It was half-past eleven when Wendy finally entered the apartment, or rather, stumbled into the small space drunkenly before attempting to kick the door shut behind her. Squinting her eyes, she scanned the small brown apartment in what looked like desperation as if searching for something in particular before her eyes landed on me. After a small but noticeable hesitation, she cracked a crooked smile and swayed over to where I was sitting at the uneven round table in the corner of the living room.
“What are you still doing up Hanna?” she slurred as she, at last, slumped into the chair across from me.
“Just some school stuff,” I lied. I’d sat at the table every night waiting for her safe return from god knows wherever she spent her evenings. Sometimes I’d do some work, other times I’d sit by the window with a stolen cigarette pinched between my fingers while daydreaming about my future. Sometimes I imagined myself married to a nice rich man with a couple of nice kids and a nice big home to call our own. We’d send Christmas cards to our friends and his family, with a happy little golden retriever stealing the show. Sometimes I’d imagine myself living off of my own success, driving a different car each day and happily thriving as a single woman. But then sometimes I’d imagine myself coming home drunk every other night to my step-child who I deemed a ‘blessing’ and not a burden resulting from a failed marriage and a father who left a piece of himself behind. Waking up each morning with close to no recollection of the prior night’s events, my mind and my body betraying my soul.
My step-mother sighed, the alcoholic stench of her breath flooding my senses,
“Sometimes I think you’re too smart for your own good, you know.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m afraid that when you become rich and happy you’ll forget about me,” she teased. Though I didn’t fail to notice the subtle hint of fear behind her sunken eyes.
“Don’t worry, when I’m rich and happy you can live in my guest house and drive my extra cars while you drink yourself to death,” I half-joked.
Her drunken laughter bounced off the paint-chipped walls of the small space as she reached across the table and grabbed my hands, squeezing them tightly as she said,
“I’m looking forward to it.”
At that, she stood up from the chair, seemingly using all her strength as she staggered toward her bedroom. She opened the door and seemed to contemplate for a moment before turning around and leaning against her door frame.
“You staying in tonight?” she asked.
“Gonna go to the gas station and pick up some milk for breakfast. Mister Avery’s shift starts at midnight and he always gives it to me cheap.”
She hummed, opening her mouth then closing it as if about to say something but deciding against it. Instead, she looked at me for a couple of moments. Not long, but enough for me to notice the slightly sorrowful look that flashed across her face as if she regretted something. Maybe she’d had a bad night and that was why she came home alone.
“You know I love you right, princess?” she said with utmost sincerity. Though again, her words did nothing to hide the sad look on her face. There one second and gone the next. I smiled softly,
“I know, I love you too.”
At that, she bid me goodnight before closing her bedroom door and I assumed going to bed. I allowed myself a couple of minutes of daydreaming again before I entered my room quietly so as to not wake the sleeping woman across the hall. I lifted my mattress and snatched the yellow envelope containing my saved money. I hadn’t told Wendy about the money, or my plans to use it to buy myself a one-way ticket out of this forgotten town and hopefully make something out of my life. Not because I didn’t trust her, mostly because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. After my father decided he didn’t want her, or me for that matter, Wendy took care of me. For a while, at least, before she decided I was old enough to take care of the both of us. Part of me felt like I was betraying her, but every time that sliver of regret entered my mind I shoved it aside and told myself I’d come back for her.
I grabbed a ten dollar bill, enough for the milk and a snack, before I made sure my bedroom door was closed and the front door was securely locked then exited through the fire escape. We couldn’t afford to get another key for the apartment, so Wendy was the only one who could lock it from the outside.
As I made my way down the semi-empty streets, the warm summer breeze and occasional shouts of grumpy store owners or homeless scavengers being my only company, I couldn’t help but feel as though something was off. I shoved the feeling aside once again as I spotted the familiar flickering of lights at the end of the street. Upon entering the gas station, I was greeted by Mister Avery, a nice old man who’d grown up in the town and would probably die in it. However nice he was, I did not want to end up like him. I stalked to the back of the store before grabbing the cheapest milk I could find and a bag of potato chips before approaching the counter he was sitting behind.
“How’s the stepmother?” he inquired while scanning the two items.”
“Still Wendy I suppose,” I replied as I handed him the cash hesitantly. The uneasy feeling returned as soon as he took the paper as if I should have held onto it. Again, I cast the feeling aside and grabbed my purchases, bidding him farewell as I exited the store.
Approaching the rundown apartment building, the feeling returned, only stronger this time. I looked up into the window and noticed the lights were off. Curious, since I didn’t turn them off on my way out. Again, I shoved the queasy feeling away as I assumed the lights had disrupted my stepmother’s slumber and she’d harnessed enough drunken energy to shut them off.
Upon entering the apartment through the fire escape I was shocked to find it half empty, the only remaining items being the table and some living room furniture. Panic shot through my veins as I noticed the door to my bedroom wide open, I was sure I’d closed it before I left. I dropped the purchases in my hands and ran past the bare walls into my bedroom. My dread only increased as I found my room in disarray as if somebody had ransacked the space. Somebody had ransacked the place. Papers and clothing splayed across the floor. My mattress leaning against the wall, the yellow envelope nowhere in sight.
“Wendy!” I shouted desperately, barging into her bedroom. “Wendy someone broke in-”
My mouth snapped shut at the sight of my stepmother’s bedroom. The only sign of anyone having ever lived there were the dents in the carpet from where her bed and dresser were supposed to be. The room was completely empty, save for a small piece of paper with a key next to it on the ground in the center of the room. I approached the items slowly as if part of me knew already what had happened. I grabbed the key, noticing it was the key to the apartment and hesitantly picked up the note. My body drained of all emotion as I read.
Forgive me, princess, I will always love you – W.
Abby created this cautionary retelling of the Grimm Brothers’ “Hansel and Gretel” to showcase how it is not always strangers who children cannot trust, but it can be the people closest to them as well. By altering the characters and family dynamics of the original tale, young readers can see that sometimes it is the people who you love the most who are capable of putting you in harm’s way.