Fairly Wicked Tales

by Hal Bodner

  Even while they lived with Father and Stepmother, meat had been a rare treat. Father was far from poor and could easily have afforded it but his second wife was stingy where her step-children were concerned. It was only when one of the servants would take pity on them and sneak them a few morsels of fatty gristle meant for the yard dogs that they would have even a bit. Hansel had always loved the taste.

  At first, she seemed to have reached a compromise with her brother insofar as his nourishment was concerned. He’d eat his vegetables so long as she also supplied him with meat. He continued to voice his desire for candy and cake, but in return for the luxury of meat every day, he cooperated to an extent. He sometimes clamored for something sweet but, after becoming the victim of his sister’s violent reaction when he demanded gingerbread, his griping was reduced to a more or less constant but low-key fearful grumbling.

  Then, Hansel grew clever. He wheedled and whined about his cage, claiming he also needed exercise to help him lose the weight. She suggested he run in place and was pleasantly surprised when he tried to do so. For more than a week, Hansel lumbered back and forth across the cage, his huge stomach jiggling as he made what appeared to be a valiant effort. It was very difficult for him and she was pleased and impressed by his seeming cooperation—but not so pleased, fortunately, that she abandoned all thoughts that he was simply trying to lull her suspicions. As a test, she allowed him to convince her he could be trusted to use the outhouse instead of the chamber pots she provided. Pretending to be taken in by his sincerity, she set him free and helped him stagger outside, whereupon he immediately latched on to the front porch railing and began to devour it.

  Hansel cackled madly while he ripped off chunks of the gingerbread posts and shoved masses of icing into his mouth, groaning with delight and barely chewing the cake in his eagerness to get it down. He kept a veritable death-grip on the candy railings and, even after she’d managed to pry his fingers free, he simply dropped to the floor of the porch to make himself into deadweight, eating the entire time. As his bulk was still considerable, she had great difficulty getting him back into his cage. Her heart broke once he was locked in again and she saw the injuries she’d been forced to inflict. But, she’d had no choice if she wanted to protect him from himself.

  He lay there, groaning for a while. Then he raised a tear-stained face and, with a sudden horrified dawning of understanding in his eyes, his chest lurched and he was profusely sick. Chunks of undigested cake, half chewed pieces of candy and great gobs of icing interspersed with bits of gumdrops spewed from his mouth in a steaming mess while his body heaved and lurched with the force of his vomiting. It continued for several moments and, when he finished and his stomach must have been completely emptied, Hansel went mad.

  Instantly, she realized the problem. While she was rolling him back through the kitchen, he must have had a glimpse of what hung in the larder. She burst into tears and tried to explain but her brother’s tantrum was like a storm’s wild wind in the forest, a wind which rips the branches from the tallest trees, uproots them and hurls them to the ground. He railed at her for some time, cursing her with words no boy of his age should know until, finally exhausted, he collapsed onto the floor in the puddle of his own sickness and sobbed quietly.

  Thereafter, he began to refuse all nourishment whatsoever. She tried to force some broth down his throat but his great bulk lent him strength. In the end, she had to secure him to the butchering table and use some of the witch’s tools to pry his mouth open. In the process, she feared she had injured him again and she was both furious at herself and desolate that she should ever be the source of his hurts. Eventually, of course, hunger took control but, even then, he would eat only vegetables. As the witch’s garden had not been very large to begin with, the meager rows of neatly planted carrots, greens, onions and the rest would soon be depleted.

  Worse, though Gretel prided herself on her industry in having learned to cook, she initially had no idea how to bake. It was all very well to try and follow recipes but she soon discovered baking was more than a mechanical task; it was also an art, the secrets of which the old lady had jealously guarded for herself. For Gretel to have gone near the oven, other than to clean it or to tend the fire, would have meant immediate harsh punishment, if not death. In the beginning, the results were discouraging. Everything she tried to bake emerged from the oven as an inedible, hard mass of gluey congealed flour or burnt black as tar.

  Her husbandry lacked in other areas as well, and she feared her brother might suffer for it. Although she knew well how to weed and tend a garden and harvest its bounty, she had not a clue as to how or when to plant. She dug holes and filled them with seeds, watering daily and weeding dutifully. But nothing sprouted and, when she dug up some of it, she found the seeds had gone moldy. The several fruit trees in the tiny orchard behind the house had potential. But just before the fruit was ready to be picked, flocks of birds descended and stripped the branches bare. In desperation, she gathered the half-rotten fallen fruits from the ground and threw them, bugs, bird droppings and all, into the big cauldron to boil but the concoction was so vile that, even as hungry as he was, Hansel could not keep it down.

  She, of course, kept up her own strength by finishing off what was left of the witch. But as to her brother, even when she forced him to eat the meat, he would inevitably vomit everything within minutes. Gretel even tried binding his mouth shut with rags after each feeding in the hopes it would help him to keep his food down. But he retched and strained anyway and she had to remove the gag for fear he would choke on his own vomit.

  Weeks passed and turned into months. The vegetables were gone. The fruits were gone. The pantry shelves were bare. When she finally gave in and resolved herself to allowing him some cake or candy from the house, she found it was too late. The forest creatures had been busy; what the rabbits and squirrels and such had not devoured, the birds had carried away. Ants and other insects finished the job. The Gingerbread House had been scoured almost clean to the wood of its frame.

  After much effort, she managed to fix up some little cakes by eschewing the oven completely and instead frying up a mixture of flour and water in some of the witch’s fat while Hansel tossed and turned in troubled sleep. The next day, he ate them without making a fuss and she was encouraged a bit before succumbing to a bleak sense of inevitability. So long as the flour and fat held out, perhaps her brother would not starve. But he certainly could not remain healthy on such a diet.

  And so, Gretel came to a decision. Hansel panicked at first when she told him she would be leaving him alone for a few days. He was convinced she would never return and he would starve to death, trapped in his cage. He begged and pleaded with her to stay or, at least, to release him—which she knew she could not do. Her tears were as copious as his at the thought of being separated from her dear, sweet brother, even for the few short days that she intended. But, she explained to him, she must leave to seek out food that he could bring himself to eat if he were not to starve. He still refused to see reason. So, with a heavy heart at causing him so much pain and sorrow, but with the strength of her resolution, she placed a basin in the cage so he would not want for water, provided him a chamber pot, locked the cottage door behind herself, and set out on her quest.

  At first, she considered trying to find the village where they had grown up but, after all this time, she was unsure of which way to go. Though she’d often heard tales that witches, ogres, giants and similar evil creatures always kept a secret cache of silver and gold hidden somewhere within easy reach, Hansel and Gretel had not been so lucky. Their witch seemed to have been concerned only with sugary treats. Without gems or coin to spend, there was little chance she could buy food and, though she was a strong young woman from her household labors, she was not fleet enough to get away after stealing. She had no idea what she would do once she found her destination, but she had always been a resourceful girl and she had no doubt some inspiration would occur to her at the eleventh
hour as had so often happened before.

  Luckily, after only a day’s journey she came upon a small glade in which sat three tiny houses. Ashamed at what she had to do, she nonetheless humbled herself, prepared to beg the owners for some scraps. Before she could knock at the first door, she heard a deep growl behind her and spun around in time to see a large wolf burst from the forest, intent on attack.

  It was unfair. Horribly unfair! After all she and her brother had been through, watching the other children butchered by the witch, Hansel chained in a cage while she worked herself to exhaustion cleaning and scrubbing for their tormentor, was she to be devoured by some wild animal? Was Hansel to be left to slowly die, never knowing what had happened to his adoring sister, breathing his last breath while still waiting for her return?

  Something deep within Gretel’s soul snapped. A blinding rage descended upon her. She was conscious only of roaring back at the beast and, for the rest, all was a blank. When she came to her senses some time later, she was astonished to find the wolf, dead of a broken neck at her feet. Even more incredible, three fat pigs in cunning little outfits were wildly capering in a circle around her, weeping with joy and begging her to tell them what they could do to express their gratitude to her for saving them.

  A sly thought crept into her mind and, in no time at all, she decided what would be proper thanks. She departed the little clearing lugging a heavy sack, leaving three little suits of clothes behind in a pile on the grass and the wolf’s carcass hanging from a tree to keep it safe from scavengers.

  Hansel was overjoyed to see her again, even more so when she showed him what she’d brought home. Poring over the witch’s cookbooks, she found a recipe for Pork Three Ways and set to preparing it: baked in the brick oven, wood-smoked, and slow-roasted over straw and forest herbs. Her brother loved it and could not seem to compliment her enough on the dishes. Of course, as was typical, he tried to wheedle larger helpings from her. But she refused as, by this time, he had grown quite thin and she did not want him ballooning up again as he would undoubtedly do if allowed to eat unfettered.

  The pork, carefully husbanded, lasted for several weeks and, by the time it was running low, Gretel judged the wolf would be properly aged. She returned to the little clearing for the carcass and, though not as tasty as the pigs, when stewed the meat was not bad. Yet, all too soon it would also be consumed.

  Again she set out. This time, she came upon a fairly large cabin hidden deep within the woods. As no one answered her knocking, it was no great matter to break a window and enter. In the living room, she found a curious decor: several almost identical sets of very ornate furniture of differing sizes. There was a large over-stuffed silk couch, a smaller gilt-edged sofa with brocade cushions, and a tiny love-seat covered in deep purple fabric. All the furniture was of the highest quality and looked very expensive.

  In the kitchen, she found a well-stocked larder with bags of dry goods and jars of preserves. She found an empty sack or two and was busily loading up on provisions when the furry owners of the place returned home. At first, she was frightened but then, remembering how she had defeated the wolf, she filled her mind with visions of her beloved brother starving to death in his cell and, again, a red fury washed over her.

  When she recovered, she found some nasty gashes on her arm, doubtless from the claws of the largest bear. She washed the cuts clean with water from the pump in the yard and then went upstairs in search of something with which to bandage her wounds. To her surprise, she discovered a young girl, huddling terrified under the covers on the smallest bed. The instant Gretel entered the room, the girl began to shriek with terror. At first, Gretel attempted to soothe her and ease her fears, but the child was hysterical and would not shut up. Gretel tried to remain calm but the ceaseless caterwauling became more and more irritating. Gretel’s annoyance at the difficult child bubbled and stewed until it finally overflowed.

  In the end, though it meant an extra trip dragging the carcasses from the cottage back to the Gingerbread House, the effort was worth it. Gretel was able to extend the bear meat by several weeks by mixing in portions of the blond girl and her brother never knew the difference. Even better, the bears were far more materialistic than either the witch or the pigs had been. When she searched the house, she discovered several small caskets of coins; most of the wealth was in silver, but she spied the occasional gold piece as well. The older female bear also had some lovely jewelry which Gretel quickly made her own. Ever of a practical nature, once she returned home, she hung the skins from the branches of the now-bare fruit trees. Though she did not know how to properly prepare fur, she assumed that between drying in the sun and the ants picking clean the odd scraps of remaining flesh, the hides would be good enough to serve as blankets should the coming winter be a cold one.

  Though the larder was full, the pantry eventually emptied. And so, with gold in hand, Gretel set out for her home village. No one would recognize her now, she thought. She’d left as a girl several years ago; she was now a young woman who looked far older than she was. The time spent scrubbing and carrying had taken its toll on her young body. Though she had discovered an ability to develop freakish strength when angered, she had little control over it. Mostly, she found herself walking with a stoop to ease the aches in her shoulders and lower back. The pain was dull, but constant and over time her mouth had assumed a more-or-less permanent grimace of discomfort with twisted lips and bared teeth, gritted against the pain.

  Her own clothing had long since been reduced to rags. Since she obviously could not show up in the village market naked, she resorted to covering herself with things that had belonged to the witch. But Gretel was a much larger-boned woman than the old crone had been and nothing quite fit. She compensated by clumsily ripping apart garments and sewing them onto other clothes to make them larger. The result was a haphazard mish-mash of unmatched scraps. Yet, when she looked at herself in the tarnished glass the witch had used for scrying into the future, she thought the bizarre outfits seemed strangely suited to her.

  Just before she left the Gingerbread House, as luck would have it, a neurotic chicken came banging at the gate, hysterical about some imagined cosmic disaster. With some leaves from an old bay and a few of the mushrooms which grew wild on the trunk of a fallen tree, he made a lovely rich stew. Even if Hansel failed to control himself and ate the whole of the pot she’d put in his cage at once, it would be enough to tide him over for the few days she planned to be gone.

  Half-buried under the collapsed structure which had once served as the witch’s barn, she found a rickety cart large enough to carry home anything she might buy. With the addition of some straw, it would easily do double-duty as her bed along the way. Unfortunately, any horses the barn might have once housed were long since dust and so, taking up the yokes under her arms herself, she set off, dragging the little wagon behind her.

  In the end, she took longer than she’d hoped to find the village, but she kept track of her missteps and figured, the next time, she could make the trip in two days at most. Unselfishly, she’d left the entirety of the chicken for her brother and so was forced to scrounge for herself on the journey. Luckily for Gretel, the forest was dry this time of year and finding firewood was not difficult. She reached the village with a full belly and the fortuitous addition to her wardrobe of a darling cape which, though a trifle small, was a lovely shade of scarlet.

  In the marketplace, the stall-keepers seemed polite enough, yet Gretel could not quite put her finger on the sense of unease she felt. She was purchasing some old cookbooks from a bookseller’s cart when the cause for her discomfort suddenly dawned on her. While the merchants showed no hesitation in taking her money, none would look directly at her. The stall-keepers were not the only ones to avert their gaze. All of the people around her, the other villagers, seemed to be deliberately avoiding her, lowering their heads to examine the ground whenever she drew near. It was only when they thought she wouldn’t notice that she saw them huddled to
gether, throwing furtive glances her way, and making strange hand gestures in her direction.

  She was more puzzled than offended by the villagers’ reactions. Perhaps her outlandish garb caused their bizarre behavior. Or, she reluctantly acknowledged, perhaps it was simply that, living alone with her brother so deep in the woods as she did, she was not quite so attentive to her personal hygiene as strangers would prefer. She decided to ignore the stares and whispers and gestures and continue her shopping. There was no one here she needed to impress anyway.

  The bears’ gold should have been more than enough to buy all the supplies she needed but it was spent far more quickly than she had expected. Until she had returned to the market several times, Gretel would not realize how she was being cheated with each purchase. Once she became aware of the dishonesty, she took steps to make sure it would not happen again. But, on this first trip, by the time she reached the butcher’s stalls, she had just about run out of money. Nevertheless, she examined the trimmed racks of beef, the plucked chickens neatly trussed, the smoked hams hanging from poles and the glossy fish in their beds of melting ice. Oddly, nothing seemed appetizing to her. So, instead of parting with what few coins she had left, she shrugged off the merchants’ ceaseless patter and prepared to return home.

  On her way out of the village and back into the forest, she found she had picked up a traveling companion. A vacant-eyed youth leading a cow by a length of rope had latched on to her as if she was his best friend. Several times, she tried to shoo him away but he responded with a dopey grin and persisted in offering her some beans he was selling. Gretel tolerated his unwanted company for quite some ways into the wood before she snapped. She managed to control herself, but just barely. The cow was not so old as to have stopped producing milk which she could learn to make into cheese. The beans, she would try to plant in the garden. And the idiot boy would stalk her no longer.