Author's Apology: It was either this or a tale of incest. Cannibalism, incest. Cannibalism, incest. I picked my poison.
A Feast for Sore Eyes
Witch they called me, but witch I am not. Nasty little children they were, not human. How one's heart aches at the sight of poor, lost children. How one can melt completely at the site of a babe's hunger. Those children lied to me; Hansel and Gretel were their names.
Hansel and Gretel.
They told me they had been lost for days; that their stepmother had demanded they be left for dead. Their father was a poor, old fool and set forth to make his wife happy. They lured them into the woods and once they had wandered deep enough, their father left. However, Hansel was clever. Hansel had gathered white stones and left a trail behind them. When night fell and the moon was bright, the stones glowed and the two children followed them all the way home. The stepmother was furious. Again, she plotted with their father to get rid of the children. They waited a week before they ventured out. This time, Hansel had forgotten to gather stones. Still, he was a clever boy. He used his loaf of bread to make a trail of breadcrumbs. They were abandoned in the woods again; left for dead, alone in the dark. When night fell, there were no glowing breadcrumbs. Hansel didn't think of the pigeons.
For days they stumbled through the woods; overcome by hunger and fatigue. Finally, they reached my house and oh, what a delight my house was for hungry eyes. I had made a house of treats; gingerbread walls painted with blue icing, hard candy windows to resemble the beauty of stained glass, chocolate cake roof covered with vanilla icing, and peppermint sticks, licorice whips, gum drops and a fountain of ice cream to decorate my lawn. The house of my dreams when I was younger; the house I had hoped to fill with the laughter of children. So, I was a bit pleased when I caught the two nibbling on my house that afternoon.
"Hello, children, " said I, "what brings you here? Where are your parents?"
That is when they told me their story. And I believed them; fool was I to believe them! I was angered by the hatred of their parents; how could a mother and father not love children as beautiful as these? Ah, yes, they were beautiful. Too beautiful. For having been lost, they were not dirty nor did they look fatigued. Their skin was very pale and both had the same pale blond hair; their eyes were dark and I could never look directly in them. They were so thin I thought they might expire soon; I guessed I should fatten them up. I bathed them, fed them and made them warm clothes; I thought perhaps the gods were looking kindly at me. Perhaps this was my compensation for having never had the chance to bear children of my own. They were a gift from the gods. Folly! I was an old fool.
We lived together happily for many months. Hansel and Gretel often playing in the garden or helping me with the housework; they had been so good to me, so like my own, that I wanted to do something nice for them. My talent lies in cooking, so I decided to bake them a special cinnamon bread. I was busy preparing and bustling about, that I failed to notice I left my glasses on the counter. The cookbook I was carrying smashed them into pieces. I called for Gretel, my surprise would be a failure but the children would have something to enjoy at least. Gretel came in. "What is it, mother?" she asked.
Ah, mother. "My glasses are broken, I can not see. Please check the oven to see if it is warm."
I should've known then, what I knew now, for anyone knows how to check an oven. "But, mother," she said, "I don't know how to check the oven."
I sighed and tried to find my way towards the oven. "Very well, child, help me to it." Gretel grabbed my arm and lead me towards the oven. I had fed her well but she felt so thin, and cold. She felt very cold. I felt the warmth of the oven near my face now, it was ready. I tried to take my leave but I was pushed forward. Before I could cry out, before I knew what was happening, the oven door shut and deep, seething pain consumed me. I was burning. "Gretel! Gretel!" I cried. But there was no answer. It was so painful inside the oven, so hot and then finally, nothing. I had died, I no longer existed physically.
When we die, we are given the gift of knowledge and oh, what knowledge I now had. Those little children were plotted against by their parents, yes, but their parents were the victims. The children did much evil; the livestock the family had were gone by the hands of the children. It was their fault they were poor. The village they lived in was plagued by missing children; the villagers thought it was wolves from the woods. No, it was Hansel and Gretel luring the children in the woods and devouring them. Their stepmother caught them one night, she was frightened. The father wanted to kill them, the woman would not have it. They left them in the woods, yes, and clever Hansel had found the way back home. Hansel and Gretel decided to feed on them. That's when Gretel realized they faced a great dilemma; their parents were dead the villagers would grow suspicious that two measly children stayed alive. They wandered into the forest once more, feeding off the wood animals to sustain themselves.
They came upon my house then and waited for their meal.
I loved those children in the brief time we had together; it angered me to now see I was just a meal to them. In death I was given knowledge and I was also given vision. I watched as Gretel pulled my body out of the oven, crisp and tender. Hansel sat down at the table and together they feasted on me, bone and all. I will never forgive them for the evil they had done my dead body. I will never forgive them for their treachery. However, I have eternity. I sit, I watch and I wait. I get hungrier each day and I get more malevolent. They too will know what it's like to be betrayed. They too will be a feast for sore eyes.