer to each other."
The kids move their eyes past the woman, taking in the house that stands all around her. It's made of gingerbread walls and frosting layers that resemble snow. Mints outline the sugar-glass windows, licorice lining the door made of chocolate. Gumdrops the size of the little twin's heads scatter themselves along the roof, just begging to be eaten.
"You live in a candy house?" Margaret asks, standing and brushing herself off as she wipes the tears from her face. "Won't it go bad?"
"It's magic candy, dear, it can never go bad."
"Magic isn't real," Margaret says, scrunching up her nose.
"Yeah. I know why it's really not gonna go bad, lady," Hans says matter-of-factly. "Preservatives. Like the stuff they use on Ramen Noodles."
"Nu-uh, stupid," Margaret argues. "They use it on tomatoes."
"Nu-uh, that's like, bug spray stuff. Insect-inside. Dad was talking about it, so I know these things. Us men know things like that."
The woman rolls her eyes as the kids begin to bicker, shaking her head.
"Why don't you two come inside and have some candy, and I'll show you why they don't go bad?"
"Is the candy gluten-free?" Hans asks, locking his fingers behind his back. "Oh, and is there no emmesgee?"
"Hans, remember stranger-danger?" Margaret whispers loudly to her brother.
"But she's offering candy--"
"Stranger danger, Hans!" Margaret interrupts.
"But if it's gluten free--"
"Hans?" the woman asks, perking up. "Like Hansel?"
Hans nods. "I hate that name."
"What's your name, little girl?" the woman pries, strangely curious.
"Umm..." Margaret hesitates, glancing over to her brother for help. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."
"Then we don't have to talk. Just tell me your name."
Margaret's eyes widen as she tugs at her brother's hand. "We really need to go, Miss. Our parents might be looking for us."
"They probably already left," Hans says, anger lining his words. "Besides, I thought you were hungry."
"Yeah, but--"
"Come on, Margaret," Hans encourages, pulling her toward the woman.
"Margaret?" the woman asks, her eyes lighting up brighter. "You know Gretel's short for Margaret."
Margaret scrunches her nose. "I don't like that name. It's in some story from a long time ago."
The woman laughs bitterly. "That, it is. Come inside, now, children, and have some candy."
"But we don't want to get fat, so we should just go--"
"Gretel," the woman says, and Margaret feels a sharp tingling inside her body, forcing her to freeze in her place. She can't even open her mouth to tell Hans what's happening. "Wouldn't want to be rude now, would we?"
She waves a finger and the world stretches around the twins, Margaret terrified while Hans is lost in his Ooh's and Aah's. The woman snaps her fingers and everything goes dark, except for a rectangle of light on the ground beneath their feet. The woman has disappeared into the thick blackness surrounding them, Margaret finally able to move. They turn around to see where the light is coming from, and realize it's in the shape of a door. They're inside the woman's house!
"She's a witch!"
Hans looks at her sister, believing her accusation as the door shuts and darkness swallows them whole.
"I've been waiting two-hundred years for you to walk back through that door, children."
The witch's voice shifts around them in circles, a terrible laugh shattering the twin's confidence. They hold on to one another, terrified for their lives as metal clangs around them, shackles snaking up their bodies and closing around their wrists and ankles. Margaret falls to the ground as it moves beneath her, and she can't help but think they're being lifted into the air as the sounds of pulleys screech above them, chains clanging loudly.
A fire is lit.
One torch rests in the witch's hand, her wrinkled, terrible smirk sending chills down the children's backs as the lights dance across her face, creating deep shadows on the walls. Metal surrounds the both of them, trapping them where they stand. They didn't leave the comfort of their house for this.
"Seven generations, I have waited for this moment," she breathes, a glisten in her eye. "The fire does nothing to a witch if she escapes."
The woman cackles as torches suddenly light all around the gingerbread house. Hans and Margaret look at their surroundings, remembering a story quite like this one they've been told over the years. Their eyes search for anything they could use against the witch, but appliances have changed along with the times.
The room is large, but it is the only one. There is no bed or bathroom, but only a kitchen and diningroom, a laptop and phone resting on one of the counters. Bones litter the floor, bugs scampering over them and up onto the walls. The woman was mightily untidy.
She waddles over to a cabinet and throws it open, squinting as she looks through the old, rotten books that occupy it. She pulls out a few, muttering to herself and paying no mind to the children.
"Hans, I'm scared," Margaret whispers, drawing close to her sibling. "What are we supposed to do?"
"We're supposed to go home," Hans says, a little shaken up. "This wasn't supposed to happen so soon."
"Ah!" The witch cries, throwing a book across the room. "Curse those children who pay attention in school. This isn't a cookbook-it's too small to be!"
Hans notices the name of the book, How to Eat Fried Worms, and smiles, getting an idea.
"Are you going to eat us?" Hans addresses the witch, wringing his hands together as he recalls the characters of the book. It's inspired him. And good thing too-he was getting too scared to think. "Because I don't think you know what you're doing."
"Excuse me, boy?" The woman asks, turning to him and squinting to see. "What was that?"
"I said, I don't think you know what you're doing. I don't think you've ever eaten a child before."
"I have so," the woman growls, coming closer. "Now don't say another word or you'll be first." She walks away, heading over to the laptop, feeling around on the counter. "Now, where are my glasses?"
"Ummm, I don't think you do," he presses, his imagination taking over, and maybe too far. "I mean, I've eaten loads of kids in my day, and I've never been so clueless."
The woman turns to stare at him for a moment. "But you're a child, how could you-bah, never mind. I won't be fooled again."
"You mean like I fooled you the last time?" Hans' heart is racing now, begging him to stop. "I could tell you what goes best with children. They're sweeter than adults, and I can tell you that from experience."
"You are not Hansel," the woman spits, grabbing the bars of the cage and rattling it. Margaret falls down, staring at her brother in confusion as he keeps his balance.
"Of course I am. I'm a witch too, and that's why I've stayed so young. For two hundred years. Just like you."
"But I watched you grow up. You'd come into the forest with your father to lumber wood, and then you moved away and I followed, waiting to get my revenge on you two brats. But you grew up, as did your grandchildren, and they never ventured out into the woods, so I could never trap them."
"That's because... I can... change from a child to an adult whenever I want."
The woman eyes him suspiciously. "Then do it."
"I, uh..." Hans pauses, is brain coming to a halt.
"He can't!" Margaret blurts, finding her feet. "Not until he eats a... kid," she says quietly, disbelieving of the words coming from her mouth. She shudders.
"And what about you?" The witch asks, poking a finger at Margaret. The little girl doesn't let her touch her. If she does, she knows bad things will start happening.
"I--I am... his sister. He... he's the one with the powers and stuff. He keeps me young too. But I'm the one that catches the kids for him. He can't do it, you see, when he knows them. They have to be strangers. He goes funny if he knows them, and he can't eat them."
The witch takes this into consideration, her old ears unable to hear the rapidity of their similar hearts.
"Very well." She takes a step back from the lifted cage. "Go fetch a child for him to eat. I will send a trinket with you. If you do not return, it will poison your blood and you will die."
Margaret's eyes grow wide and she glances at her brother. He nods, squeezing her hand as the old witch opens the cage door and pulls her out, Margaret almost falling on her face.
"Hurry," the witch growls as she slaps a bracelet on the girl. It grows tendrils in a floral pattern and stretches up and down her wrist, clawing into her skin and drawing blood.
"It hurts!" She cries to the woman. "I can't do this, Hans!"
"Yes you can. Don't be afraid. You do this all the time, remember? There's a new kid just down the block from our house. Go get him."
Margaret nodes quickly and sniffles up a storm as the woman opens the door and lets her out. Margaret begins to sprint through the trees, unsure of what she should really do. And then she gets an idea.
"Tell me the spell," the woman demands as she shuts the chocolate door. "I want to be young again."
"Uh, well, I don't--"
"If you're lying to me boy--"
"No! No... okay. Well, you need a kid."
"Right. Check. Doing that now. What's the next step?"
"Well I can't really show you inside here, can I? And without a kid."
"You will remain where you are," the witch says. "Tell me, so I can gather the ingredients."
"Okay. Well. I'm. What do you usually eat with kids?"
"Candy," she smiles, her teeth rotten and falling out.
Hand cringes. "That's got to change, then," he instructs, reminding himself of things. "Candy only makes them taste worse. Eat them with vegetables."
The woman scowls. "I hate vegetables."
"Do you like potatoes? They're a vegetable."
"They're a starch," the woman replies. "But yes, I do like potatoes."
"Okay. You need potatoes. And corn. And... carrots. I like putting in celery and stuff. Cabbage."
"I'll stick with my candy," the witch grumbles.
"But you can't turn young."
She frowns. "Fine. Then what?"
"Well, then..." Hans racks his brain. "Then..."
The woman draws closer.
"You... need... cheese! Lots and lots of cheese. As much as you can get. And salt. And pepper."
"Very well. I'll retrieve these items from the store." Her body is wrapped in a pitch-black fog, her clothes change to something more... somewhat, at least, normal than before. Jeans and a black turtleneck. "I'll be back in thirty minutes. Meanwhile, eat," she instructs, shoving pieces of licorice and gingerbread into the cage for Hans to scarf down.
She shuts the door after exiting, and Hans looks around again to try and find something to get him free. He has no idea what Margaret is doing, but he hopes she does what she's supposed to. If not... this could be the end of them.
Hans reaches for a bone that looks thin enough to pick the lock, and when he can't reach it, he justifies his inability to grab it with the reminder that he has no idea how to pick a lock, so it would be of no use to him anyway.
He groans and rocks back onto his butt, the whole cage shifting beneath his weight as he tries to keep his balance. An idea suddenly strikes him like lightning and he's on his feet, clinging to the opposite side of the bars, facing the wall closest to him. He begins to sway back and forth, moving the cage like a swing. Maybe he can knock the wall down. It's only made out of cookie, after all.
Hans swings higher into the air, but can't go any higher with out the fear of falling striking him cold.
"Hm..."
He sticks his fist out between the bars and tries to punch the wall as he gets closer to it.
Not a dent.
The cage comes to a rest as Hans sits on its floor, unsure about how to get out of this mess. As the moments pass by, he only finds himself longing to be home. He's not ready for something like this.
THe door bangs open and in walks the witch, grocery bags in-hand.
"Those are bad for the environment," Hans quips, his hopes crushed. Where is Margaret and why isn't she back yet?
"I live in a biodegradable house. I think the environment will forgive me."
Hans keeps silent, not knowing what biodegradable means. But if he wants it to look like he's really old, he needs to act like he does know what it means. Because that's what adults do, right?
She opens up the large oven, feeling the heat wash over her. Hans didn't even notice her turning it on.
His nerves grow uneasy.
"So what do I do with all these vegetables?" she asks, placing everything out on her table.
"Let me out and I'll show you," Hans suggests, crossing his arms in defiance.
The woman exhales and glances back at her groceries, thinking about this deal. Once she makes up her mind, she trods over to the cage and pulls the key from her pocket to unlock it. She swings it open and Hans comes forward, ready to jump down.
The door slams open, the chocolate breaking and scattering along the floor. Margaret stands in its wake, two tall figures behind her. Hans smiles.
She did what she was supposed to.
Hans kicks the woman and she staggers backward, the table skidding across the floor from her heavy momentum. The three at the door barge in, the two figures raising their weapons.
The twin's parents have arrived.
"Why didn't you tell us about her?" their father asks, his crossbow loaded with arrows, waterlogged with holy water. Their mom holds up a knife, the blade a glistening silver.
"Margaret's phone died," Hans accuses, sticking his tongue out at her. "Besides, I thought we could handle it."
The witch hisses and casts a wall before her, protecting her momentarily as she gathers her things, each item floating into her open arms. Her eyes are wide and confused, completely taken aback by the sudden entrance.
"You haven't completed your training," their mother chides, moving forward and slashing the long knife against the glowing barrier, creating a hole. Their father lets the arrow fly and it burrows deep into the woman's chest, black matter flowing from her body like a thick fog as the holy water seeps into her. She gasps, choking on the air around her.
"That was for our family," the father tells the witch as she falls to her knees, her eyes glazing over and going black.
"But we've got to thank you," their mother says, gripping the arrow sticking out of the old, ragged woman. "Because you helped create the family business: witch hunting."
She yanks the arrow from the chest of the woman and douses her with a bottle of holy water. The woman turns to smoke before their eyes as the father lights a match and drops it. They exit quickly, the forest beginning to smell like burned cookies.
"Let's go home," their mother says as they make their way back to the home they'll be leaving behind the next day. "We've got a long day tomorrow and we still aren't finished packing."
Where two children were abandoned-left all alone!
Now they story's replayed, two different children in tow,
Wandering the forest with creatures unknown.
Pampered and praised, their parents had been talking,
Fear grasped their hearts, so they left and started walking.
"It's dead," Margaret whines as she smashes her phone back into her jean pocket. "Now we're lost."
"I told you to charge your phone before we left, dummy," Hans replies, looking skyward, as if the leave would give him an answer to the predicament they've fallen into.
"At least I have a phone, Mister Irresponsible," Margaret chides, sticking her tongue out at him.
"Whatever." Hans crosses his arms over his chest and looks around, ultimately upset. "Now mom and dad are really gonna leave us behind."
"They wouldn't do that. They love us, Hans."
Hans kicks a rock, sending it flying into a tree. "Oh yeah? Mom was talking about moving without us."
Margaret shakes her head, trying to turn her phone on again. No luck. "She was joking, stupid."
"Don't call me stupid!"
"Stupid!"
Hans walks off in a huff, deeper into the forest.
"Wait!" Margaret calls after him, rushing to his side as an owl hoots overhead. The trees begin to look the same as they continue to walk, technology failing them as they wander deeper into nowhere. They huddle close as the night gets cooler.
"I'm hungry," Margaret whimpers as her brother jumps at the sound of her voice.
"Well, then you should have brought a snack, Gret."
Margaret grumbles something beneath her breath at her brother, causing Hans to shove her.
"Hey!" She shouts. "I almost fell!"
She pushes him hard, in hopes to get across she doesn't want him doing that, but alas, he shoves her back and her butt hits the ground. Tears spring into her youthful eyes and she begins to cry.
"I want to go home!"
"Crybaby!"
"So mean," the twins hear. A womanly voice carries through the trees and into their ears, twinkling with a pretty, music-like sound. When they turn to see who spoke, their faces crinkle in disgust. A frail-looking woman stands in an open doorway, a long, worn dress draped over her, the orange color making her look sickly. Her silver-streaked black hair is unruly, and rose higher than the trees, it seems.
"You must learn to be nicer to each other."
The kids move their eyes past the woman, taking in the house that stands all around her. It's made of gingerbread walls and frosting layers that resemble snow. Mints outline the sugar-glass windows, licorice lining the door made of chocolate. Gumdrops the size of the little twin's heads scatter themselves along the roof, just begging to be eaten.
"You live in a candy house?" Margaret asks, standing and brushing herself off as she wipes the tears from her face. "Won't it go bad?"
"It's magic candy, dear, it can never go bad."
"Magic isn't real," Margaret says, scrunching up her nose.
"Yeah. I know why it's really not gonna go bad, lady," Hans says matter-of-factly. "Preservatives. Like the stuff they use on Ramen Noodles."
"Nu-uh, stupid," Margaret argues. "They use it on tomatoes."
"Nu-uh, that's like, bug spray stuff. Insect-inside. Dad was talking about it, so I know these things. Us men know things like that."
The woman rolls her eyes as the kids begin to bicker, shaking her head.
"Why don't you two come inside and have some candy, and I'll show you why they don't go bad?"
"Is the candy gluten-free?" Hans asks, locking his fingers behind his back. "Oh, and is there no emmesgee?"
"Hans, remember stranger-danger?" Margaret whispers loudly to her brother.
"But she's offering candy--"
"Stranger danger, Hans!" Margaret interrupts.
"But if it's gluten free--"
"Hans?" the woman asks, perking up. "Like Hansel?"
Hans nods. "I hate that name."
"What's your name, little girl?" the woman pries, strangely curious.
"Umm..." Margaret hesitates, glancing over to her brother for help. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."
"Then we don't have to talk. Just tell me your name."
Margaret's eyes widen as she tugs at her brother's hand. "We really need to go, Miss. Our parents might be looking for us."
"They probably already left," Hans says, anger lining his words. "Besides, I thought you were hungry."
"Yeah, but--"
"Come on, Margaret," Hans encourages, pulling her toward the woman.
"Margaret?" the woman asks, her eyes lighting up brighter. "You know Gretel's short for Margaret."
Margaret scrunches her nose. "I don't like that name. It's in some story from a long time ago."
The woman laughs bitterly. "That, it is. Come inside, now, children, and have some candy."
"But we don't want to get fat, so we should just go--"
"Gretel," the woman says, and Margaret feels a sharp tingling inside her body, forcing her to freeze in her place. She can't even open her mouth to tell Hans what's happening. "Wouldn't want to be rude now, would we?"
She waves a finger and the world stretches around the twins, Margaret terrified while Hans is lost in his Ooh's and Aah's. The woman snaps her fingers and everything goes dark, except for a rectangle of light on the ground beneath their feet. The woman has disappeared into the thick blackness surrounding them, Margaret finally able to move. They turn around to see where the light is coming from, and realize it's in the shape of a door. They're inside the woman's house!
"She's a witch!"
Hans looks at her sister, believing her accusation as the door shuts and darkness swallows them whole.
"I've been waiting two-hundred years for you to walk back through that door, children."
The witch's voice shifts around them in circles, a terrible laugh shattering the twin's confidence. They hold on to one another, terrified for their lives as metal clangs around them, shackles snaking up their bodies and closing around their wrists and ankles. Margaret falls to the ground as it moves beneath her, and she can't help but think they're being lifted into the air as the sounds of pulleys screech above them, chains clanging loudly.
A fire is lit.
One torch rests in the witch's hand, her wrinkled, terrible smirk sending chills down the children's backs as the lights dance across her face, creating deep shadows on the walls. Metal surrounds the both of them, trapping them where they stand. They didn't leave the comfort of their house for this.
"Seven generations, I have waited for this moment," she breathes, a glisten in her eye. "The fire does nothing to a witch if she escapes."
The woman cackles as torches suddenly light all around the gingerbread house. Hans and Margaret look at their surroundings, remembering a story quite like this one they've been told over the years. Their eyes search for anything they could use against the witch, but appliances have changed along with the times.
The room is large, but it is the only one. There is no bed or bathroom, but only a kitchen and diningroom, a laptop and phone resting on one of the counters. Bones litter the floor, bugs scampering over them and up onto the walls. The woman was mightily untidy.
She waddles over to a cabinet and throws it open, squinting as she looks through the old, rotten books that occupy it. She pulls out a few, muttering to herself and paying no mind to the children.
"Hans, I'm scared," Margaret whispers, drawing close to her sibling. "What are we supposed to do?"
"We're supposed to go home," Hans says, a little shaken up. "This wasn't supposed to happen so soon."
"Ah!" The witch cries, throwing a book across the room. "Curse those children who pay attention in school. This isn't a cookbook-it's too small to be!"
Hans notices the name of the book, How to Eat Fried Worms, and smiles, getting an idea.
"Are you going to eat us?" Hans addresses the witch, wringing his hands together as he recalls the characters of the book. It's inspired him. And good thing too-he was getting too scared to think. "Because I don't think you know what you're doing."
"Excuse me, boy?" The woman asks, turning to him and squinting to see. "What was that?"
"I said, I don't think you know what you're doing. I don't think you've ever eaten a child before."
"I have so," the woman growls, coming closer. "Now don't say another word or you'll be first." She walks away, heading over to the laptop, feeling around on the counter. "Now, where are my glasses?"
"Ummm, I don't think you do," he presses, his imagination taking over, and maybe too far. "I mean, I've eaten loads of kids in my day, and I've never been so clueless."
The woman turns to stare at him for a moment. "But you're a child, how could you-bah, never mind. I won't be fooled again."
"You mean like I fooled you the last time?" Hans' heart is racing now, begging him to stop. "I could tell you what goes best with children. They're sweeter than adults, and I can tell you that from experience."
"You are not Hansel," the woman spits, grabbing the bars of the cage and rattling it. Margaret falls down, staring at her brother in confusion as he keeps his balance.
"Of course I am. I'm a witch too, and that's why I've stayed so young. For two hundred years. Just like you."
"But I watched you grow up. You'd come into the forest with your father to lumber wood, and then you moved away and I followed, waiting to get my revenge on you two brats. But you grew up, as did your grandchildren, and they never ventured out into the woods, so I could never trap them."
"That's because... I can... change from a child to an adult whenever I want."
The woman eyes him suspiciously. "Then do it."
"I, uh..." Hans pauses, is brain coming to a halt.
"He can't!" Margaret blurts, finding her feet. "Not until he eats a... kid," she says quietly, disbelieving of the words coming from her mouth. She shudders.
"And what about you?" The witch asks, poking a finger at Margaret. The little girl doesn't let her touch her. If she does, she knows bad things will start happening.
"I--I am... his sister. He... he's the one with the powers and stuff. He keeps me young too. But I'm the one that catches the kids for him. He can't do it, you see, when he knows them. They have to be strangers. He goes funny if he knows them, and he can't eat them."
The witch takes this into consideration, her old ears unable to hear the rapidity of their similar hearts.
"Very well." She takes a step back from the lifted cage. "Go fetch a child for him to eat. I will send a trinket with you. If you do not return, it will poison your blood and you will die."
Margaret's eyes grow wide and she glances at her brother. He nods, squeezing her hand as the old witch opens the cage door and pulls her out, Margaret almost falling on her face.
"Hurry," the witch growls as she slaps a bracelet on the girl. It grows tendrils in a floral pattern and stretches up and down her wrist, clawing into her skin and drawing blood.
"It hurts!" She cries to the woman. "I can't do this, Hans!"
"Yes you can. Don't be afraid. You do this all the time, remember? There's a new kid just down the block from our house. Go get him."
Margaret nodes quickly and sniffles up a storm as the woman opens the door and lets her out. Margaret begins to sprint through the trees, unsure of what she should really do. And then she gets an idea.
"Tell me the spell," the woman demands as she shuts the chocolate door. "I want to be young again."
"Uh, well, I don't--"
"If you're lying to me boy--"
"No! No... okay. Well, you need a kid."
"Right. Check. Doing that now. What's the next step?"
"Well I can't really show you inside here, can I? And without a kid."
"You will remain where you are," the witch says. "Tell me, so I can gather the ingredients."
"Okay. Well. I'm. What do you usually eat with kids?"
"Candy," she smiles, her teeth rotten and falling out.
Hand cringes. "That's got to change, then," he instructs, reminding himself of things. "Candy only makes them taste worse. Eat them with vegetables."
The woman scowls. "I hate vegetables."
"Do you like potatoes? They're a vegetable."
"They're a starch," the woman replies. "But yes, I do like potatoes."
"Okay. You need potatoes. And corn. And... carrots. I like putting in celery and stuff. Cabbage."
"I'll stick with my candy," the witch grumbles.
"But you can't turn young."
She frowns. "Fine. Then what?"
"Well, then..." Hans racks his brain. "Then..."
The woman draws closer.
"You... need... cheese! Lots and lots of cheese. As much as you can get. And salt. And pepper."
"Very well. I'll retrieve these items from the store." Her body is wrapped in a pitch-black fog, her clothes change to something more... somewhat, at least, normal than before. Jeans and a black turtleneck. "I'll be back in thirty minutes. Meanwhile, eat," she instructs, shoving pieces of licorice and gingerbread into the cage for Hans to scarf down.
She shuts the door after exiting, and Hans looks around again to try and find something to get him free. He has no idea what Margaret is doing, but he hopes she does what she's supposed to. If not... this could be the end of them.
Hans reaches for a bone that looks thin enough to pick the lock, and when he can't reach it, he justifies his inability to grab it with the reminder that he has no idea how to pick a lock, so it would be of no use to him anyway.
He groans and rocks back onto his butt, the whole cage shifting beneath his weight as he tries to keep his balance. An idea suddenly strikes him like lightning and he's on his feet, clinging to the opposite side of the bars, facing the wall closest to him. He begins to sway back and forth, moving the cage like a swing. Maybe he can knock the wall down. It's only made out of cookie, after all.
Hans swings higher into the air, but can't go any higher with out the fear of falling striking him cold.
"Hm..."
He sticks his fist out between the bars and tries to punch the wall as he gets closer to it.
Not a dent.
The cage comes to a rest as Hans sits on its floor, unsure about how to get out of this mess. As the moments pass by, he only finds himself longing to be home. He's not ready for something like this.
THe door bangs open and in walks the witch, grocery bags in-hand.
"Those are bad for the environment," Hans quips, his hopes crushed. Where is Margaret and why isn't she back yet?
"I live in a biodegradable house. I think the environment will forgive me."
Hans keeps silent, not knowing what biodegradable means. But if he wants it to look like he's really old, he needs to act like he does know what it means. Because that's what adults do, right?
She opens up the large oven, feeling the heat wash over her. Hans didn't even notice her turning it on.
His nerves grow uneasy.
"So what do I do with all these vegetables?" she asks, placing everything out on her table.
"Let me out and I'll show you," Hans suggests, crossing his arms in defiance.
The woman exhales and glances back at her groceries, thinking about this deal. Once she makes up her mind, she trods over to the cage and pulls the key from her pocket to unlock it. She swings it open and Hans comes forward, ready to jump down.
The door slams open, the chocolate breaking and scattering along the floor. Margaret stands in its wake, two tall figures behind her. Hans smiles.
She did what she was supposed to.
Hans kicks the woman and she staggers backward, the table skidding across the floor from her heavy momentum. The three at the door barge in, the two figures raising their weapons.
The twin's parents have arrived.
"Why didn't you tell us about her?" their father asks, his crossbow loaded with arrows, waterlogged with holy water. Their mom holds up a knife, the blade a glistening silver.
"Margaret's phone died," Hans accuses, sticking his tongue out at her. "Besides, I thought we could handle it."
The witch hisses and casts a wall before her, protecting her momentarily as she gathers her things, each item floating into her open arms. Her eyes are wide and confused, completely taken aback by the sudden entrance.
"You haven't completed your training," their mother chides, moving forward and slashing the long knife against the glowing barrier, creating a hole. Their father lets the arrow fly and it burrows deep into the woman's chest, black matter flowing from her body like a thick fog as the holy water seeps into her. She gasps, choking on the air around her.
"That was for our family," the father tells the witch as she falls to her knees, her eyes glazing over and going black.
"But we've got to thank you," their mother says, gripping the arrow sticking out of the old, ragged woman. "Because you helped create the family business: witch hunting."
She yanks the arrow from the chest of the woman and douses her with a bottle of holy water. The woman turns to smoke before their eyes as the father lights a match and drops it. They exit quickly, the forest beginning to smell like burned cookies.
"Let's go home," their mother says as they make their way back to the home they'll be leaving behind the next day. "We've got a long day tomorrow and we still aren't finished packing."
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