Hansel and Gretel: Picking Up The Breadcrumbs

First Taste

Starting out as hunters hadn't been easy. In fact, in the very beginning, it had sort of started by accident. They had eventually (and mercifully) wound up in a village that bordered the strange woods, but one that was a far cry from home. Desperate for some kind of shelter, Hansel had appealed to the local carpenter, explaining their father's background as a woodcutter and promising service in return for food. Gretel, too, threw in what little sewing skills she knew, and after a heavy bit of grovelling the old carpenter relented and took them both in.

Thus their life in a third 'home' began – and, as they expected, it was vastly different to what they were used to. The work was as hard as ever, which was some small comfort, but for once they were warm and decently fed. Hansel worked well under the carpenter's tutelage, and his wife taught Gretel the finer points of needlework as well as other housekeeping necessities. They even received basic reading and writing tuition, and sometimes the brother and sister wondered if they'd discovered what it was like to be part of a real, caring family.

At night, though, they could no longer pretend that they lived such a life. Hansel rarely slept for long despite being exhausted by his day's work. His nightmares, in turn, kept Gretel awake, and because the carpenter and his wife were old and going deaf it fell on her to comfort him and soothe him back to sleep – if he let her. The witch haunted their dreams, and Gretel was worried they'd never be able to escape her.

A couple of years later that fear came to light. Hansel, now thirteen years old, was returning from cutting wood in the forest when he heard an odd sound. Looking back over his shoulder, he was horrified to see what looked like two people flying on sticks above his head towards the village. As they drew closer, he realised they were the very stuff of his nightmares: strange clothes, twisted features, wild hair, and barbaric body painting. Witches. And they were headed towards his village.

Thinking first of his sister and then of the villagers, Hansel dropped his wood and sprinted towards the houses. As he ran, brain trying to work out exactly what he was going to do when he reached Gretel, there was the sound of something exploding, and he found himself once again staring at a soaring fire cloud, billowing up over the area that had been the village centre. Stopping only for a second to comprehend the destruction, Hansel powered on, knowing that each step brought him closer to saving people he cared about.

"Gretel!" he called, hurtling into the chaos. Smoke and fire surrounded the cobblestone circle he stood in, and he could see families streaming from burning houses or crumbling stalls. "Gretel!" he yelled again, worried she wouldn't hear him over the crashing sound of wood and stone.

"Hansel!"

Whipping his head round, Hansel screwed his eyes shut as his face was smothered by smoke, the soot flying into his lungs and making him cough. He managed to squint through his watering eyes in time to see a small figure fling itself at him, burying her face into his shoulder and squeezing him hard. "Gretel? Is that you?"

"There are witches!" she cried. "They've come to destroy the village! They already burnt down the shops, and now they're going to attack the houses!" His sister gripped his shirt tightly. "Hansel, what will we do?"

Without hesitation, he took her hand and said, "We're leaving," tugging her away from the burning wreckages as he did so. Gretel didn't question him.

They hurried through the village together, hand in hand, ducking between shouting men and wailing women with terrified children as they sought an exit from the chaotic settlement. Just when they thought they were nearing the road, a high-pitched scream caught their attention. Looking back, the siblings paled at the sight of the two witches bent over a group of small children, nasty grins splitting their ugly faces.

"Which one shall we eat first, hmm?" one of them sneered, licking her lips as her accomplice giggled maniacally.

"The boys, one of the boys!" she crowed. "They always taste so much nicer than them girls." The two boys in question shrank away in fear. None of the four children could have been older than six.

The first witch rubbed her skeletal fingers together. "Right then," she said. "Best not let them go to waste!" Eyes wide with hunger, she reached for one of the small boys. The sound of a gun going off promptly stopped her, though – in fact, it outright killed her. The children screamed as the witch's head exploded from her shoulders, showering them in blood, pieces of hairy skull, and brains. The lifeless body dropped on top of them next, and they scrambled desperately to push it off.

Hansel stared. He couldn't even remember picking up the shotgun, let alone knowing how to use it and where to aim. Sure, he'd seen his father use it once or twice during winter, when the wolves would come too close for comfort, but he'd never even held a firearm in his life. He was thirteen! Why would he need to?

The second witch's eyebrows went sky high, her grin flipping into a downward-curved gasp of horror. Slowly, almost jerkily, she turned to where Hansel stood with the gun, her blue-painted skin suddenly a frightening mixture of blue, red, orange and green under the ever-growing fires. Still in shock, Hansel stared back at her, wondering what happened to his concept of time.

"You – shot – my – sister!" the witch suddenly screeched, her distraught expression suddenly morphing into one of hatred, and before Hansel could work out what that meant for him she launched herself at the boy, teeth bared and clawed hands eager to rip his own head from his shoulders – that is, until a knife embedded itself in the side of her neck. Her banshee scream was cut off with an odd gargle, and she dropped from mid-air like a dead pheasant. Stunned, she lifted a hand up to the knife, staring dumbly at the blood on her hands and clothes. She made a choked noise of surprise before pitching sideways, further embedding the knife and effectively ending her life.

Still huddled together, the blood-covered children watched Hansel and Gretel with awed fear. Blinking, Hansel turned to his sister, who still remained in a knife-throwing position. Catching his bewildered expression, she shrugged a little, then forced herself to relax and ran to his side. He gave her a quick hug, feeling proud and shocked that she had used the witch's knife so well, before realising the children were still there. "Go on," he said, being careful not to wave the gun around. "Go find your families, quickly. They won't hurt you anymore."

As if he'd threatened them himself the children scrambled to their feet, one girl tripping over her dress as she did so. The siblings watched them run, then glanced back at the dead bodies before them. "Should we burn them?" Gretel asked eventually. Her brother nodded, though he didn't say why, and together they dragged the corpses over to a burning stall. With the smell of burning flesh in their nostrils, Hansel and Gretel took off into the wind and once more started running – but not before Hansel had picked up the shotgun.