Ever since Gretel and I had decided on this old witch, I’d had a bad feeling about the whole plan. We didn’t lack experience, no, Gretel and I had killed many more witches in their ovens since our first, but this one felt different.
“Stop worrying,” Gretel admonished me.
Not wanting to seem afraid, I said, “I’m not. I was just thinking about Father.”
Gretel sniffled, and I feared that I might’ve upset her about Father’s death again, so, trying to brighten us both up, I whispered conspiratorially, “Do you think she’ll be as rich as our first?”
“They’re never as rich as our first,” Gretel complained, and wiped her nose.
With similar quiet discussion, we eventually came to the house in the woods.
“Does it look familiar?” I asked Gretel.
She ignored my paranoia and broke off a piece from the window.
No sooner had I snagged a piece off the roof than a voice said, “Nibble, nibble, gnaw, who is nibbling at my little house?”
In the unison of months of practice, Gretel and I replied, “The wind, the wind, the heaven-born wind.”
Then the door opened and an aged woman appeared. She smiled a smile full of missing teeth and invited us inside. We followed her like good little children. The door shut abruptly behind us, but this was normal.
We sat down in the offered chairs and started gobbling up the food she laid on the table. Abruptly I straightened, feeling my eyelids droop. Gretel looked at me, her eyes already half closed. The woman stood in the corner, smiling at us, and I realized what I had seen before. This was the witch’s sister.
My last words were, “I told you we shouldn’t have done that.” Then I fell over, unconscious.
