My house isn’t actually built out of gingerbread, but it certainly smelt like it that day. I’d just finished putting the third batch into the oven, not quite satisfied with how the first two had turned out. It’d have to be perfect to gain the approval of the Fairytale Foodies. They judged one of the most prestigious baking competitions on this side of the river. But never mind that now, that’s another story.

I had been out gathering herbs for supper when I first heard them. Poor babes were crying together, and yet, it had been the rumbling of their tummy’s I’d heard first. Clearly, they hadn’t eaten properly in a long time. Hansel had looked like a skeleton, all bones with very little skin, and certainly no fat on him. Gretel hadn’t looked much better herself, and so exhausted she couldn’t stand on her own, she’d collapsed at Hansel’s feet in despair. I’d desperately wanted to scoop them up right then, but oh, how that would have scared them. A lady covered in twigs emerging from the bush to smother them, that’s what they’d have thought. If they didn’t think of me as a transforming thunderbird with my brown cloak acting as wings. So, I’d gone home. I would have loved to wait there, but I still had a gingerbread loaf in the oven, and I’d be no use to anybody if my house burned down.

Not long after returning home, the idea struck me. Leave the little darlings a trail of food. I could see no flaw in it initially, but as I started to prepare little sandwiches and shine some apples, I realized I couldn’t just leave them exposed on the forest floor. Any passing forest creature could steal an apple. Even the smallest of squirrels would try. And on a day as overcast as this, the sandwiches would surely become soggy. Besides, how many apples or sandwiches could two tiny children eat on any given day, no matter how hungry they were? No, it wouldn’t due at all. No humans lived this far into the woods, so they would just have to come here. It was the only safe place close by where the creatures of the night wouldn’t find them and swallow them up. I had sat down to have another think on the matter, and my eyes were drawn to the delightful dish on my tables center. Candy. Bright, beautiful, candy. Crisp wrappers that would glimmer if any sun ray escaped the cloud cover. Yes. Candy it would surely have to be. So, I divided up all the candy into my pockets and set out to find them again. Leaving a little trail of shiny packages along the way. A cloaking spell to hide the candy from all but human eyes. Very useful for keeping other animals out of things. The only problem animal was cats. I’ve never been quite able to get it to work on them. It’s as though they see the absence. But there are no cats near where I live anyways, it’s too far outside of the village for them to roam over here. The woods are full of chupacabras who’d happily drink any strays that wandered too far from the village.

Once I’d gotten the candy trail nearly all the way to where the youngsters were lying down to take a nap, I climbed up into a nearby tree to keep an eye on them. The leaves were just barely starting to change into their autumn foliage, so I was hidden well enough without further spells. They slept fitfully for a while, but eventually, they woke up and started looking around. Trying to decide where to go now, no doubt. It didn’t take them long to spot the first candy. I’d set it on a nearby stump, and I had another a few feet from the base of it, sitting on a tower of small stones. Both the size of a marble with little wrapper twists and bright red, they really were impossible to miss. I’d tried to keep the colours together in bunches so they wouldn’t squabble as siblings are oft to do. So far it had been working. The farther along the trail they went, the larger amounts of candy they would find, until ultimately, they’d be in the clearing around my house. From there I figured it wouldn’t be too unusual if I introduced myself.

Once they were near enough to my house that I felt safe leaving them unattended, I dashed ahead. The last of the gingerbread was still warm, so I’d brought it over to the windowsill to cool. It might not have been pie, but the scent certainly carried. Sure enough, the little dears scampered over soon after. Hiding out behind the garden shed as they decided what to do. They would never admit it to me, but I know they planned to steal the colling gingerbread from my windowsill that day. I wouldn’t have blamed them for it if they had. They were clearly used to having to sneak scraps here and there, whenever their parents’ visited town.

The whole village knew who they were. The Woodcutters weren’t particularly poor, and yet Mrs. Woodcutter seemed to have sticky fingers. Or so she’d say when caught holding someone else’s jewelry. Mr. Woodcutter was no better, often found rooting through trash cans and pantries alike. It was this habit the children had quickly picked up from him. The town believed the whole family a menace. Only leaving them be since they lived just far enough out of town that people could forget about their existence for a few weeks at a time. Plus, Mr. Woodcutter had one redeeming quality in the village’s mind. In that the tonics he smoked, imbued him with a certain calmness at all times, making him rather agreeable. Some of the townsfolk would use that to their advantage, negotiating much lower wood prices on account of it being ever so easy to get anyways. It drove Mrs. Woodcutter mad, I’m sure. But that was no excuse for leaving their children out in the woods alone, and hoping they wouldn’t return.

The children had told me of that, they’d heard her scheming some nights prior, and she’d tried other such moves in the past. She told them they were fat and ate too much of the food she worked so hard to provide, never offering any thanks for it. The forest was meant to harden them up, teach them how hard food was to come by, and to Mr. Woodcutter she’d remarked that it might just eat them up once and for all. I might not have believed them, had I not known the family had plenty enough food for the four of them. But Mr. & Mrs. Woodcutter were always eating, her to drown out her sorrows, and him because the tonic was famishing. Or so he’d often say. I’d never had an interest in such things. No matter now.

When Hansel had run over ‘neath the windowsill, I picked the gingerbread up to move it inside. Feigning surprise when his hand appeared a moment later. Him, having not known I was there. He’d run back to the bush, gesturing to his sister -who’d been hiding by my garden shed- to begin running too. But when I called out for them to wait and asked if they’d like some food to eat, both children had paused. Gretel stared at her elder brother, trusting his judgment at the moment more than her own. He’d asked the silliest question then if I was going to eat them. Ridiculous really what children could come up with. I’d laughed lightly at that, and assured him I’d no intention of eating either of them, and they were both too thin to be worth the hassle anyway, they’d slowly come inside. Hansel clearly prepared to break for the door at any moment, but I kept true to my word. I let them each have a slice of the first gingerbread loaf, I thought it was a bit too dry myself, but they seemed to be in awe. I had left them to it and prepared a simple supper for us all.

By the time supper had ended night had already descended down from above, and the landscape lay shrouded in shadows. They knew enough to see it would be safer for them to stay with me and immediately accepted the offer to stay the night. That’s all I intended it to be really. One night somewhere warm and safe, then I’d head to the village with them in the morning and get them settled back in at their home. Maybe give their parents a talking to, supposing they youngsters hadn’t run off themselves. I’d taken them to the spare bedroom to tuck them into bed, telling them this, and that’s when they broke down and told me their half of the story. I’d gone to bed more conflicted than ever. Take them back to a place they were uncared for only because the people there called them their own children, or find somewhere else for the kids to go? I knew few, if any, of the villagers would have any interest in adopting them. Most households already had their fill of kids. But I wasn’t sure I had the time to watch them myself, I was so used to living alone and wandering off as I pleased throughout the day. It wouldn’t matter too much, the next morning it was clear that my clearing had been visited by some large forest creature in the night, and to travel outside of the house wouldn’t be safe that day.

It was in that way that one night passed into two, and two turned into a week. Then weeks started to blur into months. The first snowfall came down, and the children convinced me that it would be too cold a journey to take them on now. I admit, perhaps I was too easily persuaded by that and every other excuse they’d come up with each new day. Even having skipped the bake sale entirely, since Gretel had caught some sort of chill she couldn’t shake. I hadn’t even minded really; it was so wonderful seeing how Gretel had taken to baking immediately. She was making so much progress, and I was so excited for her. Hansel had taken longer to warm up to, but eventually one night, about two months in, he’d asked about the creatures of the forest, and how I kept them away from the cottage. I’d shown him my spellbook and taught him a few of the easier spells, one to flip the page of a book from across the room, another to spawn a tiny floating light that would hover by his side until dismissed. He was slowly working towards defensive magic and time-based spells when a villager finally came by to see if I’d heard anything about the missing children.

Unfortunate. That was the only way to explain the interaction. I didn’t even consider turning Mrs. Potts away, having all but forgotten the children weren’t really mine already. Gretel had been stirring a pot on the stove, and I’d been just about to call Hansel in from the garden shed. Which I’d refitted now for him, as a safe place to cast spells to prevent any further damage to the house. One rouge ignition spell was enough to motivate that. Mrs. Potts had been stunned to see Gretel alive and well, looking almost unrecognizable now that she was well fed and happy. But only that: almost. Mrs. Potts had demanded to see Hansel then, and we probably could have sorted the whole matter out then and there, but Hansel’s newly learned locking spell was surprisingly strong. I’d had to cast what must have been a rather scary sounding counterspell to unlock the door. At least based on Mrs. Potts’s reaction. Hansel tumbled out then, having been trying the door for a while prior. It’s worth noting that Mrs. Potts had a son of her own, Chip, I believe she called him. Clearly, the idea that at any time I could have taken him and hid him away in a shed for half a year was too much for her to consider. Even if that wasn’t truly the case here. It certainly could have looked it to an outsider given the circumstances. That’s how it is sometimes. Regardless, Mrs. Potts couldn’t be reasoned with, and she’d dashed off to the town without even asking the children if they were okay.

From there everything went a little crazy. I’m would never find out exactly what Mrs. Potts told the rest of the village. But based on the crowd at my front door a few hours later, it couldn’t have been good. I’m not sure who broke down the door that day, but they needn’t have, it wasn’t locked. From inside the house, I had heard Mrs. Potts screaming at someone not to light the shed on fire, and that Hansel was probably still stuck inside. I had thought to myself that it was good she’d remembered that. Even though Hansel wasn’t inside there, it was nice to know that if he had been there, instead of sitting wide-eyed at the kitchen table across from me, that he’d have been okay. Except that, at about that point I was no longer sitting at the table. It’s hard to say when exactly it happened, but I do know it was Mr. Woodcutter holding one of my arms behind my back. My face had been bashed into the tabletop, and Gretel was crying. I know I should have been in a great deal of pain, but during that moment, I could only see Hansel’s shocked face. I couldn’t even see Gretel, she was sitting to the other side of Hansel, away from where my face was pointed. Too many people had been shouting to tell what was being said. Or perhaps it was only the ringing in my own head, that had drowned most everything out. Hansel seemed to have heard what Mr. Woodcutter said. Unless he was just good at lip reading or was shouting just to shout. Both were certainly possible.

I wouldn’t know until later, but Mr. Woodcutter had lived up to his family business, bringing with him a sharpened axe. What I did know at the time, was that Gretel kept crying and begging Hansel to do something. Anything, to get them to stop. Had he been studying from the start of his stay here, he might have been more successful. But alas, the defence spell he cast had backfired horribly, sending him flying backwards instead of Mr. Woodcutter. My free arm had shot forward and I had sent out a slowing spell, hoping to soften Hansel’s blow to the wall. But for some reason that had only incited Mr. Woodcutter and the rest more. Suddenly more people had been pushing me down. So much so that the oak table had split apart at its seam, vanishing into a pile of sawdust. Hansel must have cast another spell? I was never quite sure what he’d intended it to be. I hadn’t been able to see much of what happened in the following moments, but the kids had screamed just before there was pain across my back. A mere few inches down from my neck.

The world had slowed down. Or perhaps Hansel just sped up. His voice had been both pitchy and fast, but also firm. It was interesting. I was aware of the sensation of time. It’s not one I’d felt very often before, but that day it was like the rolling waves of a river, each lapping lazily at my ankles. Except this covered my entire body, leaving my head feeling light. Little white dots were swirling across the room as I tried to stand. My body felt sluggish, worn by time. But I knew if I gained some momentum I could speed back up. Maybe catch up to the speed Hansel was moving at. He’d run across the room to pull the rest of the people off me. Gretel was there too. I realized after she’d been excluded from the spell entirely. Her hands were clenched around a bloody axe, eyes locked on Mr. Woodcutter in a mixture of horror and disbelief. She had sputtered out question after question. But the only part I caught was the word ‘why’. I had turned to see what was happening, seeing Mr. Woodcutter’s shirt was splattered with blood. Then there was suddenly way too much of it in the room. The axe, him, the floor at my feet. Dripping, it had been dripping. The kids were yelling at everybody to stop, although I’m wasn’t sure why at the time, since no one else was moving much at all. Hansel was trying desperately to pull a dagger out of Mr. Huntsman’s hand. That didn’t have blood on it. One small victory that day. The white floaters hadn’t gone away, but I had just been relieved that the kids at least, were settling down. There was no blood on them which was another relief. I’d been mistaken, Gretel hadn’t settled down yet. She had just been taking a break for a moment while trying to shove Mr. Woodcutter out of the house. Calling him all sorts of words I hadn’t realized she’d known in the process.

I had collapsed moments later, not quite unconscious, but certainly feeling lightheaded. A flash of movement later and Gretel had been leaning over me, calling my name. I had tried to tell her I was alright, but the words didn’t come out right. Hansel joined her not long after that, armed with my old spellbook. Warmth had rushed through me, and my back was nearly aflame. Gretel had looked to Hansel, and anyone could see the worry in her eyes, but he was doing alright. What the book failed to mention was how much being healed could hurt. I’m sure I was screaming. But I was being healed. My back would be tender for weeks after, but any permanent damage had been undone. I had held Gretel after, watching as Hansel waved his newly acquired dagger around, the spellbook abandoned on the counter. He told me later he was trying to shame the other adults present into leaving, although they were still frozen so it could never have worked. They could hear him though. An unusual property for a time spell, likely a result of a misspoken word, but I never did find that out either.

It had taken what felt like a few hours to calm down the children after that. Afterwards, we had moved all the villagers outside, sitting them on the front lawn to better understand how many were there, and why they’d come. Mrs. Potts was the first one I’d unfrozen, hoping to make sense out of what had gone on in the village. Gretel hadn’t left my side since Hansel had healed me, and Mrs. Potts had looked quite confused by that. She had tried to convince the children to run home, but they only told her they were already there. Mr. Huntsman came next since Mrs. Potts hadn’t said much more. He ended up being more helpful, although he was convinced the children had been kidnapped for some reason. It hadn’t taken the children long to convince him otherwise, telling him the same story of abandonment in the woods, that they’d told me half a year earlier. Which was the other important point. It had taken half a year for their disappearance to be noted. I had unfrozen the rest of the villagers slowly, leaving Mr. Woodcutter frozen last. Each had their own questions for the children, or for me, but the youngsters had made it very clear they didn’t want to go back with Mr. Woodcutter. When it was time for him to be unthawed back into reality, he’d just collapsed. Eventually admitting he only reported the children missing since they were the last family he had. His wife was claimed by the river not long after they’d taken the children out into the woods. I thought they might go back to him after hearing that, but neither seemed to care much at all. There were no tears, just a lot of repressed anger. It might not have been his plan to begin with, but he’d gone along with it each step of the way.

Most of the villagers left after that was revealed. Casting harsh, but deserved looks in Mr. Woodcutters’ direction. Many of them having kids themselves, and with a system already in place to share food through the harshest parts of winter, none could understand his motivations. Mr. Huntsman had wanted his blade back, which Hansel had done with some regret I’d noticed. I’d get him his own a year later, to mark the day. I’d also returned the axe, much to the children’s surprise. Mr. Woodcutter seemed surprised too, but he’d accepted it wordlessly. I figured he’d need it wherever he ended up. It was clear the other villagers would tolerate him around no longer, and I certainly wasn’t going to invite him to stay here.

Where he went after that I’d never know. Perhaps a Chupacabra got him. Regardless, the children grew up with me. Visiting town more often as they grew. Hansel became my protegee, learning more magic than I’d ever cared to know before. He got a job working for a nearby kingdom, something to do with enchanting their armoury, very top secret he’d tell me. Gretel would join me at the local bake sales each year and ultimately went on to open her own bakery. But both continued to visit now and then, as they found time in their busy lives. My only true regret about all this is that witches live such long lives. Although I know they had improved mine, just as much as I’d improved theirs.

The moral of Mary’s reimagined “Hansel and Gretel” is “just because people are related to you through blood does not mean they have your best interests at heart.” Written for a slightly older audience, this version deviates from the original by making the witch the protagonist, while Hansel and Gretel are the villains.