faerie_wish13 | May Submission: The True Story of Hansel and Gretel (Original)

Title: The True Story of Hansel and Gretel
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Original/Fairy Tales
Character/Pairing: Hansel, Gretel, Witch, Narrators
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt:

faerie_wish13: Hiking Trails/Nature Trails
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 3,015
Date Written: 24 May, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: This one's mine, folks, as the non-original characters are in the public domain.

Stories are often not what they are told to be. Indeed, the older the tale, the more twists the story has taken until it has become something almost entirely different from the true events that began it all. Tales are like the knobs of an old tree. As its branch curl upwards and out, the more knobs there are, and the knobs twist and turn the bark as the old tree's limbs reach for the sky filled with the hopes of its branches. Some find treasure; some find paradise. Others find only empty sky stretching as far as they can see and holding no solutions.

The sky stretches on and on, much like the legend began with two orphans many, many years ago. I am quite certain you know the story of which we speak, or at least, you think you do. The orphans' names are sure to sound familiar. You remember Hansel and Gretel, don't you? The two children who found a gingerbread cottage and were almost killed and eaten by the Witch within but who turned the tables on her and cooked her instead?

The story begins earnestly enough. The orphans' names are correct. They do use bread crumbs to mark their trail through the tall, tall trees of the mother country, and they do find a Witch. But that, traveler, is where the similarities between what actually happened and the tale told and passed down through the ages to scare little children into never becoming lost ends.

The truth is that the children did not wander away from their woodcutter father by accident. It was no coincidence that they were in that particular forest at that particular time. They had heard stories of the Witch, as all the local children do, but they were not scared of her. It was their own parents they feared.

Some people, especially among the human species, should never become parents. It is said that they do not have the parental instincts in their blood, but that is far from the true problem. The honest predicament is that they can not care for any one beyond their own, greedy selves, and that is what keeps them from being proper parents. Philosophers far greater than we have studied this problem, but no one has ever determined exactly what makes such people. What is agreed is that they should never be parents, but they often become parents nonetheless. We pity their unfortunate children.

Hansel and Gretel were two such children. They had never been loved by father or mother. Yet, they shared a strong bond, as siblings in such cases often do, and loved each other greatly. They held one another while they cried after their daily beatings and whispered promises to each other of the day that would come when no one would ever again lay hands upon them in cruelty. Hansel often snuck the crumbs their parents dropped at the kitchen table, and it was these crumbs, often just meager bits of bread, on which the children survived.

They were out chopping wood late one evening for their parents' fire. They never reaped the benefits of the fire themselves for they were always made to lay just in front of the door of their family's cottage, thus blocking the cold draft from reaching their aging parents. Hansel had been taking his frustration out on the trees all afternoon while his sister sat on the cold, green grass and waited. She had been beaten so that day that she could barely walk.

"Sister," Hansel said, and we know this is exactly what he said for we were there to hear his words, "we should not go home today." He swung the axe to the ground and rested on its upturned hilt.

"But, Hansel," Gretel cried, "they will beat us twice as badly!"

"Not if they do not find us," Hansel declared. "And if they do find us," he swung the axe up and chopped through empty air that was already beginning to hold a chill, "I will cut them down to size!"

"Hansel, you are not strong enough -- "

"I do not need to be strong enough, dear sister. I need only be fast enough." He shook his blonde head in determination. "We are never going back there again! They are never laying their hands on you again!"

"But, Hansel, it's growing dark already! However shall we find our way?"

The boy took a small bandana out of his pocket and unwound it, revealing the last of their food which was, as always, nothing more than bread crumbs. "With this," he vowed.

"But then what will we eat?"

"Not every one can be as cruel as our parents. Some one will take pity on us."

"Do you really think so?" Tears had brimmed in Gretel's big, blue eyes as she had questioned her brother, who was older but not by very many days.

"Yes." Hansel reattached the axe into the holder on his back. Their father had made it for him many years ago so that his small arms would be free of the axe when he was done chopping wood for the day and he could carry more firewood. "Now," he said, passing the bandana carefully to his sister, "let me hold you as we walk, and you be sure to drop the crumbs where we will see them."

Gretel was mighty weary; for such a young soul, she felt far more akin to a woman of ninety than her actual meager years of six. "Very well, brother," she said and held her arms up after taking the bandana.

True to his word, Hansel carried his little sister through the winding trail between the ancient trees who watched their journey in silence. Gretel dropped the crumbs one at a time and several feet apart, trying to make them last as long as possible for they knew not how long they had to journey before they would find food and a soul kind enough to share their possessions with them. They walked for hours long into the night, and although Hansel's legs and arms ached, he made not one single word of complaint. He carried his sister into the light of the next day, only stopping when their wide eyes caught sight of the rising sun and the house that set just before it.

"Hansel," Gretel cried in wonder, "do you see what I see?!"

"Yes, sister dear," Hansel breathed. The boy would have rubbed his reddening eyes in disbelief if his arms had not been full of his suddenly wriggling sister.

There was food stretched out before them, and not just any food but sweets like what they had often seen children in the village eating but always been denied themselves. The little cottage was surrounded by a fence made of lollipops in every color, and a pathway of brilliantly shining gumdrops led up to the cottage's chocolate-trimmed door. The roof itself seemed to be made of the cream of marshmallows while the walls were made of gingerbread. The windows, like the door, were trimmed in chocolate.

"What kind of a place is this?" Gretel wondered in awe.

"Surely there must be a kind person inside the cottage," Hansel marveled, "for who could be surrounded by such sweets and remain mean?"

Gretel leaned out of his arms to lick the nearest lollipop. "Yum!"

Hansel carried her to a tree that bore candies and chocolates instead of fruits and sat her gently on the lush, peppermint grass before it. "You should rest here while I go knock on the door."

"Hansel, do be careful -- "

"Ah, there's no need for that, dearies," the voice of a stranger called to them. "You're among friends here."

Gretel's jaw dropped open in shock when she looked up at the stranger. Hansel whirled around and drew the axe from its sheath on his back.

"You're the Witch!" Gretel gasped.

"You'll not lay a hand on my sister."

He wavered only slightly when the old woman smiled kindly at them. "I am a Witch, dears," she admitted, stooping to stroke the back of the black cat winding between her ankles, "but I am not a bad one. Oh, no, I am not evil at all."

"But you have a wart and a big nose and a hunched back!"

"Gretel!" Hansel hissed disapprovingly, but the boy did not let go of his axe.

The old woman's smile also did not waver. "Indeed I do, so all the townspeople say I must be an evil Witch." She gestured with her hands to all the sweet surrounding them. "Tell me, children," she asked kindly enough, "does this look like the home of an evil Witch?"

"Well, no -- " Hansel began hesitantly.

"And you two children are alone, but I do not think you are that lost. You are only searching for a tiny amount of kindness in this cruel world."

"How -- How do you know so much?"

"This old woman knows a great deal and more. Take your parents, for example. They are liked by all the townspeople, are they not?" Both children slowly nodded but then stilled as the Witch's gaze zeroed in on Gretel's bruises. "Yet it is their marks that have been left upon your bodies and your souls."

"What do you -- " Gretel started to ask, but Hansel shook his head.

"Hush," he told her gently. "Yes, ma'am," he admitted aloud. "They . . . They hurt us every day."

"No more," the Witch declared. She walked beside them, and slowly, Hansel put up his father's axe which was now really his for he had taken it and used it far more than the man ever had. He watched the Witch carefully as she selected a particular candy from high in the bows of the tree under which his sister rested. She pointed a long, yellowed fingernail at it, and the candy floated down to her. She rolled it around in her wrinkled hands for a moment as she chanted strange words. "Here," she spoke again at last and handed the candy to his sister. "Eat this, and you'll feel better."

Gretel hesitated, her big eyes looking up at her brother for encouragement. "Go ahead," he told her, and she did. Quickly, she ate the candy and was considering asking for more when something strange passed through her. It started at the top of her little, blonde head and swept all the way down through her aching toes. Everything in her had ached from her mother's beating the day before, but now, suddenly, the pain was gone!

Hansel gasped as the bruises began to vanish from his sister's face and arms. "S-sister?" he asked as she stood on wobbling feet.

He hurried to her side, but as he touched her arm, she looked at him with a smile. "I'm fine, Hansel!" she assured him. "I'm more than fine! I hurt no more! The pain is gone!" She smiled up at the Witch. "Thank you!"

The Witch smiled back. "That," she exclaimed proudly and with glee, "is the kind of magic I practice, so you see, children, yes, I am a Witch, but I am a good Witch!"

Hansel considered all he had seen and everything he and his sister had experienced before turning to the Witch. "Can you help us?" he asked her quietly, not yet daring to really hope that their troubles had come to an end.

"Can I help you?" the Witch repeated. "With what precisely, dearie? I can give you food. I can give you new clothes. I can give you a home over your head. I can also," her cheery voice dropped to a hushed whisper that others would find dangerous, but not Hansel or Gretel after what she had already done for them, "make certain your parents never hurt you again."

Hansel considered one moment longer before he answered, "All of the above."

=^.^=

The sun was beginning to sink in the late afternoon sky the next day when Hansel neared the same, little cottage with his parents. "Imagine disappearing for a whole day and then coming home without the firewood!" his mother's piercing voice wailed behind him. "I should wallop you good, boy!"

"Hush, Winifred -- "

"Don't tell me to hush, Jacobson!"

"I will this time for the boy may be on to something! Imagine riches beyond our wildest imaginings! We'll never have to work a day again in our lives!"

Winifred's stern voice broke into a cackle. Her laughter was truly hideous and sounded like the cackle of an evil Witch; yet, the Witch's laughter was gentle and lilting. It never hurt Hansel's ears unlike his own mother's chuckles.

"You'd better be telling the truth, boy, or you won't be walking for a week!"

Hansel bit his tongue to keep from retorting back to his father and demanding who would cut the wood if he could not walk. Soon, he would never have to worry about cutting wood or receiving beatings or, worse yet, watching his little sister being beaten by their own parents ever again. He continued to walk, his blonde head tucked down and his hands thrust into his pockets. Soon, he promised himself, very soon now . . .

Suddenly, his mother shrieked with delight! His father yelled, "YOU WERE TELLING THE TRUTH, BOY!"

Hansel hung back as his parents rushed ahead of him. Winifred grabbed with both hands at the diamond necklaces hanging from the same tree that had previously held all kinds of small candies and chocolates imaginable. His father, meanwhile, was grabbing at the gold coins that made up the pathway leading to the cottage.

"Whoever lives here," Winifred declared, "will give this all to us!"

"Yes." His father chuckled, but there was something that sounded truly dark and evil within his laughter. Hansel suddenly realized he had never heard his dad laugh before. Now his father turned toward him and held out his hand. "Give me my axe, boy."

Hansel took the axe from his back, and for one brief moment, considered truly giving it to his father. He could cleanly slice off his hand with its blade instead of placing its hilt in his hand. He could chop off his head. He could --

"The boy never has to listen to you again."

"Who are you," his mother demanded, glaring at the old woman, "and what right do you think you have to tell us what our children will or will not do, old woman?"

"Careful, Winifred!" hissed his father. "That's the Witch!" He took one step back but was careful not to relinquish the gold coins he still held in one hand. His other was free and waiting for his axe while his pockets overflowed with gold that was not his. "Give me my axe, boy."

Hansel stepped back. "Never again," he vowed, and the kindly, old Witch nodded.

"What right did you think you had to beat the children whose lives were placed within your care?"

"I birthed them! I'll do with them what I want!"

"No longer." The Witch waved her hands, and both man and woman were transformed instantly into rats. "I can make them smaller," the Witch offered, "so small, like a bug, so you can step on them and squish them easily."

Hansel was tempted, but after a long moment listening to the rats squeak in horror, he shook his head. "Thank you, but no, ma'am. This will do."

"BOO!" the Witch shouted at the rats. They squealed and ran, and her black cat chased after them.

A few more words of the ancient language set her land back to the way it was. Necklaces and gold became candies, chocolates, and gum drops once again. "You are welcome to stay here, of course, Hansel, but what would you do with your own life, child?"

"I . . . I think I'd like to help people," the boy said, "like you've helped us."

The Witch smiled her approval. "Then you shall."

And to this day, if you journey deep enough into our ancient forest in Germany, you will find not one cottage made of gingerbread but three. Children and animals of all ages find it every year for it appears to those who need it and those who deserve it. Hansel and Gretel were in dire need when they first met the Witch; their parents deserved what the cottage and its owner had to give them the following day. So tread lightly, traveler, and make your decisions wisely for if you find it, you wish to be one who needs it, not one who deserves the curses it can give.

Many people go missing in this forest and are never heard from again. You don't want to be next, do you? For if you are, you will not hear the stories we have to share when again we meet. Next time, we may tell you of the wolf who said the little girl in red or how Cinderella blackmailed both the Prince and her stepmother. We may tell you of how Rapunzel used his enchanted wig to lead him to his rightful suitor or how a beauty grander than any before her put an entire land to sleep until she could find her happily ever after.

And what of you, gentle traveler? Are you still seeking your happily ever after? Seek on then, and may you find your story, but remember: Not all stories are as they are told. We know that and very much more for we've seen all the stories. We've seen all the travelers, and we see your every move.

You still haven't seen us? Well, we're right in front of you. Right here. We are the trees, the strong, silent observers of man and animal kind, and we see all the stories, from the once upon a time's to the happily ever afters and the not happily ever afters. We wish for you, dear traveler, that you find your happily ever after without the twisting knobs of our eldest, but remember: Careful what you choose, and may you find candies instead of riches. Safe and happy trails, our friend.

The End