“Look!” I say.

“Yes!” says Greta.

There is a house, a lovely bright house with yellow windows.

We go closer.

“It looks like it’s made of gingerbread,” says Greta. She touches the wall of the pretty house and smells her fingers.

“Ginger,” she laughs. “It is made of gingerbread – a gingerbread house.”

She breaks off a piece of the wall and hands it to me. Then she breaks off some for herself. We eat the sweet cake. It tastes so good. It is the best cake I have ever eaten. There are pieces of candy too in the walls – yellow, red, pink, green – and we eat that too. The candy is delicious. It makes me feel so happy. I can see Mama’s face and hear her voice. She is smiling at me and saying, I love you, my Hansi. Greta is happy too. She is smiling like she used to. Before Mama died. Before Marta came. Before Papa left us in the forest. Greta is dancing. I am laughing. We do not see the door of the house open.

“Who’s there?” croaks a rusty voice. We stop still. Then turn together and see an old old woman. She is dressed in black with hair as white as bread. Her skin is like a bedsheet in the morning. She leans on a big stick and peers at us through very thick spectacles.

“Are you eating my house?” she says. Greta has ginger crumbs around her mouth and I have candy on my fingers. We have been caught. I look at Greta but she does not say nothing. Then the old lady smiles. She does not have many teeth and they are black.

“Do not worry, my children,” she says. She waves her stick. “Come. There is lots more candy inside.”

Greta nods at me. She follows the old lady and I follow her.

“Oh,” says Greta.

Inside is “oh”. And it is “ah” too. My eyes do not know where to look. The table is made of slabs of chocolate and the chairs are chocolate too. There is candyfloss hanging down from the ceiling like a giant pink beard. The lights look like marshmallows. There is candy everywhere. Greta’s mouth is open and so is mine. Mama used to tell us to keep our mouths closed. She said we would look silly if our mouths gaped open. But we cannot help it. This is the most amazing thing we have ever seen. This is not like frogspawn or a ram’s horn at show and tell. This is AMAZING.

The old woman tells us to eat what we want. I taste some of the marshmallows. Greta bites into the candyfloss beard. We share the chocolate leg of a chair. It tastes of hazelnuts and honey. My mouth is thick with sweetness. It makes me smile. But it makes me sleepy too. I start to yawn and so does Greta. “You must sleep, my children,” the old woman says. She leads us to a room with two beds. I lie on one and Greta lies on the other. I am so sleepy that I do not even take off my knapsack. My head is so heavy. I put my blanky on the pillow and lay my head down.

“Night night, Greta,” I say.

“Night night, Hansi,” says Greta.

Her voice seems a long way away. My eyes close.

When my eyes open it is light. I am not in a bed. I am lying on a hard floor. There are metal bars around me. I am in a kitchen inside a cage. I stand up and walk to the bars. There is a door but it is locked. I am scaredy. Why am I locked in a cage like Marta’s bird?

“Greta!” I call. “Greta!” I try to shake the bars but they are hard and do not move.

“Greta!” I call again, louder this time. But Greta does not come. The old woman comes clickety clickety with her stick. She peers at me through her thick spectacles. She pokes me with her bony old finger.

“Not bad,” she says. Her breath is stinky sour. She shows her black teeth again. I don’t like it.

“You’ll plump up nicely.” She makes a strange noise like a wild pig. I think she is laughing. She hobbles away to the table and comes back with a paper bag. She pushes it through the bars.

“For you, my dear,” she says. I open the bag. It is full of cakes and candy. But I am not hungry and I drop the bag on the floor. The old woman wrinkles her face. “Eat, you silly child,” she says. “Eat!”

“I want Greta,” I say. “Where is Greta?”

“She’s busy,” snaps the old woman. Then her mouth makes a smile. “Eat your food and I’ll send her to you.”

I pick up the bag and take out a small pink cake. I start to nibble.

“That’s better,” says the old woman. Then she goes away. I put the cake back in the bag. I do not want to eat cake or candy. I do not want to be in this cage. I want Greta. I want my blanky. I take off my knapsack and look inside. The marbles are there and Mama’s wooden cross but not the blanky. It must be on the little bed where I fell asleep. I sit on the floor and start to cry. The kitchen door opens and Greta is there. Her face is serious like when Papa told us that Mama was dead.

“Oh, Hansi,” she says softly.

She comes over to the cage and puts her arms between the bars. One of her sleeves pulls back and there are cuts and scars on her dark skin. She hugs me to her.

“Oh, Hansi,” she says again. Her voice is sad and it makes me cry more. “My little darling,” she says and she hugs me tighter. “You must be brave. We must be brave.” Her breath is warm against my ear.

“I don’t like it in this cage, Greta,” I whimper.

“I know, my love,” says Greta. “I’m afraid this is a bad place. The old woman is a wicked witch. I think her candy was enchanted. She made us sleep and while you slept she lead you into this cage and locked you in.”

“But why, Greta?” I want to be brave but I cannot. I do not want to cry but I cannot help it.

The door opens and the old woman is there. She comes to the cage and pushes her stick in.

“Stop your snivelling, you wretched child,” she says.

“Leave him,” says Greta. “He’s only little.” The old woman turns round. Greta’s words sound brave but her face is scaredy. I have never seen Greta scaredy. The witch pokes at her.

“You hold your tongue!” she says. Her voice is rough and nasty like Marta’s. Her eyes are black and small and mean. “Did you think you could help yourselves to my gingerbread, steal from the walls of my house without retribution? No, mark my words, there will be a reckoning.” She turns and points her stick at me. “You will eat every crumb I give you,” she says. Then she looks at Greta. “And you will do exactly what I command or I will throw away the key and your wretched brother will die in his cage. Is that understood?”

Greta nods meekly.

“Now, come with me,” the witch orders. Greta looks at me and clenches her fist. I know she is telling me to be strong. Then she turns and follows the witch out of the kitchen. I watch her go. Then I look down. My blanky is on the cage floor. Greta must have dropped it there when she hugged me. I pick it up and hold it against my face. It is soft like Mama’s skin. I will be strong, I tell myself. For Greta. For Mama. For Papa.

***

Tell us: Have you heard the original story of Hansel and Gretel – so do you know what happens next?