The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel #1-3)

by Christopher Coleman

  “I’m smart too, Gretel, but I’m not ready for college.”

  “I mean this house, Hansel. You have to get out of this house.”

  “What are you talking about? Out of this house? Why? Where would I go?”

  Gretel grabbed my hand and leaned in close, nodding at the validity of my questions. “Remember how concerned you were this morning about the orchard and Mrs. Klahr. After Petr goes away to school?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I told you that I would pick up the work as best I can?”

  “Yes, Gretel, I remember. It was this morning.” My voice was testy, but I wanted her to make the point.

  “Right. Well, after I leave, Mrs. Klahr is going to need more help than ever. She’ll find someone to handle the orchard and the harvest, but she’ll want someone she can really trust to help her in the house. To do the work I’ve been doing all these years.”

  “Okay. So?”

  “So you could do the work, Hansel. That’s what I’m saying. It’s perfect.

  It was quite perfect really, given that Gretel was leaving rather abruptly. “Okay...I guess...I was going to see about that diner job in town. Remember I told you...”

  “Forget that, Hansel. That place will pay you almost nothing, and it’s too far to walk home when the season changes and it starts getting dark early.”

  “Almost nothing?”

  Gretel ignored me. “But listen, I don’t just want you to work at the Klahr orchard.”

  I wait for clarification, and receiving none I ask, “What does that mean?”

  “It means you can’t stay here anymore, Hansel. What I’ve already told you. Especially not after I leave.”

  “Then don’t leave,” I said, but immediately followed it up with a smile, sensing the childishness of it.

  Gretel smiled and then got back to business. “I’ve talked to Mrs. Klahr already and she’s thrilled about you living at the orchard.”

  “Wait. Living at the orchard? Why would I go live at the orchard?”

  Gretel’s eyes narrowed and her mouth got thin and flat. You know why the look said.

  “No, Gretel. You’re wrong. She’s gotten better. So much better. You can see it.”

  “Yes, I can. There’s no question that she’s improved. And I’m very proud of her. And of you.” Gretel’s cheeks fell, her eyes scared. “But it’s coming back, Hansel. I think I always knew it would. And I saw it today. And so did you.”

  “She’s fine,” I said, unconvincingly.

  “She’s fine when everything is easy and serene. When all she has to do is wake up in the morning and walk down to the lake, and sit still and focus on her mind. But life isn’t going to allow for that all the time. There are going to be problems and arguments and tragedies. And what then?”

  “But there’s nothing left, Gretel. There’s nothing for her to poison herself with anymore. The potion is gone forever.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the sickness that infected her, it’s never going to fully leave her. Potion or not. She can focus on other things, meditate it away for a while, but it’s always inside. And when the madness comes back again, what then?”

  “I can’t abandon her Gretel.”

  “It’s not abandonment; it’s for your safety. And besides, you’ll be right across the lake. You can check on her whenever you like. Every few days just...”

  “Just what?” The cracking of mother’s voice felt like an icy puncture in my eardrums, and I was thrust back to the day, years ago, when father had come home from searching for mother on the Interways and had overheard Officer Stenson instructing us about mother’s disappearance.

  Gretel stood tall and faced mother, shoulders back, her face stern and defiant. I knew at that moment, in the stature of Gretel’s pose, that the relationship between Anika and Gretel Morgan was broken forever. I couldn’t recall any thought, up to that point in my life, which had made me sadder than that.

  “Perhaps Hansel can come check on me when I’m sleeping, and if I’m good and still, perhaps dreaming of my potion that you still believe I so adore, he can slide a knife right into the back my neck. Slide it in at the nape and—”

  “That’s enough!” Gretel barked.

  Mother said nothing, holding still her position in the showdown.

  “I think it’s best that he not be around you for a while, that’s all.”

  “And perhaps I disagree with that.”

  “Do you? Really? Didn’t you tell him that very thing six months ago? That he should stay away from you?”

  Mother turned her head slightly toward me, glaring. It stung at first, that Gretel had violated her promise not to tell mother that I had spoken of that day on the driveway; but how could I be mad at her when I had violated the very same pact with mother.

  “It was true then. At the time. And I’m glad he stayed away. But things are different now.”

  Gretel, mother and I stood in a triangle, each waiting for the other to make the next move. I felt like a pawn on a chessboard, recognizing that I had little say in the final matter. Mother was my sole guardian—not Gretel or Mrs. Klahr—so it wouldn’t be as simple as me just agreeing to go live at the orchard. Mother would have to agree to it too, and that didn’t seem likely. Certainly not after this interaction.

  And besides, although I trusted Gretel’s instincts, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave.

  “We’ll not figure this out tonight,” Gretel said finally, “and I’m very tired.”

  “It’s been figured out, Gretel. He’s my son, and he’s not going to live anywhere else but here.”

  Gretel inhaled as if preparing to unload a rebuttal, but instead she lowered her head and walked toward her bedroom, saying nothing. The weariness in her eyes and face was severe, and I knew then that after she went away to school, she had no plans to return.

  Chapter 21

  By the time we reach Oskar’s house, I need a drink more than I’ve ever needed one in my life.

  I carry a new burden now: the knowledge that the horrible scourge of the Koudeheuval Mountains, Gromus, is in fact a blood relation of mine. And the weight of this revelation has grown heavier with each step. Beyond just the fear that my own blood and cells may be more rotten than I’d thought—I’ve already known about and accepted the blood ties to Marlene—I now feel partly responsible for the children that have been taken. It’s not rational, of course, I couldn’t control any of what’s happened here, but I’m sure my clean hands would make little difference to the families of the lost children. I know if it were my family, I’d hold a place of blame for me. I hold a place now, in fact.

  For Gretel.

  Oskar is more than happy to oblige my thirst, and has, in fact, already begun his own indulgences of the bottle, apparently starting just after sunrise, several hours before our arrival.

  “You are the son!” Oskar slurs after Noah’s introduction of me. “You mother, she love me so much! Yes, Noah? Is true? Tell this boy it!”

  Noah smiles at me, an eyebrow raised, signaling that, as warned, this is Oskar.

  Oskar hands me a half-full bottle of something that smells like a cross between potatoes and kerosene. I hold my breath and let the liquid roll down my throat. The burn is significant, but I refrain from coughing, knowing Oskar is watching me, ready to unleash his own happy version of ridicule if I spit any of it up.

  “Ha, he no boy! Only the man can drink that!”

  The alcohol hits me immediately, warming my chest and shoulders, draping all my muscles with the sensation of tranquility.

  “Are you curious as to why we’re here, Oskar?” Noah asks.

  “To the village.” Oskar’s response is casual, a throw away response, as if he’d been anticipating the question just asked. “You want to be back to the village.”

  Noah gives a curious look. “That’s right. But how did you know? Why would you think that?”

 
; “You come with the boy of Anika. All this way. With other strange ones too. Why else to come visit? Because you so much love me?” Oskar belts out an outrageous laugh, spitting his mouthful of potato kerosene across the room.

  Noah smiles and shakes his head slowly, seemingly never amazed by his friend’s ebullience.

  Oskar composes himself and then looks at Maja and Emre, giving them both a slow, mindful scan. “Who is this boy and girl?”

  “Maja is Hansel’s friend. She’s from Stedwick.”

  “A friend.” Oskar smiles at me and winks.

  Maja ignores the act and simply smiles and nods.

  And then a lull of angst fills the room before the final introduction is made.

  “And this is Emre. His story is a bit more involved. Tonight is probably not a good time to get into it. But...you should know that he is not to be trusted.”

  Oskar studies Emre, giving a serious look that I haven’t seen to this point, measuring the boy as if considering whether he should throw him out of his house, or perhaps interrogate him personally.

  Emre, who has maintained somewhat of a vow of silence over the past few days, sits calmly in a corner, staring out through a small casement window toward the mountains.

  “We’re tracking someone, Oskar,” I say finally, having taken several more sips of my drink and feeling nearly uninhibited. “Perhaps you know the story of Gromus? Name ring a bell?”

  “Maybe not tonight,” Noah says. “Let’s get some rest now and we’ll head off tomorrow. We’ll discuss the details along the way. Two days and we should be at the village.”

  “I’m just asking about Gromus,” I chortle. “What’s the problem?” I can feel my indignation, a spawn of the alcohol. It’s been several days since my last drink, and I’ve taken in too much at once. But I’m in it now, so I keep going, trying to keep my mental balance. “Do you know about Gromus?”

  Oskar smiles at me, a sparkle in his eye. “You like this drink, Hansel?”

  “It tastes like rotten piss. Has Gromus come through here?”

  Oskar holds his smile on me, and I detect a twinkle of insult in his eyes. “There is no Gromus,” he says finally. “This is legend.” Oskar laughs again, regaining his merriness, and walks away toward the door.

  “We saw too much in the lost village for you to really believe that, Oskar. You know what can be.”

  Oskar shrugs.

  “He is real. And he’s been murdering people. It’s lasted for maybe a year now. But you know from the stories that his crimes have been perpetrated for centuries.”

  Oskar looks away, no longer smiling.

  “I’ve been living in the east, in a village where he’s been recently, and when Hansel arrived and told me about his sister, I was sure then that he’d be headed here. Headed back to the village of his ancestors. So that’s why we’re here.” Noah pauses. “But you already knew that.” His stare lingers on his friend.

  Oskar frowns, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I know you come for the village. To go back to the village. For Gromus? Ha! Why I think you would come for fairy tale monster?”

  “Anika is dead,” I blurt out, somewhat irrelevantly. “Did you know that?”

  Oskar puts his hand to his lips and his eyes flash open. He swallows and blinks twice. “How I could know this?” he asks solemnly.

  I shake my head and look away, not sure where to go from there. The jovial scene of only a few moments ago has turned heavy, Oskar’s potable certainly playing its part in the shift.

  “Do you have family, Oskar?” It’s Emre, who is now standing at the window continuing to stare out at the landscape.

  “The boy have a tongue!” Oskar barks. “What you say to me, boy? You say my family?” There is no mistaking the sinister tone of Oskar, and, even in my increasingly intoxicated condition, it sends a chill through me.

  But Emre is undaunted, and he turns toward Oskar, his eyes narrow, searching. “He’ll smell him, you know. Hansel. His blood and perspiration. He smells very well.”

  “What you...” Oskar doesn’t seem to know quite what to do with the words coming at him.

  “He’ll trace it here. The scent. And whoever is here will die. And it will be your doing, Oskar.” Emre starts laughing now, his eyes mad with delight.

  “You fuck.”

  “But it’s more than that,” Emre continues, having sobered at Oskar’s insult. “He’ll trace anyone who has ever been here. I’ll say, Oskar, by the looks of this house and the lines of your face, you don’t have a wife, but—”

  “I kill you, fucking kid!”

  “But surely you have sisters. A mother?” Emre walks to the middle of the room, centering himself at the hub of the circle formed by Noah, Maja, Oskar, and me. “And he will put them in a fucking stew!” The boy’s scream is ear-splitting, laced with enmity and possession, as if Gromus himself were speaking through him.

  Oskar explodes toward Emre, reaching for his neck, mirroring the boy’s hatred. “I kill you!”

  Noah intercepts Oskar just before he reaches the boy, slinging one hand across the back of his friend’s neck in a kind of half-nelson, the other wrapped around his torso. “Relax, Oskar. I know. I know. He has that way about him. And you may get your chance yet. But we need him now. He may be of use to us still.”

  Oskar’s breathing is heavy, almost panicked. “Need for what?”

  “Gromus is real, Oskar. And he has Anika’s daughter. Her name is Gretel. Hansel’s sister.”

  Oskar relaxes and puts his arms straight in the air, a sign that Noah can release him without fear that he’ll attack Emre.

  “He calls himself the son of Tanja, which makes him kin to Anika and her offspring.”

  Oskar looks over at me, slightly awestruck, judging by his eyes and jaw. “He bringing her to the village? Gromus? To the old people? For why?”

  “I’m not sure exactly, but I think you know that I’m right. He’ll bring her there. For their power. It has to do with that book.”

  “Orphism.”

  Noah smiles, as do I, never guessing Oskar would have remembered the name.

  “I help you. Of course.”

  Oskar looks back to Emre, who has sauntered back to his place by the window and is now staring at his host.

  “And about you...I going to kill you for your threatening my family.”

  “Maybe, you will, Oskar,” Emre replies, “but that won’t bring them back to life.”

  Chapter 22

  Two weeks before Winter Holiday, Gretel had already finished packing the entirety of her possessions into two small boxes and a portmanteau. I noted how it all fit so easily into the receptacles, and this observation made me nearly despondent. But the feeling, I knew, wasn’t to do with Gretel’s austerity; it was because she was leaving.

  She had received acceptance into the University of the Urbanlands, and, due to a formidable combination of her academics, essays, and interviews, had been encouraged to start her schooling early, to get a head start on her collegiate endeavors by taking an accelerated winter course before the start of the spring semester. The final dissolution of the Morgan family, therefore, which was slated to start just after the onset of the new year, was now scheduled to be completed by mid-December.

  “Hansel, can you carry this down to the driveway for me? Petr will be here in twenty minutes or so and I want everything to be ready.” Gretel lowered one of the corrugated boxes onto the kitchen table and scribbled her name on the side, followed by the superfluous word ‘Things.’

  “I figured you would be leaving tomorrow. It’s Saturday; your winter class can’t start on a Sunday.”

  Gretel avoided my eyes. “Petr has some people he wants me to meet today. And then I’ll need to spend tomorrow getting settled into my dormitory. It will be too much to do all in one day.”

  I frowned and picked up the box and carried it to the door. “I assume you said your good-byes to Mrs. Klahr?”

  “Yes, of course. There were some tears, m
ostly from me, but she’s fine. And that reminds me, don’t forget about the ad. It needs to be placed some day this week.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  Gretel had spent the previous two months showing me the routine of the orchard, but the first major assignment I’d been given since assuming the temporary role of Orchard Overseer was to find a permanent replacement for the position. The assignment involved contacting the only two newspapers in the Southlands and having them write up a job announcement. After the person was hired to do the heavy lifting of the property, and once the harvest season began several months from then, I would stay on to help Mrs. Klahr in the house. I would assume most of Gretel’s responsibilities, as well as her pay, which I was told would stay at the current rate. That part was certainly generous of Mrs. Klahr—she could have started me at the bottom of the pay scale and been perfectly justified in doing so—but I made no feign to oppose the offer.

  “And mom?”

  Gretel walked past me at the threshold to the front door and carried the portmanteau down the steps, keeping her stare forward, as if willing Petr’s car to come crackling down the driveway ten minutes early.

  I followed Gretel down the steps and put the box on the ground. She tried to move past me, back up the stairs to retrieve the last box, but I grabbed her arm lightly. “Gretel.”

  “What?” Gretel shook her arm away. “What do you want, Hansel?”

  “Why are you acting cold to me? Every time I try to talk about mom, and other times too, this is how you get. It’s been like this for months now. And today? You’re still doing it today?”

  Gretel narrowed her eyes and stared at me, shaking her head. “You know why, Hansel. I told you to get out of here. Things are going to end painfully in this house, and if you don’t get out, you’re going to be the one to absorb the pain. It might not be today or tomorrow, or even next week or month, but it will end badly.”

  I shook my head, exasperated. “It’s been almost a year. You have to stop. She’s not that person.”

  “You think all is right with her? You really see nothing wrong?”