by Gahan Wilson
"Yes, Oskar," chimed in Grettel, "And where are they hidden?"
"We must definitely see them," said Hansel, employing a tone of quiet firmness Oskar had learned to recognize, respect and dread in his most important guests. "We must hear all about them."
"You must take us to them at once," finished Grettel.
They stood silently while the poor fellow studied their raised brows, their cold little smiles, and their unwaveringly steady gazes. It is greatly to his credit that he weathered all this for almost a full minute before he buckled and—without another word—turned and led them where they'd asked to go.
He took them on a complicated and devious route which traversed territories in the castle completely unexplored by their previous tour. It involved secret panels and hidden staircases and cobwebby hallways and dark chambers, which were made hideous by the flappings and billowings of dusty, ragged tapestries tossed by mysterious and clammy drafts.
Eventually they passed through an opening provided by the smooth sliding aside of an enormous oil portrait of a family whose faces had all been macabrely distorted by centuries of smudgy soot and found themselves stepping into what seemed to be the transept of an enormous cathedral whose high arches could only be dimly made out in the darkness far above them.
Grimly, Oskar led them past the choir toward the cathedral's sanctuary and a dim gleaming ahead slowly resolved itself into a bright, curving row of golden statues surrounding and staring at a large raised platform made of dark wood upon which stood a sort of hollow altar which was built of the same somber material. The Major Domo bowed slightly and indicated the statues with a dignified sweep of one gloved hand.
"Here, before you in this holy place," he intoned with the greatest possible solemnity, "commencing with no less than His Original Majesty, stand all the past hosts of King's Retreat!"
Hansel and Grettel studied the golden statues carefully and in silence, beginning with the King—who was, indeed, crowned and who bore a royal scepter and wore an ermine-edged cape—and going on through at least two dozen statues until they'd reached the last one, a distinguished-looking man in modern evening dress who sported a monocle.
It was immediately clear to both brother and sister that there was something about these statues, something disturbing, something sinister, which set them entirely apart from those which stood so proudly in the clean fresh air and sunlight so high above this dim, dark place, but full minutes passed before Grettel managed to put that difference into words.
"They're afraid," she breathed. "They're all simply terrified!"
The Major Domo cleared his throat, looked at her nervously, then cast a hesitant glance over his shoulder at the statues ranged somehow ominously behind him.
"I have noticed that seeming effect, myself, Miss," he began, "but I have always put it down to—'' '
"OSCAR!!!"
The Major Domo's lips snapped shut and his head cringed as far back down as it could into his high collar as that terrific, terrible shout rung and echoed all about them, then mingled with the sound of determined footsteps marching up the transept.
"What have you done, you foolish man?" cried Opal Driscoll as she neared her unfortunate flunky. "What foolishness have you been up to?"
Only then did Hansel and Grettel notice another figure lagging somewhat behind their hostess. It was none other than General Brigham S. Parker, a fellow guest at King's Retreat, the hero of the battle of Bestokia, and lately the Supreme High Commander of the Allied European Forces, looking more than a little uncomfortable and perhaps even a tiny touch ridiculous in the leather kilt and feathered helmet of a Roman soldier.
Opal Driscoll noticed the direction of their gaze and immediately tempered her mood—albeit with a shudder which shook her from head to foot—from total fury to a kind of philosophical annoyance.
"Ah well, ah well," she said, glaring at Oskar, but then smiling on Hansel and Grettel and upon General Parker as he managed to catch up with her in spite of his cumbersome sandals.
"I suppose it can't be helped," she said with a sigh and a shrug. "I suppose it's the sort of thing that's simply bound to happen, now and then."
And then she graciously explained that she had brought the General to this secret place to pose for a sculptor who was to model a statue of him as a Roman soldier which would then be cast in gold and set up on the ramparts.
"Of course you must not tell anyone any of this," she said, smiling at Hansel and Grettel benignly, "nor about this place, which is the very heart of King's Retreat."
She paused and looked at them with great significance.
"You understand that if Oskar had committed this breach of security with ordinary guests we would have had a very serious problem," she said. "But since he committed his indiscretion with you most especial people, the situation is manageable since..."
She paused again, then reached out and put her hands on Hansel and Grettel's shoulders with the air of a high priestess conferring initiation.
"... since it has already been decided that both of you, in time, will be chosen to pose for statues of gold."
Of course, darlings, you can see that Hansel and Grettel were initially delighted to learn that they were to receive this remarkable honor, but as Oskar began to lead them away from the hidden cathedral, leaving Opal Driscoll and General Brigham S. Parker to await the arrival of the sculptor, a thoughtful look began to grow upon Hansel's face.
The trip back from the cathedral was, if anything, even more arcane than the approach had been. It was almost as
if Oskar was carefully selecting the most involved and confusing pathways he could devise, and it even seemed that sometimes he was carefully improvising additional complications as he led them along. Secret panels opened upon trap doors which exposed twisting stairways leading to hidden tunnels which wormed unexpectedly up to perilously high catwalks that blended into mysterious labyrinths occasionally interrupted by underground waterways which had to be negotiated by means of gondolas and led to bat-infested caves requiring smoking torches for traversement.
In the end they found themselves .exiting into a lovely salon with which they were perfectly familiar and there Oskar left them after much bowing and scraping and multitudes of apologies for any inconveniences his lack of judgment might have caused.
Only when the Major Domo's footsteps had faded entirely away did Hansel grin slyly at his sister, wink, and hold up a small appointment book which he always kept on his person. He opened it and slowly turned its pages to show her that only three or four of them remained.
"I just knew you were doing that!" she said proudly, smiling and patting him affectionately on his arm, for what Hansel had done, darlings, was a variation on what he had done before to thwart the murderous plans his father and mother had set in motion against himself and his sister when they were helpless little children such as yourselves—he had left a trail so that they could retrace their steps, only this time he had used little bits of torn paper instead of stones.
Wasn't that extremely clever of him, darlings?
Without a moment's hesitation on either one of their parts they both smartly turned around and—going from one bit of torn paper to the next—easily retraced the complicated route Oskar had created in order to confuse them. In almost no time at all the two of them had once more made their way through the involved innards of King's Retreat and were tiptoeing as quietly as they could back into its hidden cathedral.
Opal Driscoll was standing before the dark platform and staring thoughtfully at General Brigham S. Parker, who was looking rather lost in the center of the hollow altar as he held a wide Roman sword out awkwardly before him. There was no sign at all of any sculptor.
"Grip the sword as if you were about to kill someone with it, General dear," said Opal Driscoll firmly. "And please do try to look a little fiercer."
The General attempted both of these things, and when she saw he was not being particularly successful with either one of them she sighed a
nd shrugged.
"Well, I suppose it will have to do," she said. "But you must promise not to move!"
The General nodded obediently.
And then, darlings, Opal Driscoll carried out the most extraordinary, the most absolutely peculiar actions you could possibly imagine, one right after the other.
First she stuck both her arms straight up into the air and began to revolve them round and round with her fingers spread out like the ribs in bats' wings, and somehow this made nasty little sparks leap out from the sides of the altar to attack the General like a horde of glowing wasps whose massive stingings instantly and firmly paralyzed the poor fellow into his heroic posture; though, if you looked very closely, you could see his eyes were bulging slightly from their sockets.
Then she stamped her left foot and then her right foot as hard and flat as she could on what Hansel and Grettel now perceived to be strange cabalistic patterns worked into the marble floor, and this made the altar glow with a throbbing yellow light that began to spread insidiously forward into the body of the General, who now began a muffled screaming, which was made considerably more horrible by the soldierly calm into which his face had been frozen.
Then she opened her large, toothy mouth very, very wide and howled out a series of perfectly ghastly words, darlings, which I absolutely will not repeat to you at this time—even though I do know them, every one of them—because they are terribly dangerous and I don't want any harm to come to my darlings, no I don't, because I love them, because they do everything I say.
Anyhow, the General's screaming chopped right off at the sound of the very first ghastly word and the yellow light began to crawl in funny, twisty ways through his stiffened body like so many glowing worms, and the next thing you knew he had turned into solid gold and Opal Driscoll was laughing and laughing like a crazy mad thing, fit to beat the band.
After a while she calmed down a bit and when she'd got her breath back she began to study the General and it was obvious she was highly pleased with the overall effect. She stepped onto the platform and paused before the altar to get a closer look at what she'd done.
It was at that point that Grettel noticed that Hansel was very carefully studying something she had seen him copying down on the pages remaining in his notebook just a moment or so ago.
Then Opal Driscoll stepped forward and the moment Hansel saw for sure that she was standing inside the hollow in the dark altar, next to her brand-new golden statue, he stuck both his arms straight up into the air and began to revolve them round and round with his fingers spread like the ribs in bats' wings, and he kept on going through all the magical steps exactly as he had seen Opal Driscoll do them, stamping on the floor and howling the ghastly words—which I'm sure you've guessed, darlings, is what he had copied into his notebook— and Opal Driscoll went through all the eye-popping and screaming and turning into solid gold the General had suffered, but she did it much more visibly and gruesomely because she knew what was happening to her, having done it so many times to others, so that by the time she was transformed entirely into a statue she was crouched low with her fingers clawed out viciously before her snarling face, looking for all the world like a rat trapped by a farmer about to smash it flat with his hoe.
L
Following Hansel and Grettel's instructions, the Major Domo installed Opal Driscoll at the end of the line of statues curving round the altar, and then he stood the General up on the ramparts so that the old soldier might forever hold his golden sword menacingly before him as though he was about to kill someone with it, and even now his somewhat bulging eyes still glare fiercely into the void from that high perch. Once I saw an eagle land on his golden shoulder, darlings, and I confess the effect was really quite magnificent.
Of course Hansel and Grettel then became the host and hostess—for that is the ancient tradition—and they are to this day, and it's not likely anyone will come along who'll know how to find their way into the secret cathedral and say the ghastly words and turn them into golden statues and thus take their place as the new host and hostess of King's Retreat.
Not unless they're as well informed as you, my darlings!
The Sea Was Wet as Wet Could Be
I felt we made an embarrassing contrast to the open serenity of the scene around us. The pure blue of the sky was unmarked by a single cloud or bird, and nothing stirred on the vast stretch of beach except ourselves. The sea, sparkling under the freshness of the early morning sun, looked invitingly clean. I wanted to wade into it and wash myself, but I was afraid I would contaminate it.
We are a contamination here, I thought. We're like a group of sticky bugs crawling in an ugly little crowd over polished marble. If I were God and looked down and saw us, lugging our baskets and our silly, bright blankets, I would step on us and squash us with my foot.
We should have been lovers or monks in such a place, but we were only a crowd of bored and boring drunks. You were always drunk when you were with Carl. Good old, mean old Carl was the greatest little drink pourer in the world. He used drinks like other types of sadists use whips. He kept beating you with them until you dropped or sobbed or went mad, and he enjoyed every step of the process.
We'd been drinking all night, and when the morning came, somebody, I think it was Mandie, got the great idea that we should all go out on a picnic. Naturally, we thought it was an inspiration; we were nothing if not real sports, and so we'd packed some goodies, not forgetting the liquor, and we'd piled into the car, and there we were, weaving across the beach, looking for a place to spread our tacky banquet.
We located a broad, low rock, decided it would serve for our table, and loaded it with the latest in plastic chinaware, a haphazard collection of food and a quantity of bottles.
Someone had packed a tin of Spam among the other offerings, and when I saw it, I was suddenly overwhelmed with an absurd feeling of nostalgia. It reminded me of the war and of myself soldierboying up through Italy. It also reminded me of how long ago the whole thing had been and how little I'd done of what I'd dreamed I'd do back then.
I opened the Spam and sat down to be alone with it and my memories, but it wasn't to be for long. The kind of people who run with people like Carl don't like to be alone, ever, especially with their memories, and they can't imagine anyone else might, at least now and then, have a taste for it.
My rescuer was Irene. Irene was particularly sensitive about seeing people alone because being alone had several times nearly produced fatal results for her. Being alone and taking pills to end the being alone.
"What's wrong, Phil?" she asked.
"Nothing's wrong," I said, holding up a forkful of the pink
Spam in the sunlight. "It tastes just like it always did. They haven't lost their touch."
She sat down on the sand beside me, very carefully, so as to avoid spilling the least drop of what must have been her millionth Scotch.
"Phil," she said, "I'm worried about Mandie. I really am. She looks so unhappy!"
I glanced over at Mandie. She had her head thrown back and she was laughing uproariously at some joke Carl had just made. Carl was smiling at her with his teeth glistening and his eyes deep down dead as ever.
"Why should Mandie be happy?" I asked. "What, in God's name, has she got to be happy about?"
"Oh, Phil," said Irene. "You pretend to be such an awful cynic. She's alive, isn't she?"
I looked at her and wondered what such a statement meant, coming from someone who'd tried to do herself in as earnestly and as frequently as Irene. I decided that I did not know and that I would probably never know. I also decided I didn't want any more of the Spam. I turned to throw it away, doing my bit to litter up the beach, and then I saw them.
They were far away, barely bigger than two dots, but you could tell there was something odd about them even then.
"We've got company," I said.
Irene peered in the direction of my point.
"Look, everybody," she cried. "We've got company!"
> Everybody looked, just as she had asked them to.
"What the hell is this?" asked Carl. "Don't they know this is my private property?" And then he laughed.
Carl had fantasies about owning things and having power.
Now and then he got drunk enough to have little flashes of believing he was king of the world.
"You tell 'em, Carl!" said Horace.
Horace had sparkling quips like that for almost every occasion. He was tall and bald and he had a huge Adam's apple and, like myself, he worked for Carl. I would have felt sorrier for Horace than I did if I hadn't had a sneaky suspicion that he was really happier when groveling. He lifted one scrawny fist and shook it in the direction of the distant pair. v
"You guys better beat it," he shouted. "This is private property!"
"Will you shut up and stop being such an ass?" Mandie asked him. "It's not polite to yell at strangers, dear, and this may damn well be their beach for all you know."
Mandie happens to be Horace's wife. Horace's children treat him about the same way. He busied himself with zipping up his windbreaker because it was getting cold and because he had received an order to be quiet.
I watched the two approaching figures. The one was tall and bulky, and he moved with a peculiar, swaying gait. The other was short and hunched into himself, and he walked in a fretful, zigzag line beside his towering companion.
"They're heading straight for us," I said.
The combination of the cool wind that had come up, and the approach of the two strangers, had put a damper on our little group. We sat quietly and watched them coming closer. The nearer they got, the odder they looked.
"For heaven's sake!" said Irene. "The little one's wearing a square hat!"
"I think it's made of paper," said Mandie, squinting."Folded newspaper."
"Will you look at the mustache on the big bastard?" asked Carl. "I don't think I've ever seen a bigger bush in my life."
"They remind me of something," I said.
The others turned to look at me.