“Take care of my boy,” he says softly, then closes the door behind us.
Hansel
The fog is so thick I can hardly see Gretel at the doorstep. She’s mostly a shadow, looking smaller, somehow, than she used to look. Not that Gretel was ever tall. But she used to stand up straighter. She didn’t look so afraid. We were only kids and life hasn't been kind to either of us. Her timid nature is evidence of that.
I feel for her. She’s fucking terrified and I haven’t seen her like that since… The memories assault me and I’m taken back there, for only a moment before I shut it down. The witch is dead. We aren’t children anymore. And she needs to know it’s over.
If only it was a nightmare, one I’ve spent years attempting to wake from.
As I watch her stare off down the road as if the witch is waiting for us, all of the feelings I’ve spent years suppressing rage inside of me.
Last time I let my feelings get the better of me, we ended up in that witch’s house, and it ruined our lives. Not just ours.
I bristle at the thought.
I’ve already got the wagon ready. The horse is harnessed. I spent half of the night awake, thinking of Gretel in the next room, tossing and turning like the teenager I used to be.
I’m not that boy anymore. And she’s not that girl who longed for laughter and adventure. Life didn’t want her spirit so bright.
“Ready?” I call, hating that this is what brought us together again.
“Yes,” she answers, though just from her tone, I can tell she doesn’t want to do this. She’s already having regrets.
Gretel needs to know she’s wrong. She needs to understand that we killed that witch, and the fog has nothing to do with us. This curse is steadfast but it doesn't’ mean the witch lives. She burned in that oven. Her stench ever present if only I think of the dreadful day. The scream… it haunts me and I imagine it haunts Gretel as well.
Gretel comes to me, her steps tentative, and I hold out my hand to aid her into the wagon. The wood is old and creaks, but it will keep us warm for the journey. It’s hard to imagine we went by foot as children. I’ve taken the path so many times since, from hatred and fueled by pain. My chest is hollow as I think of going one last time. One last time and this time, I’ll burn that whole house down.
And what would that mean for the two of us?
Gretel glances up at me, then puts her hand in mine. I force myself not to make a sound. Her hands are just as delicate as I remember, but strong, too. I want to hold her hand. I want to hold it like we did so many times before.
I don’t. I boost her up onto the step and steady her while she climbs over and sits on the bench seat.
“Hup,” I say, my voice carrying out in the fog as I lift the reins. The horse hears, and trots forward.
The wooden wheels are loud on the street, which is part cobblestone, part dirt. I feel every jolt as we bump away from my father’s house. The clatter of the wheels echoes in my ears.
I try to stare straight ahead; I can’t help but to search the fog for any sign of movement. Each heartbeat of mine is heavy and thumps loudly in my ears. It’s hard to see anything but the outlines of buildings and hints of doors and windows. Once or twice, I see someone’s shadow in a window, but that could be a trick of the light. It’s early morning and we’ve got a long way to go. So far silence is our only company.
Gretel says nothing as we leave the village. The cobblestones give way to dirt, and the sound of the wheels doesn’t rattle back at us anymore. It disappears into the fog.
Thin snowflakes spiral down from a sky we can’t see. It’s probably as white as the fog, and just as chilling. I blink a few flakes out of my eyes. They’re sharp. Not like the fluffy snowdrifts of my childhood at all.
I wanted to go out in it, then. I wanted to make snowballs and build a snowman and catch the snow on my tongue. I wanted to chase Gretel and watch her cheeks go pink.
Now all I want is to be inside. Warm by a fire. Safe.
Alone. Not chasing demons I’ve long since killed.
The cold and the silence are worse with Gretel sitting at my side.
I try to tell myself I don’t care, but I do.
This isn’t how our last time together should be.
This is our last time together. I swallow thickly at the thought.
Once we return to the village, she’ll leave me once again. She can go back to whatever life it is she’s made for herself and leave me out of it.
