Realistic Fiction
3 min
The Truth of A Flame
Ann Kozlowski
"Brother, wake up!" Gretel called, from the dimness of the forest.
The male runaway sat up, alerted by his sister's cries. The sheer cold had gotten to him - his fingertips now a deep blue. His sibling shuddered, only her nightgown shielding her from the sub-zero temperatures.
"Hansel!" She cried. "A lady is letting us stay in her house! She gave me food!"
Her shivering hands held out a fistful of chips, which they gratefully shared.
"C'mon!" She sung.
Before the reasonable twin could object, Gretel rushed up to her feet, and ran through the forest that they had escaped into only days prior. Their family - a household of poverty - had stopped feeding them. Starving, and with heavy hearts, they disappeared into the night, only in their pajamas and loafers.
After Hansel caught up with his sister, she presented to him a wonderful cottage, that strongly resembled a faux gingerbread house, the ceramic kind that they had only stumbled across in thrift stores.
Gretel quickly pulled her brother inside, not giving him a mere second to collect his thoughts. After traversing a hallway, they came across a living room, a heavy brown recliner positioned directly in front of the T.V, where a game show proudly shouted from the speakers.
From behind the cushions, a bulky figure arose. A middle-aged balding man, gray hairs sticking from his temples, whipped around, and gave Hansel a toothy yellow grin.
Chills ran down the young boy's body, he immediately turned to the side, about to tell Gretel off, until he saw her pale expression.
"This...this isn't- this isn't the person..." She whispered, her voice cracking under pressure.
That's when a frail girl peeked out from the lower half of the couch. Her lips were cracked, her face deathly pale, and her eyes held nothing but sheer, unbridled fear.
She looked similar to that of a corpse.
"That's her!" Gretel shrieked. "That's the lady!"
The woman's hands shot up, and clasped tightly over her ears, and a small whimper escaped from her throat.
"Quiet!" The old man barked, as he tossed an unbranded granola bar in front of the girl. She snatched it up with both her hands, devouring it within seconds. A slight hint of life returned to her gaze, as she crawled back behind the recliner.
The geezer stomped over, grabbed Hansel by his hair, Gretel by the back of her dress, and pulled their lightweight bodies into a room only slightly bigger than a closet.
There was only one twin-sized mattress on the floor, of which was covered in stains and grime. The older male tossed Gretel onto the floor, her head cracking against the concrete.
"Gretel!" Hansel called, only for his pleading to fall upon deaf ears.
"Shut up!" The man pushed him back onto the mattress, and bound his hands with two zip-ties. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the prison. Only seconds later, the corpse girl from earlier crawled into the room, her legs bruised.
With greasy hands, the assailant pet her disheveled hair, and pushed her into the room with the siblings.
"Gretel, Gretel!" Hansel called, his voice getting louder with every squeal.
The frail girl only stared.
The brother glared at her, before sitting up, and shouting, "Help me! Are you stupid?! Help me! That bastard knocked my sister out!"
She did not say a word.
Through gritted teeth, Hansel screamed, "HELP ME! HELP HER!! DO SOMETHING, YOU BITCH!!"
Nothing but a stare.
The boy groaned in response to her silence.
—
When the boy woke up, both the girls were gone, and the obese old man stood over him, pants and boxers discarded. His face was red, and sweaty, his breathing heavy.
Hansel suddenly understood why the corpse girl could not say a word.
—
Days went by - he lost count how many. It could have been years, and he would be none the wiser. He had not seen even the slightest glance of his sister, and nightly visits from several random peoples became a daily occurrence.
It wasn't until a night where the moon was split in half, that he heard a deafening cry.
Yes, he had heard the wails and pleads of fellow children throughout the house, but this was not a child's scream, it was an adult male's.
He sat up from his space on the mattress, and stared at the door. He heard several other doors being thrown open, and shouting going into the rooms, until finally, his door flung open.
Another corpse girl stood in the doorway, but this time, it was not the one that had lured him and his sister into the hellhole.
It was the sister herself.
"Hansel!" She cried, running over and helping him to his feet, embracing him for only a few seconds, before ushering him out of the room. In her hand, a single match.
After bursting through a few more doors, they finally left the once cozy-seeming cottage.
Gretel struck her match against the wall of the house, taking Hansel's hand in her free one.
They were no longer cold, as she threw the match onto the door of the house.
The flames immediately caught, devouring the house in once solid gulp, as the ceiling and walls fell in on themselves.
Her eyes met her brother's, and she smiled, the only sound in the forest being the crackling of flames, and the old man's shrieks of pain.
Before it shifted from pain, to death.
This was an entry for a writing contest held in conjunction with Center for Fiction and The Decameron Project
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