Deadly Encounters

by Wycherley, Jeannie

  ***

  The children’s homecoming was jubilant. The woodcutter, overjoyed to be reunited with his beloved Hansel and Gretel, cried genuine tears and embraced them over and over, swearing he would never, ever let them go again. The children clung to him. Hansel wept, overcome with emotion, but Gretel remained guarded, ever wary and watchful.

  The stepmother stood beside him, her smile stiff and forced. Her teeth were gritted in a grimace that could possibly pass for a grin, but her eyes were cold and her stomach churned with the knowledge that her plan had been thwarted. Her heart beat hard against her chest and she wondered whether there would be any repercussions for her actions in forcing the woodcutter to abandon the children in the forest. She wondered what her neighbours were saying, but she lifted her chin and pretended to be as happy as her fool of a husband.

  To fend off unwanted criticism, the stepmother threw a lavish party and organized a feast to welcome the children home. It really wasn’t in the stepmother’s nature to do any work, so she simply organized the neighbours to fetch their tables and best linen and to each contribute food and drink to the gathering. The whole village turned out for the festivities and merriment ensued, with singing and dancing and drunken revelry aplenty. Children raced around playing tag, and hide and seek, long into the night. Behind Farmer Grimm’s barn, couples carelessly rolled in the hay and whispered endearments, men made oaths, and women broke theirs. A good time was had by all.

  Hansel stood on a table among a great crowd of people, telling and retelling his story. He added embellishments to make it sound even more dramatic than it had actually been and in several notable tellings, he placed Gretel in the cage while he became her saviour and disposed deftly of the witch himself.

  Through it all Gretel remained stern-faced and focused. She kept close to her stepmother, smiling sweetly whenever anyone looked her way or addressed her. Secretly, she observed the stepmother’s every move and bided her time. When the stepmother’s pewter goblet was empty, Gretel would rush to refill it for her. Time and again she filled the vessel with the hardest liquor she could find.

  “Why Gretel,” purred the stepmother, “you have become such an attentive and kind stepdaughter since your, ah, adventure in the forest.”

  Gretel nodded seriously. “I have realized that having such wonderful family and friends is a true blessing, dearest Mother.”

  “Indeed it is,” slurred the stepmother in response.

  “I intend to protect that blessing to the best of my ability,” Gretel murmured. “Here, Mother, take some more of this.” With a flourish, and before the stepmother could argue, Gretel refilled the goblet and handed it back to her. “Drink to our good health, Mother! Our continued good health!”

  All around them, friends and neighbours took up the cry, “Good health! Good health!” And so the stepmother drank deeply. It wasn’t long before she slumped on her stool, her eyes glassy and her mouth a dribbling O.

  ***

  There were several sore heads the next morning, of which the most severe belonged to none other than the stepmother. She lay in bed clutching her forehead and moaning; periodically she turned her head and vomited into a bucket that Gretel had thoughtfully provided for her.

  “Oh, I feel terrible,” moaned the stepmother. Gretel sat beside her and gently mopped her face and brow with a cool, clean cloth. “I fancy I have a deadly affliction. I am ready to meet my maker.” The fumes she gave off quite reminded Gretel of the wicked witch’s stinking breath. Gretel heartily wished the stepmother would join her maker. Soon.

  “I am so sorry for that,” soothed Gretel.

  “It is your fault, you wicked, wicked girl,” scolded the stepmother. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have partaken of so much liquor, and I wouldn’t feel this way.”

  Gretel hung her head in shame. “You are correct, Mother. I am quite at fault and I throw myself on your mercy. How can I possibly ever make it up to you?”

  The stepmother turned abruptly on her side and vomited again, purposefully missing the bucket beside the bed. She grimaced and threw herself back on the pillows.

  Gretel mopped her face again.

  “Have no fear, Mother. I will clean your room and change your bed and make everything smell fresh and clean. I will make up for my misdeeds to you in a million different ways.” She stood up and turned to go but stopped and placed her hand on her stepmother’s forehead. “In fact, I shall make you a glorious healing chicken stew. It is perfect for over-indulgence.”

  “That does sound good,” the stepmother mumbled weakly.

  “Oh it is. I promise I’ll have you feeling better in no time.” Gretel smiled and headed for the kitchen.

  In the four weeks or so that Hansel and Gretel had spent with the wicked witch deep in the forest, Gretel had learned a number of new skills. Creating soups and stews in the witch’s cauldron had been one of those. The witch had also issued instructions for Gretel in the picking and cleansing of herbs from the forest. Now, armed with all of this new knowledge, Gretel set about creating the most delicious stew.

  She took the biggest iron pan she could find and fried onion in a little butter before adding sage and salt. Quickly she added chicken skin and diced carrots and fried them for a while. From there she added a little water and more vegetables and cubes of chicken. Once everything had softened slightly, Gretel added more water and brought it to a boil. She tempered the heat before adding herbs that she had collected bright and early that morning as the sun danced through the trees on the edge of the forest.

  Into the stew went finely chopped angelica, avens, and asafoetida, herbs to purify and protect. Bay and buckthorn, mastic and carnation followed—before Gretel finally added a huge amount of turnip to bring about the end of a relationship, along with a handful of wormwood, needed if she were to call a spirit. Gretel knew that the combination of herbs would remain largely innocuous without the final ingredient. Once the stew had been brought once more to boiling point, she slipped the small bone from the witch’s house into the pot, and then she stirred and stirred the mixture with a long wooden ladle.

  The mixture bubbled and grew darker and darker, and the steam rising from the pot appeared greenish-grey. The kitchen filled with the stink of soiled laundry and rancid cesspits. Gretel gagged, and her eyes watered, but still she stirred, focussing all the time on the mixture in the cooking pot.

  After some time, the grim colour of the stew faded and the mixture began to resemble a chunky chicken stew once more. Gretel nodded with satisfaction, placed a lid on the pot and left the kitchen in order to set about undertaking various other chores for her stepmother. Hansel looked on curiously, watching his sister clean the stepmother’s bedroom, change her sheets, bathe her, and fetch and carry as per the stepmother’s every wish.

  The tempting aroma of chicken stew filled the woodcutter’s little house. The stepmother lifted her nose and sniffed appreciatively, before plaintively asking Gretel how much longer her supper would be. Gretel smiled. “I’ll bring you some straight away Mother, if you think your stomach can stand it?”

  “I can try a little, can’t I?” murmured the stepmother weakly. Gretel nodded and went through to the kitchen. She rummaged around for the largest bowl she could find, and then, taking a ladle, she filled the bowl to the brim and returned to the stepmother’s bedside.

  The stepmother observed the stew, then made a greedy grab for the tray. Without further ado, she started ladling the stew straight into her mouth, barely pausing to chew the chunks. Within a few minutes the stepmother had emptied the bowl, and was looking expectantly at Gretel.

  Gretel refilled the bowl. Once again, the stepmother polished off the whole lot in a short space of time.

  This time the stepmother slumped back against the pillows of her freshly changed bed, looking slightly red in the face.

  “Are you quite well, Mother?” asked Gretel sweetly.

  “Perfectly!” snapped the stepmother, and Gretel bowed her
head.

  “In that case, I really ought to serve the rest of the stew to Hansel. He has not eaten all day.”

  The stepmother thought about this for a moment. She really didn’t appreciate the idea of Hansel finishing off the stew. It would be such a waste to give that wretched boy decent food. He could make do with the leftovers from the previous night’s party. If there were any. If there weren’t, he could always have bread and jam.

  “No, no!” She sat up abruptly. “I, er, I think it’s useful in medicinal terms. Perhaps I should have one more bowl. Just one more.”

  This pleased Gretel. Enough stew remained for one more bowl and then the stepmother would have consumed everything. She carefully drained the remains of the pot into the bowl and scraped out everything before returning to the stepmother’s bedroom and handing it over.

  This time the stepmother ate more slowly. Although full to bursting, she was determined not to leave a single drop. Swallowing the very last morsel, the stepmother suddenly stopped and made a small noise in her throat.

  “Mother?” enquired Gretel. “Is everything all right?”

  The stepmother coughed. Then she tried to clear her throat.

  “I’ve swallowed a bone,” she forced out. Then she started coughing again.

  Gretel pulled the stepmother farther upright and made a great show of slapping her back as though to dislodge the bone. It wouldn’t shift. Gretel thumped the stepmother hard between the shoulder blades. The stepmother cried out, and Gretel did it again with great relish.

  Nothing appeared to help. The stepmother coughed and hacked, hacked and coughed. Time and again she tried to clear her throat but nothing would move it. The bone remained lodged squarely in the stepmother’s throat. The stepmother stuck her own fingers down her throat in an effort to retrieve it, resulting in her regurgitating the stew all over her clean bed.

  Gretel let her lay in the mess.

  They sent for a doctor, and he pronounced the situation grave. He made an attempt, with small pliers, to prise the bone from its home, but only succeeded in pushing the bone farther into the throat where it could not be reached by any of his instruments.

  The stepmother collapsed back on her bed wheezing and coughing. Her face tinged with red from the effort of breathing. Her throat was sore from all of the attempted interventions and the repeated hacking cough.

  Gretel hovered by the stepmother’s side, looking for all the world like a loving and concerned daughter, but inside her soul sang.

  ***

  That night Gretel offered to sit with the stepmother as she dozed fitfully between bouts of restlessness and laboured breathing. Her throat seemed to be swelling, and the flesh on her face was puffy and pink. Her eyes were tiny slits. Gretel looked on in wonder.

  Dawn brought a change. The stepmother’s eyes suddenly flew open. She clutched at her throat and opened her mouth. To Gretel, sitting just a few feet away from her on her hard stool, it appeared as though the stepmother was trying to scream but was unable to make any noise.

  The stepmother clawed at her throat with both hands, her eyes wide open in shock. She looked beseechingly at Gretel and then threw her head forward as though she were about to vomit again. Her back bucked, and her torso shuddered. Once, twice, three times she retched. Saliva dripped down her chin. Then she straightened up again, and at last Gretel could see the effects that her special chicken stew had produced on the stepmother.

  The stepmother’s mouth gaped but her eyes were tightly closed. Two fingers poked out of her mouth, seeking freedom. The two fingers were joined by a third and then a fourth.

  The nails were long but broken, ragged and filthy. Dirt had embedded itself deeply around the cuticles. The fingers themselves were mottled a light shade of green and yet oddly dry. Gretel could see the skin flaking where they rubbed against the stepmother’s lips.

  The fingers curled around the lower lip, trying to find purchase, slipping and scratching as they gripped at the spittle flecked chin. The stepmother’s cheeks pulsed. The mouth was being forced open, impossibly wide. Slight splits appeared in the corners of the mouth and blood bloomed against the pale skin. Somewhere in the stepmother’s mouth, the thumb and the rest of the hand were trying to find room to get themselves out. With a pop and a crack, the stepmother’s lower jaw detached itself from the upper jaw, and the hand and its wrist slid from the stepmother’s mouth, landing on her stomach with a soft plop. Gretel clapped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming and alerting the rest of the household. She instinctively pushed her stool backwards in repulsion.

  The stepmother’s eyes opened. Her hands went straight to her ruined jaw and she moaned; a deep despairing sound. She cradled her jaw, completely ignoring the hand that twitched and flexed against her stomach.

  Revolted, Gretel shrank against the wall, unable to take her eyes from the hand. The ragged edges of the flesh at the wrist pulsated with renewed life. The pink-grey veins that had dragged limply behind the hand as it dropped from the stepmother’s mouth lengthened and turned a deeper red. Gretel saw flesh growing around the wound. The wrist morphed, becoming an arm. A terrified Gretel shivered. What had she unleashed?

  The fingers lifted, scenting their prey. The hand flopped back on itself and started to crawl up the stepmother’s stomach, onto her chest and up to her neck. The mottled hand twisted itself so that the thumb sat just underneath the stepmother’s jawline with the fingers stretched out on the other side.

  And then the hand started to squeeze.

  The hand had great strength. Gretel remembered how strong the witch had been, and she wasn’t the least surprised. Of course the hand would be able to throttle the stepmother all by itself. The fingers dug into the pudgy, pale flesh, while the long nails left prick marks on the tender skin. The hand tightened its grip, harder and harder, and the stepmother fell back against the pillow. Her face turned from a flaccid cream colour, to pink, to red, to a beetroot purple. Her body thrashed against the mattress for a short while. Her lips were swollen and her mouth open. Soon her tongue peeked out between the purple lips and the eyes stared up at the ceiling not seeing anything except perhaps her own mortality. Her chest bucked, once, twice and then she stopped moving altogether.

  Still the hand held the stepmother by the neck. Its grip was unrelenting. It twisted the neck, this way and that, until a sharp cracking noise told Gretel that the neck had broken. The hand shook the body so that the head flopped around, much like the neck of a rag doll.

  Gretel looked on while the hand—now more of a lower arm—marched down the body and grabbed the stepmother by the ankle. It made short work of dragging the body to the door. Gretel followed it, her knees quaking. It headed out of the room and towards the front door of the woodcutter’s cottage. She stepped ahead of it when it paused, to open the door for it. The lower arm pulled its prize towards the forest. Gretel leaned against the door frame, watching the body disappear into the treeline to be swallowed up by the dark.

  A few moments later, Gretel heard a shrieking, high-pitched laugh that chilled her blood. It sounded just like the witch. Had she now somehow completely regenerated? What would she do with the stepmother’s body? Shuddering, Gretel shut the door and secured it. There were answers that she did not want to know; questions she did not want to ask.

  Not if she wanted to live happily ever after, at any rate.

  AN ENCOUNTER WITH OLD DUIR

  “I wonder why that tree has kept its leaves when all the others haven’t.” Jane stared out of the window at the copse of trees atop a hill in the middle distance. Since they’d moved into the house in late August, Jane had delighted in the view out over the valley below, even more so when presented with evidence of the changing season. The trees had burst into brilliant colours of fire and earth, but now after a couple of stormy nights, most were bereft of foliage, with the notable exception of one huge overreaching specimen in the centre of the cluster. “Alex?” Jane prompted her husband. He grunted, barely looking up
from his phone.

  “It’s probably an evergreen. Something Alpine,” he said, returning his attention to the screen in front of him.

  “Maybe.” Jane didn’t think this was the case. The tree appeared tall and round and full. It looked more like a large oak or beech tree, but at this distance she couldn’t really tell. Curiosity would kill her for sure. “We ought to go and investigate. What do you think? Go for a walk and see if we can get up there?” Jane felt stir crazy after being cooped up over the holidays. She wanted to get out into the fresh air.

  Alex glanced up again, irritated. “Mmm?” he asked, and Jane decided not to pursue the conversation any further. She quietly exited the room, and a little later she left the house, alone, car keys in hand, intent on her mission to locate the tree if she could.

  She had a vague idea of how to locate the hill. It involved navigating numerous narrow back lanes that led down to the valley, then fording the river at the bottom, before making her way up the other side. Fortunately, with the exception of an enormous milk lorry and a few tractors, she encountered little traffic. Once she had a good vantage point of the top of the hill, she pulled up in a small muddy layby and took her bearings. Behind her, the coastal town where she lived splayed out, tumbling down the hill to the sea, her housing estate neatly lodged into the hillside.

  There were far fewer dwellings this side of the valley; the occasional mansion or palatial bungalow, set well back from the lanes. The area was densely wooded in places, but the crest of the hill with the copse towered above everything. Jane studied the landscape; she could make out the flash of green. She was in the right vicinity.

  She drove until she could progress no farther, then abandoned the car, pulling it off road and tucking it into the hedge, hoping it wouldn’t cause inconvenience to anyone else.