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.
“It’s empty,” he says firmly, then straightens up. Hansel drops my hand and brushes them on his pants. I look up to apologize to him, but then I see his hardened expression. His furrowed brow and stern look.
He’s upset. Maybe even angry. Hansel has every right to be angry at me.
We came to this house because I dared him all those years ago.
It was the kind of thing that kids from the village did. Every so often, we’d go on a long ramble, pretending we were travelers. Our legs could carry us a decent distance. But we’d never seen this cottage before.
Hansel and I made it all the way here. We had to sleep out overnight to do it without a wagon, but we didn’t care. It was summer, and the stars were out. We were having an adventure.
We didn’t think anything bad could happen to us.
But it did.
The forest looked mysterious in the summer, with all the leaves waving on the branches and the long, dark paths leading to unknown places. Every time one of us wanted to turn back, the other would make another dare.
A little farther, then a little farther, then a little farther.
When we came to the clearing and saw the cottage, I couldn’t resist. I dared Hansel to go up and knock on the door.
We hadn’t expected anyone to answer.
I ran to Hansel’s side when the door cracked open and took his hand.
We went inside together.
We were not the same when we came back out. As I watch the pain morph into Hansel’s expression, I remember what he must be remembering. All the agony she put us through.
