Gretel stopped bobbing, her back hunched slightly, moaning as Jimmy convulsed. Hansel gritted his teeth, hateful of the man who was now ejaculating between his sister’s lips, even as he wished he was in Jimmy’s place. It seemed to him that the man’s orgasm lasted for minutes on end, and what truly vexed him the most was Gretel’s eager acceptance in keeping her mouth upon him throughout his spasms.
With a loud, wet slurping sound, Gretel eased up, sitting upright in her seat. Her lips were slightly parted, slick and wet, a bead of pearly fluid shimmering upon them. She glanced back to her brother, undoubtedly feeling the confluence of his emotions, or at the least, guessing them. With a demure, almost shamed look, she sucked her bottom lip, wiped the corners of her mouth with her fingers.
“Oh, damn, sweetheart,” Jimmy sighed, then laughed.
Gretel licked her lips slowly, tasting the residue of his orgasm. Her throat felt thick and dry, lined with the fluid she had swallowed. “Ya gonna take us home now, right?”
Jimmy chuckled. “Sure thing, honey,” he agreed, straightening his pants and turning the key. For a brief moment, he glanced to Hansel’s stony face in the rear-view mirror, and his smile faded, replaced by intimidation.
For the rest of the drive, he said nothing more.
* * * *
It was a little after nightfall when the glowing green paint trail lead the old Ford to the ramshackle house which Hansel and Gretel called home. Hansel said nothing as he quickly stepped from the car, waiting upon the walkway for his sister. Gretel lingered a moment.
“Your brother don’t like me much,” Jimmy commented.
Gretel sighed. “No, I don’t reckon he does,” she said, then pushed a smile to her lips. She planted a quick, somewhat sticky kiss on the man’s cheek. “Thanks for bringin’ us home.”
Jimmy smiled back. “Hey, I was thinkin', maybe, um--” he began hopefully.
Gretel frowned. “I don’t think so,” she said curtly, then shoved open the door and stepped out.
Hansel stood before her, the picnic basket hanging from his hand, looking down at the ground. Gretel approached, hands before her.
“We got home,” she said. “That’s what’s important.”
He nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”
Gretel’s brow furrowed. “Are ya angry at me?” she asked. “Or jealous?”
Hansel’s head snapped up, eyes glaring at his twin for a moment before quickly softening. “Don’t really matter, do it?” he asked rhetorically. “’Sides, like ya said, we’re home now.”
Gretel nodded back, and followed her brother into the house.
* * * *
Mother seethed as she watched her children emerge from the stranger’s car outside the windows of the family home. She had noticed the occasional drops of green paint upon the road during the drive back, and sight of the matching puddle in the driveway had made her suspicious. Now that the twins were back, she realized her suspicion had been confirmed: Hansel and Gretel had made sure to leave a trail back home.
Damn those brats! I give ‘em eighteen years o’ my life, and they dare t’ think they deserve more? She took a moment to quell her raging emotions, watching as her son and daughter approached up the walk. Fine, then. They can have their homecoming. But they sure ain’t gonna stick around for long.
* * * *
“Children! So nice to see you home!”
Hansel and Gretel stopped in the doorway of the home, staring with surprise upon their smiling mother. As if the events of the entire day had not occurred, Mother approached and hugged them both, kissing their cheeks. Behind her, keeping a distance, was their father, meek as always, yet with a relieved look on his aging face.
“I know what you’re thinkin,’” Mother said as she stepped back, a somber expression on her face. “But ya’ll two have grown up. It was long past time t’ learn about th’ real world.”
“By leavin’ us stranded with’a bunch’a scary old men?” cried Gretel, her face reddening. “What was that s’posed ta teach us?” She shook off her brother’s hand as he settled it on her arm.
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t ya ever question me, girl,” she menaced. “To your room. Both o’ ya!”
Gretel began to rebuke her mother, but Hansel caught her arm again and gave her a warning look. It ain’t worth it, ya know that.
Gretel took a calming breath and nodded reluctantly. With neither a word nor look to Mother, she marched around the woman, heading up the stairs. Hansel lingered, holding up the picnic basket, meeting his mother’s gaze.
“Thanks for lunch,” he said dryly, then let go of the handle, letting the basket crash to the ground. Mother let out a startled yelp, stepping back. Her hand flashed up, ready to slap her son’s face, but his unflinching stance made her pause. Her son had never stood up to her before.
With a last look, he stepped past his mother, giving a quick glance to his father. The docile patriarch said nothing, guilt and embarrassment telling within his features. Hansel suddenly loathed the man who had given him life. How can he just stand by and watch it all happen?
There was no answer to his silent question, nor did he think he would have accepted one. Both weary and angry, Hansel ascended the stairs to join his distraught sister.
* * * *
Gretel had her arms wrapped around her knees, hugging her legs to her chest while she sat on the bed. The single lamp colored the room in a soft, dusky amber, which helped to make the chamber seem less dirty than it was.
“She’s gonna try t’ get rid o’ us again, ain’t she?” she asked in a small voice as Hansel closed the door.
“I reckon,” he mused, then sighed, leaning against the door. “But, y’know, I been thinkin.’”
Gretel lifted her head. “’Bout?”
Hansel’s face contorted from the thoughts behind it. “Do we really wanna stay here after all? I mean, Mother’s always gonna be trying t’ get rid o’ us.”
Distressed filled Gretel’s face. “And where we gonna go? What we gonna do? And don’t ya be expectin’ me t’ hand out suck jobs left n’ right, just t' get t' th' next stop!”
Hansel grimaced. “I weren’t thinkin’ nothin’ like that,” he said, easing onto the bed before his sister. His shoulders slumped. “I ain’t really sure what I’m thinkin.’”
Gretel uncurled and slipped her arm around her brother’s shoulder, resting her cheek against his arm. The intimate contact was comforting to them both. “Well, I’m thinkin’ we definitely gotta stay t’gether.”
Hansel managed a smile and gripped her hand. “Me, too.”
CHAPTER THREE
The aroma of ham steak and bacon wafted up through the house the following morning, rousing the twins from sleep. For a few minutes, it was as if the events of the previous day had never transpired; they rose, washed up, brushed their teeth, slowly letting the fog of sleep leave their minds. It was only as they were getting dressed that a sense of anxiety speared through them.
Hansel froze after he had pulled up a pair of worn old jeans with holes in the knees. He stared at Gretel, topless for the moment as she held a flimsy yellow blouse. Their eyes locked and they shared the same thought: what’s Mother gonna do today?
A sense of resignation in the face of doom overcame them. They knew Mother was going to try something, and they had to be ready for it. That simple fact was powerful and obvious.
“We’d best, uh, head down t’ breakfast,” Hansel finally said. His eyes lingered on the firm breasts Gretel so casually revealed. They had seen each other naked numerous times throughout their lives, yet now, even this candid exposition of nudity drew out a different reaction from Hansel. The previous day had changed a lot of things, it seemed. He was conscious of the fact that he know felt a certain level of buzzing arousal around his twin, a sensation that was new to him. Unlike Gretel, who had enjoyed a brief fling with Cooper Barnes (before he got arrested for running moonshine), Hansel remained a virgin.
Gretel nodded, quickly
donning her blouse. She could feel the difference between the way her brother used to regard her, and the way he did now. But she was not entirely sure how she felt about that change. Part of her had enjoyed the ‘naughty’ things she had done the day before, knowing Hansel had been there to watch.
Does that I mean I like turnin’ my own brother on? She wondered. But she pushed the thought from her head and took Hansel’s hand. “C’mon, Han,” she said, the feel of her brother’s grip making her strong. “We only got us, y’know.”
“No matter what, we stay t’gether,” Hansel affirmed.
They descended the stairs as if joined at the hip, following the wafting aromas that, despite the unease both twins felt, conjured up grumbles of hunger from their stomachs. They could hear Mother puttering about in the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pans and plates, flatware and glasses. The cacophony was almost intimidating.
Hansel and Gretel stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, looking up the tiny table dressed with the old plastic red and white cover. Four plates had been set, a pitcher of orange juice set in the middle. The twins’ father was already seated, turned sideways in his chair as he read that morning’s edition of the newspaper. He glanced up briefly at the siblings' arrival. His face could have been carved from one of the winnowed old trees that lay outside of town.
“I didn’t think ya two’d be long, what with what I’m cookin’,” Mother beamed as she saw her children. “Well, sit yourselves down. Ya need t’ have a good breakfast.”
Hansel eyed her suspiciously. “Another long drive today, Mother?”
Her faint smile vanished completely. “Sit.”
The twins exchanged cautionary looks, then took their usual places at the table. Hansel tried to catch his father’s eye, but the elder man hunched down, holding the paper close to his face. His actions were plainly suspicious. He knew what Mother planned, but of course, he was not about to share his knowledge.
And again, Hansel thought, how can he just let this happen? What kind o’ hold does Mother have on him? Is father really that weak-willed that he’d let his own children be taken away? Unless...unless he never really wanted us either...
Hansel leaned back in his chair, feeling nothing but contempt for his father. He suddenly felt a loss of appetite.
Mother set heavily-laden plates of ham and eggs upon the table, then sat as well. Silently—as was the custom; no one spoke when a meal was served—the four dug into their food. Hansel and Gretel found themselves forcing down the mouthfuls of food; it tasted good enough, but anxiety and nervousness kept them from enjoying the meal as much as they should have. Still, they knew that Mother expected them to finish every bite.
So they did, struggling to do so, but eventually, every forkful was devoured and the plates held nothing but streaks of grease. Mother cleared away the platters and glasses, glancing to the clock on the wall.
“You have chores to do, children,” she said bluntly, her back turned to the twins.
Frowning with consternation, Hansel and Gretel stood from the table. Silently, they left the room, unable to see the wicked smile that adorned their mother’s face, nor the small bottle of sedatives she lightly fingered.
* * * *
“I don’t get it,” Gretel bemoaned as they took their tasks. Gretel’s was to do all the laundry, while Hansel had been assigned the task of trying to fix the clothes dryer. The contraption was ancient in his eyes, easily older than he, and by at least a decade, he was sure. It very rarely worked, resulting in the family clothes being hung to dry on the line out back. When it did cooperate, it made such a racket that the entire house was filled with the uproarious sound. But Mother always insisted that Hansel try to make the device operable; a clothes dryer was a status symbol in Brimstone.
“I don’t either,” Hansel grunted as he pushed the dryer away from the wall. His pockets were laden with various old and somewhat rusty tools; many of them, he was certain, predated his entry into the world as well. “She’s actin’ like nothin’ ever happened.”
“What ya think she’s gonna do?” asked Gretel, stuffing worn and dirty clothes in the washer. That machine, at the least, did function.
Hansel sighed, removing the screws that held the rear panel of the clothes dryer in place. “I don’t know,” he said, sharing a perturbed look with his twin. “But I reckon she’s up t’ somethin.’”
Gretel paused, wavering on her feet slightly with another armload of clothes to shove in the washer. “Yeah...I guess...” Her eyes fluttered; the clothes tumbled from her arms to the floor. Reflexively, she slapped her hand to the surface of the washer, to keep from toppling over.
“Greta!” exclaimed, Hansel, shooting to his feet. He came around to catch Gretel just as she slumped, eyes rolling back in her head. She was like dead weight in Hansel’s arms, her own hanging to the floor, legs falling slack. She muttered something that might have been words, but Gretel apparently lacked the capacity to speak.
“Greta! Greta!” Hansel cried, lowering himself to his knees, clutching his twin sister against him. His mind whirled with confusion and fear as to what caused her to behave this way, even as he felt a sudden inexplicable fog rolling through his own mind and sapping the strength of his limbs. The world about him grew cloudy, once-clear shapes becoming hazy.
The last thing he saw—or thought he saw—was the vague image of Mother standing in the doorway, watching. Even through the haze of his vision, it seemed to Hansel that she was smiling.
* * * *
Hansel had never seen a gorilla before in his life. He had never been taken to a zoo, had never seen any television program about gorillas. But he had learned of them, somewhat, in biology classes at the run-down little school which educated all the children of Brimstone. And it seemed to him, as he awoke blearily, that one of the great, furry beasts had been sitting on his head.
Vision returned slowly, after his ears told him that he must be outside somewhere, judging from the chirping of birds, the rattle of insects amongst tree boughs, the gentle rustle of leaves from a stiff breeze. Darts of sunlight stabbed into his eyes, making him wince and squeeze them shut. Defensively, he rolled onto his side, seeking the darkness his own shadow would provide.
Amid grunts and groans, Hansel gathered his strength, slowly feeling energy begin to return to his limbs. He heaved breath upon cool, dry grass, feeling the blades between his fingers as he curled them. With some struggle, he opened his eyes, peering at strangely vivid green spears of foliage just inches from his face.
“Greta...” he grunted weakly, looking about, eyes narrowed to slits against the harsh light. He found his sister laying a few feet away, demure in her sleep. She seemed peaceful, as sublime as Sleeping Beauty awaiting her prince. Laboriously, Hansel crawled to his twin, shook her shoulder. “Greta.”
She murmured, brow furrowing. It struck Hansel how much the way he and Gretel felt was similar to what they experienced after imbibing too much cheap whisky on their birthday. He wondered what it was Mother had placed in their breakfast; the fact that she had done so was not in question in Hansel’s mind.
Gretel moaned, beginning to come awake. Quickly, Hansel shushed her, his face close to hers. “Open your eyes slowly, Greta,” he whispered. “Th’ sun’s really bright.”
His twin muttered something, then clumsily slapped a hand over her eyes. “Wh-where we at, Han?” she asked, her voice dry and rough. She cleared her throat, gingerly blinking her eyes behind her fingers.
Han looked around, his vision finally adjusting. They were surrounded by trees, which afforded a loose canopy overhead through which the mid day sun penetrated. They had been set, ostensibly by their parents, within a tiny glade. There was a path that lead through the trees, but no clue as to where it would take them.
“I don’t know,” he said, trying to hide the anxiety he felt. “Nothin’ looks right.”
Gretel sat up, squinting her eyes and glancing around as well. “She done it again,” she lamented.
>
Hansel nodded, anger setting his jaw. “Yeah. She done it again. And this time, we ain’t got no picnic basket.”
* * * *
No tears spilled from their eyes once Hansel and Gretel regained their strength and facilities. A morose acceptance of reality filled them both as they grasped one another’s hand, following the path away from the glade. It was, as far as Hansel could tell, late afternoon. There was no telling how far away from town they were. They might have even been outside the county for all they knew.
Eventually, they came to a road, but unlike any they had ever seen in Brimstone. This one was paved with grey-blue asphalt, a dashed yellow line running down the center. Hansel and Gretel stared upon the nearly alien terrain. Only once before had they seen what Mother called ‘the Highway,’ and that had been the one and only time the family had traveled to Culver for a funeral.
“Oh, lordy, Han,” lamented Gretel. “We ain’t nowhere near Brimstone, are we?”
Hansel gave his sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It don’t really matter, once ya think ‘bout it,” he said grimly. “We wouldn’t know which way t’ go anyways.”
Gretel’s eyes darted left and right along the road. Nothing could be seen but asphalt and trees. Her fear was palpable, yet controlled for the moment. “Well, which way, then?”
Hansel shrugged and tugged on his twin’s hand. “I guess one way’s as good as another.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Not a single vehicle passed by on the road for the hour or so that the twins marched. They spoke little, not really needing to talk, knowing that nothing they could ask of the other would improve their situation. The less said, the less chance they had of losing their nerve and their drive to continue on.
Finally, as the sun sat low, and the forests on either side of the road became dark with menacing shadows, there came a sharp bend in the road. Just beyond that turn, a dot of civilization blossomed like an oasis. There was a rather sizable lot before a long, low building, with several cars and trucks parked within it. A sign at the edge of the road, mimicked upon the wall of the building beside broad glass doors, read: “Ginger's Diner.”
gingerbread Page 3