CHAPTERH

HANSEL

“Let me go, witch!” Hansel thrashed as the witch dragged him into her house, but his body didn’t feel right. His feet didn’t touch the floor, and he couldn’t get any traction. He felt like he was floating, like when he and Gretel went swimming. And everything seemed much bigger. Was the witch a giant? Her cottage hadn’t looked so big from outside, and neither had she.
Hansel lifted his head and looked at where the witch held him. He was strong for his age. He had to be so he could protect Gretel. But that couldn’t be his arm. The witch held a golden brown hand, and there was a warm, sweet and spicy scent like… Like gingerbread. Gretel’s father had brought some home for them before everything went wrong.
He twisted his head and looked down at his body. It was shrinking and his skin was that same golden brown color.
We’ll see how you like being broken into pieces and eaten!
The witch had put a spell on him. He was turning into a gingerbread man!
“No! Please! I have to help Gretel!” His voice sounded muffled. Did gingerbread men have ears? What about his mouth? He couldn’t bend his limbs anymore to touch his face or kick his captor.
The witch laughed. “You’re going to help me until you’ve repaid what that girl stole.”
His world swung sickeningly as his captor lifted him up high. A kitchen with a crackling fire and big, black pot hanging over the flames came into view. And next to that, an oven! The witch had turned him into a cookie and was going to cook him!
Hansel struggled harder. “I’m sorry! We were just hungry! Gretel didn’t mean any harm.”
The witch dropped him into a prison. Her hag face sneered down at him from the round opening above him. “You will make a fine snack for my ballerina.”
Everything went dark as the witch put something over the top of his cell with a small tink sound that was no less ominous than a clicking lock. Hansel lay on his back, stuck like a turtle since his arms and legs didn’t bend. He took a deep breath and arched his back, hoping to flip over. No luck. Even if he could get up, how could he get out of here? No doors to open or locks to pick. It was hopeless.
I’m thinking like a boy. This isn’t a dungeon with bars to keep me in. This is a cookie jar, because I am a cookie now.
He needed to get the witch to take him out and hope he could escape somehow after that. “Let me out!” He tried to sound authoritative, but his small voice echoed around him. The witch probably couldn’t even hear him. Someone heard him, though, because a mighty jolt sent the cookie jar into motion until it hit something, sliding Hansel across the bottom. Another impact, and his prison spun. Hansel careened across the smooth floor, unable to prevent himself being tossed around as blow after blow hit the outside of the cookie jar.
“Hey!” Hansel yelled. “Let me out!” He was going to be nothing but crumbs if this kept up. Another hit smacked into his prison, this time tilting it just enough to propel Hansel from the bottom to one side.
This was the chance he needed! The jar started its return to upright, and his feet hit the floor. Hansel whooped as he took several hopping steps and managed to stay upright.
Outside his prison, something growled, and a heavy weight thudded to 5evfloor below.
Hansel balanced on his gingerbread boots and managed a stiff-legged sort of gait to feel around with his rounded hands, trying not to think about not having fingers anymore. The surfaces all felt smooth and round. No cracks or easy escapes. No cookie accomplices.
Furious, frustrated, and frightened for Gretel, Hansel drew one leg back and kicked the side of his prison with one useless gingerbread foot. Only his foot wasn’t so useless. It was still in a boot even though he couldn’t feel his toes. The jar jumped when his kick landed.
Encouraged, he jumped and kicked the jar again. It moved a bit more. Was he close to a ledge? Maybe that was what whoever had been assaulting his prison was trying to knock the cookie jar off a counter or table. The witch had moved too quickly for him to get a view of his surroundings, but maybe he could tip over, break the jar, and free himself. He backed up to one side, and ran as fast as he could, slamming his shoulder into the jar. It rattled. Hoping he was pushing the jar the right way, he made a little more progress with each shove.
It felt like hours later, and he despaired of ever making his plan work. He would be too tired to fight if he kept this up. His cookie body was becoming more flexible the more he moved, though. One more try, then he would rest.
Hansel backed all the way up, ran forward, and leapt. He hit the side of the cookie jar with both feet and fell to the bottom. His prison teetered, hung in the air for a moment, and fell. Hansel wished he could curl into a ball or protect his head. Did cookies feel pain? What happened if he broke? The jar shattered on the floor. Dazed, he lay amid pieces of crockery.
Get up before the witch comes back! He sat up with a groan.
Claws clicked on the wooden floor. Hansel gulped and darted his eyes around, trying to see in all directions. What was making that noise? The same thing that had shoved the cookie jar? Warm breath blew over his whole cookie body., Then a slobbery tongue licked him.
“Ugh! Disgusting.” Hansel jumped away. An invisible dog could devour a cookie in a single bite. He didn’t have any defense. Where could he hide? The chairs under the table had spindles down their legs. A dog couldn’t get in there. He sprinted for the kitchen table and slid beneath the nearest chair.
The dog let out a booming woof, a cross between a thunderclap and a howl that made Hansel wish he could cover his ears. Claws scrabbled over the floor behind him. Hot dog breath fanned across his back and slimy drool splattered him. Hansel darted among the chairs and around table legs. A big body crashed into the furniture, Wooden seats flew and the table screeched over wooden planks. The witch was sure to hear all the racket.
He had to get away before she came back! Abandoning the kitchen, Hansel dashed into a living room furnished with a sofa, low table, and a few upholstered armchairs. The door was right in front of him, but he was too small to reach the doorknob. The windows! They’d looked like eyes the night before. One was open enough for a cookie boy to slide out.
It was daytime already. He’d lost so much time! Had Gretel found her way home? Was she still lost and scared in the woods?
The kitchen table flipped over with a crash followed by dishes shattering on the floor. Heart beating wildly, Hansel jumped and landed on a low footstool. From there, he jumped again, and landed on the padded cushion of a chair positioned beneath the window. He just had to climb a bit.
Something growled. Not the dog, who was still tangled up in the chairs, dragging them across the kitchen. Something else. Sharp claws raked down Hansel’s stomach. An invisible cat!
“Sorry,” Hansel whispered, trying to put his feet where the cat was not. The air swept against his face as claws just missed him when he stepped on the cat’s tail. “Sorry!” He scrambled onto the arm of the chair, then up to the back, and dove for the windowsill, scraping his chest on splintery wood.
“I’ll be nothing but crumbs by the time I get out of here.” Hansel kicked wildly, striving to use fingerless hands to pull himself all the way across the windowsill. The invisible cat swatted his foot, sending Hansel tumbling outside. He dropped into the fenced yard, leapt to his feet, and stopped in dismay.
The witch’s house was moving through the forest. Invisible animals. A moving house. And a witch who turned boys into gingerbread. He longed for the simple problem of his mother trying to lose him in the woods. What kind of witch had a house like this with invisible servants? And how was he going to become a boy again?
Those were questions and problems for later. There was no time to waste. Hansel ran across the garden and yard to the fence. As a cookie, the black bars topped in skulls didn’t pose an obstacle like they had when he was a boy. He slipped between them and eyed the long drop to the forest floor. It was a long way down. What if he broke his cookie leg? That was better than being put in the oven and eaten by a ballerina. Hansel closed his eyes and dropped to the ground, landing unexpectedly nimbly on his feet. He took a moment to savor his triumph, then had to dodge gigantic chicken feet as the cottage marched through the forest. It didn’t seem to care Hansel had left its crazy hospitality and disappeared into the trees.
He was free!