He looks over his shoulder at me, crouched in front of the fire, and my mouth goes dry.
“Do you think?—”
There’s a sound in the next room—a metallic thump, like something’s falling. My hands whip to my mouth to prevent me from screaming and my body turns to ice that no fire could melt. She’s here. I know she is.
I scramble out of the bed, dragging the quilt with me, and run to Hansel. It’s only a couple of steps, but he’s on his feet by the time I get there, the poker held out in front of him. He puts his arm out and pushes me behind him.
“Who’s there?” he shouts in the direction of the other room. “Answer me.”
Nobody answers. My body trembles as I look past him. My hair feels like it’s standing on end.
Hansel keeps his feet planted and his arm out, but I can feel his heart hammering. Someone’s in here. I don’t want this to be how we die. I don’t want this to be another nightmare.
“Who’s there?” Hansel calls again, his voice stronger and full of a danger for whoever stands there in disobedience and silence.
We killed her once, I think. We’ll do it again if we have to. Although my eyes sting with the painful memories, I straighten my shoulders and wait. I’ll do whatever it takes to leave with Hansel by my side.
The wind blows across the roof of the cottage. It’s sturdy, unlike the thatch at Hansel’s house, which regularly lets in the wind and rain. What sounds like branches tip-taps over our heads. We both look up, but the sound doesn’t come again.
“Stay behind me, Gretel,” Hansel orders in a murmur. “Stay close. I’m going to see what that was.”
He moves cautiously toward the door. I keep the quilt tight around me, though I know a quilt won’t be enough if the witch is in the next room. I don’t think anything will be enough if the witch is in the next room.
Hansel pauses at the doorway, the poker in front of him, and leans across. His eyes go wide although I can’t see why.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Food.” His tone is flat.
“What?” My heart races remembering the offering that led us to our hell before.
“It’s…food.”
Hansel takes another step into the next room and gestures. I stay behind him but peek out to see what he’s talking about.
Two candles are lit on the table. The chair that was knocked over when we first arrived is upright and pushed in.
There are dishes on the table. Plates. Bowls. Silver goblets. A meal laid out with delicacies.
The display covers most of the available space. On my next inhale, I smell it. Roasted chicken and buttery vegetables and something warm and sweet, like cookies, or cake.
We both stand there, silent, unmoving, for a minute. My own heartbeat is the loudest sound in the room, other than the wind.
Slowly, Hansel lowers the poker. He reaches back, finds my waist, and squeezes. “Are you okay?” he questions.
In an instant, all my fear rushes back. I try to speak, but all that comes out of my mouth is a choked sound. “No,” I barely get out.
Hansel turns to me and puts his hand on my face. “I’ll protect you, Gretel. It’s going to be fine. I need you to run with me.”
His voice is oddly calm. Almost too steady. His eyes don’t look flat anymore. They look determined. Hansel’s hands are steady, too. They’re not shaking like mine.
He turns his head, glancing around once more.
“Show yourself!” he yells out, his voice filling the small cottage.
Nothing. Not even the wind.
Hansel catches me looking. “We can’t eat it,” he warns.
