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Gretel saw him first; she put down her jug of milk and rushed to the door. She had to thrust her shoulder against it a couple of times, but after a few seconds of struggling it flung open and so her brother flung himself in, followed by a puff of dust.
“Hansel!” a shrill voice called behind them and the boy handed the handkerchief he had been previously holding over his mouth to Gretel. Dirt was ingrained into his dark blond hair, making it even darker. Gretel used the handkerchief to wipe some of it off of his chin but he moved away.
“No use. It's all over the place, Gret,” he said, holding his arms up. His white shirt could not be called white anymore.
“Don't take another step into this house,” the shrill voice came again, this time closer, right behind Gretel. She turned around and frowned at her stepmother. “Close that door! All the way!” Hansel pulled the door closed fully with one strong movement.
“I sent you away,” the stepmother said, turning her face up at him. Her eyeglasses were too small for her face and her brown hair was pinned too tightly to her skull.
“Well, he's back now,” Gretel drawled, grabbing Hansel by the shoulder and kissing him on the cheek. He was an inch shorter than her. Hansel grabbed hold of his collar and pulled his shirt off. The stepmother looked away, offended.
Gretel broke her bread and the omnipresent dust seeped out like crumbs. “Sometimes,” Gretel said to no one as she brushed the dust off of the table, “I look at my face and think the freckles are flecks of dust or sand or dirt.”
Hansel came in and sat next to Gretel. He traced the lines on the wooden table and took his time in looking at her. When he finally lifted his eyelids, he said, “Dad's not doing so well.” A gust of wind struck the window and the wooden shutters started to clap against their house. “You know those hot water bottles they sell at the nice stores? We should get some of those. Come on.” He stood up.
“Where are we going to go?” she asked reluctantly, still seated.
The stepmother now stepped into the room, her eyes abnormally bright. “You'll go to my brother's house.”
“His place is a mile from here!” Gretel exclaimed. “And look outside!” The sky wasn't blue but rather a dirty orange.
“Come on,” Hansel repeated impatiently. “It's hard to believe we're the same age sometimes.”
Gretel, without missing a beat, responded with, “And it's hard to believe we're supposed to look alike. I'm heaps more attractive.”
She stood up and followed him out of the house. The stepmother closed the door behind them, holding her cheek against it for a while before wandering back to her husband.
The first thing Gretel noticed about the uncle was his thin legs. He stepped around like a spider, and his eyes were very small. He lifted up a lock of Gretel's hair and peered at her forehead. “My God, do you not have any eyebrows?” Gretel's hand snapped up to her forehead defensively.
“My hair is very blond,” she said quickly. “It blends in with my skin.” He rubbed his thumb over the hair on her brow, nodded, and went back into the kitchen. Gretel looked at Hansel but he only shrugged. They both took off their capes and their hats. They tried to brush the dirt off of their faces.
“What is it that you want, then?” the uncle asked, coming back into the room with two glasses full of a bubbly drink. Hansel and Gretel took the glasses into their hands but were hesitant to drink. Instead, they sat down in the chairs the uncle motioned for them to sit down in. Hansel spoke first.
“We need a hot water bottle or two. Dad's in a lot of pain, and--”
“Very well. I'll put them in the mail tomorrow, or send one of my servants to deliver them.”
“No,” Gretel said, “we'll take them. Where are they?”
The uncle raised his eyebrows, grabbed Gretel's glass, and took a drink. He laughed a little as he set the glass back down. “You won't be going back, Gretel. Do you know how much money you and your brother cost your poor mother? No. I'm sending you Hansel back to that school tomorrow. And Gretel, you'll stay here.” Hansel and Gretel both stood up abruptly and went for the door, but a couple of servants blocked them.
Fighting a servant off, Gretel spat at the uncle. “Why am I staying here? What will I do? I'm not becoming one of your servants.” She grabbed the door handle but the uncle's spindly fingers were already at her neck.
“Come back here, little one,” he said, tugging her back. “You can be my wife if you're good. If you're bad, I have places for you to go.” He tightened his grip around her neck and pulled her closer to him. Hansel struggled against a servant.
In the basement underneath the uncle's decadent house, Hansel and Gretel sat and ate a clean chunk of cheese. They had found a few scraps of paper and were attempting to make some paper snowflakes. Hansel unfolded his and it looked like nothing. He bit his lip and leaned backwards to finally break the silence. “I'm not going to that school.”
Gretel nodded. “You're not.” The door opened and a rectangle of light appeared on the floor. The uncle's shadow then filled it. He strode in, smoking a cigar and swooping down to kiss Gretel on the cheek. He felt like wax and smelled like smoke. She turned away. A couple of embers from his cigar fell onto her cotton dress and she quickly rubbed them away, wincing.
Hansel casually looked around. “You brought any servants with you? We could use more cheese.” He flashed a cheeky smile and the uncle only smirked at him. Gretel, taking the uncle's response as a 'no', stood up and quickly grabbed his face. She held her hand over his mouth as Hansel grabbed his arms. In a few seconds, he was overpowered and his cigar was smoking on the floor.
Gretel kicked him in the back of both of his legs and he fell to the floor. She fell with him, keeping her hand over his mouth to silence his cries. “I didn't expect you to go down so fast,” she said to him mockingly, leaning her head to the side and examining him.
Hansel knocked him unconscious and Gretel let go of him slowly. “I wish he would have shown us where the hot water bottles are.” They crept up the stairs. Hansel kept glancing back to make sure that the uncle was really out, and he was. They didn't meet any servants on their way out of the house, and the lock was easily picked. They lifted their hoods and walked back into the storm.
“Do you remember those swans I used to draw?” Hansel asked her as the wind died down a little. His voice was muffled but she heard him.
“Yes, I do. I wanted you to draw them on my walls but dad wouldn't let you.” She laughed, but then quieted. “We still don't have a hot water bottle,” she said. She wandered to the left and then to the right. “I remember those swans. I loved swans but hated knowing the reality of them: that they're mean creatures. Scary old things.” She walked a couple of steps and stopped. Hansel steadied her. She looked at him with a smile. “But they're so pretty, and you drew them so well.” A gust of wind hit her in the face and she closed her eyes.
“Look,” Hansel said as the air cleared. “Our house is just there.” Gretel started walking quicker; she grabbed Hansel's hand and dragged him along with her. But after a few seconds, he stopped, rewound his hand around hers and pulled her back. She looked back at him, breathing hard.
“Nobody's there.”
“No, it's our house.” She looked back at it. “Dad's there.”
“The door's wide open,” Hansel said skeptically, but Gretel pushed onward.
She stepped inside, shook her skirts of dirt, and started looking into all of the rooms. They were empty. The milk jug was dry, and the pantry was vacant.
“You think Dad's dead then?” were the only words that she could say, and they came out awkward and quiet and dry as the dust.
Gretel took two steps towards a mirror left hanging on the wall. She looked into her own eyes and then at her own skin. Hansel came up behind her, appearing in the reflection as well. She looked at him too and thought of his swans.