Page 33 of Hansel and Gerhardt (The GriMM Tales #3)

Herr Candy Stokes the Flames

T he lollipops had long since faded back to forest, the sun had lowered below the treeline, and Hansel’s hands were red and blistered from digging.

He knew Herr Candy had seen his attempted escape.

He knew, deep down, what was coming. Digging, digging, to exhaustion, was all the time he could buy them, in the hopes of… what?

Gerhardt wasn’t about to wake up, not ever again. It felt like a skeleton fist on his heart to know that he’d only ever known him for a few days. Just those two dangerous, terrifying days spent so close to death. Yet so free.

Hansel hoped he was happy. That he would never see what was coming for him, or not understand when it happened. That he was all gone now. That he wouldn’t miss Hansel when he was dead.

But even as he dug his own grave at Hansel’s side, Gerhardt’s thoughts and words clearly dwelt almost invariably on Hansel.

No, he didn’t talk of escape anymore. But he talked of Hansel’s eyes, likening them to those bizarre oceans he imagined.

He talked of Hansel’s kindness, how he wanted to wrap himself in it.

He talked of their future together, well-fed in a beautiful candy house in the woods.

He even held his hand a few times, trying to make him happy.

Hansel wanted to pretend for him. Whatever magic had taken Gerhardt’s mind, he still felt Hansel’s sadness. Only it was, ‘Just eat and Herr Candy will make it all better’. So what could Hansel do but smile and nod? Why hurt him now?

It was mid-afternoon on that cloudy and darkening autumn day when the crisp word cut through the air like a knife. “Lunch!”

The word came with the very last drop of the very last shovelful of soil.

This was it.

Eat or die.

Gerhardt clapped him on the shoulder, then ran towards the house, eyes glazed in excitement, no doubt imagining what he might find on the table that day.

But Hansel’s steps were slow and heavy.

To eat or not to eat?

If he did, it was all over. For both of them. He would be trapped, just like Gerhardt was.

If he did not? What chance did he have, anyway?

Herr Candy could turn him into candy, any part of him, as soon as look at him. He could change form into whatever that thing he saw in the hallway the night before was. He could transform any weapon into useless wafer.

He could even make Gerhardt turn on him. He’d seen it.

But if he ate…

If only Hansel understood what he wanted.

He hated the way Herr Candy looked at Gerhardt. What would he do to him if Hansel wasn’t there to at least try to protect him?

And then it struck Hansel that Herr Candy did still seem wary of their bond.

He’d let them outside together, let them talk, so maybe he wasn’t that concerned…

But there seemed a sort of uncertainty, even as he stood by the door and waited for Hansel to follow Gerhardt in, that wicked grin plastered across his hateful face.

Hansel trudged up the chocolate steps, onto the toffee landing.

“Well?” said Herr Candy, holding the door open for him. “Hungry yet?”

Hansel looked him in the eye. He searched for anything—a flicker of humanity. But all he saw was a hunter, more inhumane than the wild wolf in the woods. There was nothing inside that being. No soul, no empathy. Hansel could see it. This thing was not human. This thing was death itself.

Hansel dipped his head low and entered the candy house.

Gerhardt stood on the opposite side of the room, hands forcefully stuck to his lovely hips, trying his best not to drool at the feast laid atop the table between them.

It was all dessert, of every kind conceivable.

Things he’d never seen before. Things he couldn’t have dreamed up in his wildest imaginings.

Biscuits golden and thick with bright red jam, sparkling beneath their dusting of sugar.

Thick raisin buns, wildly torn and soaking in still-bubbling caramel sauce.

Soft, wobbling, silken custard tarts, topped with hard sugar or fresh and fat raspberries.

Carrot cake, fruitcake, cheesecake, spice cake, marble cake, sponge cakes, pink, white and brown.

Yielding vanilla, strawberry, chocolate fondants begging to be squeezed.

Jellies, gingerbreads, marzipan in the colours and shapes of every forest animal, carved neatly down to the fur.

Schneeballs dipped in icing sugar, chocolate, pistachio cream, rolled in sprinkles of a thousand colours.

Strudels thick and folded, sticky with syrup.

Puddings deep and creamy, strawberries and cherries dipped in crisp chocolate, pastries soft and flaking, wrapped around stewed fruits and creams.

In the centre towered one magnificent triumph of chocolate cake glowing with fluffy, white whipped cream.

Cream and more cream, layered over and over with thick and rich chocolate cake, and dripping down the sides, cherry jam, unctuous, glistening, such an enticing scarlet contrast against the puffy cream.

The cake must have been twenty layers high, maybe more, wide and fat and delicious.

It was crowned with a garden of cherries, bright red, perfectly ripe, begging to be bitten, dusted with chocolate so fine and delicate it might have floated on the air.

Hansel’s stomach seized him at the throat. His days of hunger, his hours of hard work, his trembling limbs, all of it screamed at him to reach out and take what was offered.

But as though that wasn’t enough, he then saw that each of the three settings was arranged with one small plate to pile high with as much of the feast as they liked, right after the first course, if you could call it that, was done.

For in front of each waiting chair was an amuse-bouche of sorts.

Rare in the display, covetable in their rarity, one each, three golden balls.

Hansel’s eyes fluttered shut, the dark expanse of them lit like a shadow lantern with the memory of Gerhardt eating that golden ball from Herr Candy’s hand.

The sounds he made, the unadulterated pleasure on his face…

His almost complete subservience from the second he sank his teeth into that dessert.

“I need to wash,” Hansel whispered, eyes still closed.

Not a sound met his comment, so he opened them again to see Gerhardt bereft, mouth wide in shock, as though Hansel had just slapped him. And there was Herr Candy, not even hiding the cruel sneer.

“Are you sure about that?” Herr Candy asked.

Hansel looked into his dead, black eyes. “I will eat. I will wash first, then I will eat.”

Gerhardt spoke then. His voice held a trace of that tenderness that had wrapped itself so irrevocably around Hansel’s heart, gentle beneath a childish hopefulness. “Are you going to get changed?”

His eyes were big and loving, and Hansel was somewhat surprised they rested on him and not on the food. “Would that make you happy?”

“Yes,” he said, a soft smile about his lips. “I would very much like to see you dressed.”

Hansel knew just then, there wasn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for Gerhardt. Even if this was the very last thing he could do. If he had to go, he’d do it with that smile in his heart.

Herr Candy gave one of his gruff, throaty acknowledgements, then walked to his enormous black oven, its innards alight, adding more heat, more pressure, to Hansel’s broken-down body. “Very well, Hansel. I’ll make sure my oven is ready, just in case.”

Hansel eyed the volcanic depths of the thing as Herr Candy pulled it open, the blast of hot air filling the room, ruffling his hair, stinging his skin. “In case of what?”

Hansel jolted involuntarily at the sound of firewood being thrown into the furnace. Herr Candy slammed the door and turned back to him. “You just never know, do you?”