Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Dark in there,” Hansel says, and steps forward, holding the door open with his shoulder and peeking in. “Doesn’t seem like anyone’s here. Come on.”
I glance back at the horse. We have a way out this time. We have a horse and a wagon. We’re older now. We’re not trapped. She’s dead. I repeat the truth, she’s dead. She can’t hurt us anymore.
I take a deep breath and let Hansel lead me inside.
I jump when the door thumps shut behind us, whirling toward it. But it's only Hansel.
He pats the door with the palm of his hand. His blue eyes shine with sincerity as he waits for my heart to calm
"Just me," he says. “Now we won’t freeze while we’re looking around.” His lips lift slightly as if offering a smile but it falls short. His stubble is rough, his skin thicker and it’s only now that I realize just how handsome a man Hansel’s become.
I would rather keep the door open, even if it means we freeze, but Hansel’s right. We should do our best to stay warm. He turns the latch and tugs on it, testing its strength.
It doesn’t come apart in his hand, so I hope it can keep the door closed to any intruders. As if there’s anyone else so far deep in the wild woods.
The main room of the cottage is as it was—dim and dusty. It’s surprisingly neat in comparison to my memories. We didn’t make a mess, but we went through a nightmare, and I expected the cottage to match the despair I felt. But it’s quaint. It’s not exactly how I remember although small bits of it reflect my memory.
A woven rug that used to be brightly colored squats in front of the fire. One of the wooden chairs is turned over by the table, which is one of the only signs that something horrible happened here.
The table itself is bare, except for one metal plate. A few other dishes line a shelf over the sink. Dried herbs hang from hooks by the window. Nothing looks like it's been touched in a long, long time.
It certainly doesn't look like anyone's living here right now.
But my skin is still covered in goosebumps. I can’t help the chill just being in this place.
I don't trust my own eyes. I don't trust the emptiness here. It reminds me of the fog, somehow, only I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe it’s just another reminder of the pain I caused. It’s pain that’s followed us to this day.
I brace myself and turn towards the last object in the main room, the big iron oven. My heart thuds in my ears. If the witch pushes open the oven door and crawls out, the image flashes in front of my eyes and a scream tries to claw up my throat. But it’s not real. The oven is still. The reality is that this place is empty. Still, I’m slow to move. Terrified that the nightmares are real.
It's dark as the windows, no fire lit inside, but the sight of it makes me want to be sick.
Hansel holds my hand tighter and pulls me with him to the oven. He doesn’t release my hand when he bends down and opens the thick door on the front. It creaks on its hinges like it hasn’t been opened since.
“Come look, Gretel.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Come look,” he urges. “I’m here. Right beside you and there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
I hesitate until he adds, “I promise.”
Slowly, and cautiously, I bend down next to him.
The oven is empty. There’s nothing inside. Not even the ash.
There’s no sign of her at all. Just an old oven, in an old cottage. No proof of any wickedness at all. Because she’s gone. She’s dead.
Relief slowly spreads through me, although I still don’t quite trust it. Foolishness runs through me. Embarrassment almost. Of course she’s dead. She’s long since perished. The stones… perhaps I imagined them. I don’t know anymore. Perhaps I’ve gone crazy with fear.
“It’s empty,” he says firmly, then straightens up. Hansel drops my hand and brushes them on his pants. I look up to apologize to him, but then I see his hardened expression. His furrowed brow and stern look.
He’s upset. Maybe even angry. Hansel has every right to be angry at me.
We came to this house because I dared him all those years ago.
It was the kind of thing that kids from the village did. Every so often, we’d go on a long ramble, pretending we were travelers. Our legs could carry us a decent distance. But we’d never seen this cottage before.
Hansel and I made it all the way here. We had to sleep out overnight to do it without a wagon, but we didn’t care. It was summer, and the stars were out. We were having an adventure.