Liesel felt herself counting them, one, two, three. In and out. In and out. One two three. Counting the breaths made it feel less like waiting and more like expecting.
“Is it sick?” Krista asked. Her little sister leaned close to her side. Liesel shrugged.
“I think so.” She knew it wouldn’t be long. Moments, maybe. The rabbit’s body fluttered, giving in.
Waiting can be its own kind of poison; jaggedly quick and molasses slow.
Liesel saw the rabbit kicked into a wall by one of the soldiers. It wasn’t lucky enough to die. It was hoping for a meal after the crops were burned just like Liesel was hoping for a meal once the soldiers cleared for the afternoon. Her meal presented itself differently than she wanted, though. Her mouth didn’t water. But her stomach did twist.
She wished Krista wasn’t there for this.
“Hans, take her back to the house,” Liesel said. It would be dark sooner than later. Liesel didn’t want Krista to see what she became when the sun was gone and she was hungry.
“What about Mutti and Papa?” Hans narrowed his eyes at his sister. “We haven’t checked yet.” Liesel narrowed hers back.
The village was almost empty save for the soldiers and the people who didn’t mind them. Hans knew that. But he insisted on checking as many times as Liesel would give in. It wasn’t that Liesel didn’t hope. She saw the way Hans looked at the door each night as she stopped it up shut. She wanted them to walk through it as much as he did. But the darkness was coming on faster and faster.
The woods changed when the leaves changed.
###
“I’ll check,” she lied. “Just go home.” Hans squeezed his face. But he took Krista’s hand, and they crept through the high weeds towards the woods back to the house.
Liesel waited.
In and out. In and out.
One two three. One two three.
Once Hans and Krista were out of sight, Liesel reached for a large rock.
###
Liesel returned as the sun slipped into purple and black. The colors of the leaves became beautiful reds and rust against the blue shadows. Crips wind made the branches sway. But splendor was not what it seemed. The woods had teeth and claws to survive the winter. And they grew them in the fall.
The pelt Liesel would trade for more flour. The extra meat she kept hidden inside her bundle. Liesel kept worthwhile things close.
Liesel wondered if the soldiers knew about the woods and the cold and locking the doors. She half smiled.
No, they didn’t.
Liesel opened the bundle. Her stomach moaned. The fresh meat and balls of sweet cake were held together with paper and string. Each night until the first snow came, she left the sweets on the doorstep, the backdoor, and the window sills. One cake for each.
“No tricks tonight,” she whispered as she walked the edges of their house. “No tricks.”
The cake was not theirs for eating.
“Did the rabbit get better?” Krista asked. Liesel walked in and locked the door behind her.
“Yes.” Krista was easy to lie to. It didn’t even feel wrong when she did it. The world was still wide and blurry for Krista. Her doll spoke. Fairies danced in embers. Anything was possible.
“Any sign of them?” Hans asked.
Liesel shook her head.
“Maybe the witch took them,” Krista said absentmindedly. “Maybe she needed their help.”
“They just went to the city, Krista,” Liesel said. “They’ll be back soon.”
Liesel made a point to put the meat on the stove before Krista could see it.
“Should I add the carrots?” Hans said, watching her pour the meat into their sticky old pot.
“How many are left?”
“Three, maybe four.”
“Just one,” she said.
One two three.
Liesel wanted them to come back. She hoped. But hope didn’t keep food on the table.
###
They ate their meal and said nothing. The food was bland, and not very warm. But they were all used to that by then.
Krista spoke about how the rabbit probably went home to its family, just like Papa and Mutti would soon.
“Reading tonight?” Krista asked once the dishes were cleaned. Liesel took one of Mutti’s fairy books down from the hearth, and all three children gathered around their unlit fireplace. Hans took a blanket and wrapped it around them. Liesel lit only one candle and read:
“Long ago, in the Black Woods, an enchantress of spring blessed her forest with beauty and life. All the trees grew tall, and the water was clean and clear.
“But as spring turned to summer, and summer to autumn, the enchantress—”
Voices inched towards them and Liesel stopped. Hans stiffened. Krista’s eyes went wide. Liesel leaned in to blow out the candle. No one moved. The clopping steps of confident men came closer and closer.
“Haven’t we checked this one?”
“…barn on the other side.”
“I thought…is that cake?”
The children breathed as one, in and out. In and out.
One two three. One two three.
“There’s nothing…”
The doorknob rattled. Krista pulled in further to the blanket. Liesel stood up, still and silent as night. She reached for the fire poker, letting the softest pieces of her hands grip it first. Hans shook his head, careful not to move too much. Their bones were grinding the less they ate.
“….other one.”
“Fine…”
The footsteps lumbered around the side of the little house. Each child listened to the phantoms on the other side of their walls.
The backdoor.
Liesel didn’t know if Hans and Krista pushed one of the chairs against the back door. She let her eyes bore into her brother. She saw from his face he’d forgotten. Liesel moved as smoke across the house to the side none of the children dared go. The side that held their parents’ room. The side with the door that led out to the barn.
Liesel held fast to the poker. Hans pulled Krista closer. She went inside.
Everything was how they left it. The bed was made, the clothes were gone. A clock on the end table stood frozen at thirty seven minutes past four. The emptiness where the ticking should have been made Liesel hate the room. It was quiet and wrong. People lived in rooms. Now only smatterings of dust gave the room a fairy frost. Her mother would have liked that: her room enchanted.
“We’ll only be a few days,” Mutti said. “A week at the most.”
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Papa said.
But they didn’t come back.
The back door’s chair was left just far enough away that Liesel needed both hands to pick it up. It would be stupid to put the poker down. The footsteps stopped.
Liesel froze.
The iron handle of the door began to turn. The creak of it filled up the hollow room like a thousand screams. Liesel’s heart pounded through every space inside her. Shaking, she lifted the poker above her head.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, don’t.”
Pretty please…?
The handle clicked and the door began to creak.
Liesel imagined two men twice her size fill the doorway. They would have guns. They’d point their rifles. They’d take Hans and give him a gun and send him far away. They’d take Krista and put her in a place with other motherless girls where the beds have bars.
Liesel couldn’t let that happen.
One little trick?
The door let a sliver of dusk’s last light beam into the room. A rifle’s barrel the only shadow.
“Hello?”
One teensy little trick?
Liesel let the words slip out. A whispered breath caught on the back of the hollow air.
“Yes, one trick.”
The door stopped.
A rip. Then a yell. The rifle’s barrel gone.
A human scream, and a slam. Liesel jumped forward, dropping the fire poker and slamming the door closed. The soldiers cried out. The door shook on its hinges each time a crash came upon the wall. Liesel seized the chance and propped the chair up against the door. She pressed her hands against it, not believing it would stay closed. But the sounds ended just as soon as they began.
One trick. The voice cackled. Never just one, silly girl.
A cold dread filled up Liesel. She pulled the fire poker towards her. The cold wrapped itself in every corner. It filled everything until there was nothing left.
“What did you do?”
Liesel turned. Hans, with Krista in hand, was behind her. “I didn’t—”
Tomorrow at nightfall. The voice filled up the house. A treat for a trick. Don’t be late.
Krista tilted her head. “Is the witch coming?”
###
“Never ask her for anything,” Mutti warned as they packed. “Whatever you do. I don’t care what happens or how terrible things are. Never ask her for anything. Until we get back, leave cake at the doors and windows.”
“Yes, Mutti,” Liesel said. Her parents packed everything they could into old tattered suitcases.
“Once we have passports, we’ll leave. Maybe for Canada or America,” Papa said. “It’ll be all right.”
He put his rough hand on Liesel’s cheek.
“Take care of them,” her father said. “Remember, no more than a week.”
“Yes,” her mother said. “No more than a week and we’ll be back together.”
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she imagined it. Liesel pulled the chair away and opened the back door.
Two soldiers, limbs twisted and cracked, blood turned to caked black tar in their veins, lay on the far side porch.
It was all real.
“Take Krista to the other room.” Liesel closed the door and pressed her forehead to it.
“Mutti said never to ask her for anything!” Hans yelled.
Liesel felt herself crumble to the floor. “They were going to come through the door,” Liesel said. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Not this!” Hans yelled. “She’ll take one of us. We won’t get rid of her until she has what she wants!”
Liesel got up and pushed her brother. “Don’t scare Krista,” she spit under her breath. “Mutti must have a book. Something to tell us what to do.”
Liesel felt their eyes follow her as she went into the main room towards the hearth.
“She did tell us. She told us never to—”
“I know what she said!”
Krista looked back and forth between them with her curious round face. “It’s ok,” she said. “Should we make more cake?”
Liesel felt her head fall back. The rabbit from before flashed in her mind. If the rabbit had words, would it have done the same thing?
In and out. In and out.
“I’ll think of something,” she managed out. “In the meantime, both of you go up the ladder and to bed.”
“But—”
“Now!” she growled. Hans took Krista’s hand and led her towards the rafter ladder. All three took to sleeping together up there since their parents left. Tonight would be the first night since they’d gone they wouldn’t.
###
Liesel had no intention of sleeping.
When first light of morning split through the trees, Liesel opened the cupboards, took out the last of the flour and wrapped it tightly in a rag. Her plan was simple. But she didn’t want her brother or sister to be involved. She would do this. Only her.
Liesel looked up at the attic. Krista and Hans breathed slow and full in the shadows. Morning was not yet theirs. It felt wrong to wake them up.
But it would be worse not to.
Liesel walked up the ladder. Krista was curled like a seashell, while Hans was still on his back. His face looked blue. He was so sensitive to the cold.
“Hans,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t wake Krista.”
Her brother opened his eyes as if he were never asleep. His gaze shot back like blades.
“I have a plan,” Liesel said. “Lock the door when I go. Don’t leave the house for anything. Swear it.”
“What if it’s Mutti and Papa?” Hans asked. “Do I open the door then?”
“No,” Liesel said. “Until this is done, if Mutti and Papa come to the door, it won’t be them. It’ll be another trick of hers. Don’t let Krista believe anything else, understand?”
Hans nodded. His eyes fluttered away towards the front door. He saw the bundle in her arm.
“What will you do?”
“Just lock the door.”
Liesel got up and went to the ladder. But Hans took her thin arm in his fingers.
“But how will I know it’s really you at the door? When you get back?”
Liesel already knew what she’d give to the witch if the plan didn’t work. She swore to protect them. And she would.
But she knew waiting was so hard when you didn’t have anything to wait for.
“Just keep it locked.”
###
Liesel walked the path to the other woods before. She’d met him when she was much younger, lost, and crying. The old creature took pity on her and led her back home. He made her swear not to tell anyone about him or their woods. And she hadn’t. Liesel was good at keeping secrets long before she had any.
But each time her path wandered towards his, Liesel made a point to remember it.
The trees were different in their woods, taller and thicker. Their leaves were buttery yellow and soft. The air was wet with mist and fog. Everything held itself more beautiful and strange.
The old gnome stood vigil at his gnarled chipped door, smoking on his pipe and watching his ravens above. His beard, still grey and white, traveled all the way down to his bare feet. Pink, white, and blue, the knuckles of each of his toes squeezed out of his skin. Such a gnarled little man from such a gnarled tree, Liesel thought. He might as well be one of the roots.
“Hello, sir,” Liesel said. She bowed to him. Liesel always remembered this part. He was proud.
The old gnome did not look up. His red, oily nose twitched, sniffing the air as Liesel brought it in. He chewed at the mouth of his pipe.
“Hello, Liebling,” he replied, spitting at his feet. “I’ve told you not to come here in the fall.”
“You did, sir,” Liesel said. “But I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t important.”
The old gnome gathered up his boney legs from under himself before he walked towards her.
“What’s so important you darken my door this time of year, stupid girl?”
Liesel knew his insults meant less than a snowflake in spring. A tickle, and then it was gone.
“I left sweet cake at every door and window,” Liesel explained.
The gnome nodded, fussing over his pipe and pinching out more sweet smelling smoke.
“But the soldiers from the village, they’re coming into the woods now. Have you seen them?”
The gnome raised an eyebrow. “The ravens talk.”
Liesel nodded. “My parents wanted to leave, but the soldiers wouldn’t let us. So Mutti and Papa left for the city to make sure we could leave for good.”
The gnome tilted his head. “You’re alone in that house?”
“With my brother and sister, yes. And last night, soldiers came to search it.”
The gnome let his pipe linger in his hand. He crossed his arms, gruff and unsteady. “You kept the doors locked?”
Liesel looked down. She didn’t need to tell the gnome their mistake. He nodded, rubbing the tip of his pipe against his cheek. She knew his mind would wander, and come to certain conclusions.
“Why did you come to me for soldiers, Liebling?”
Liesel kept her head low. She tried to steady her breath.
In and out. In and out. One two three. One two three.
“I was afraid they’d come in and take us away, so I—”
The old gnome put a gentle hand up to stop her. He knew better than to make Liesel finish telling her story.
“Stupid, stupid, girl,” he muttered under his breath. The gnome breathed in from his pipe, letting the smoke nestle into his nose.
“I know you can’t help me,” Liesel said. The gnome looked away. “I know this is just the season for her to be this way. Once winter comes she’ll take her next form. And by spring she’ll be the enchantress again,” Liesel paused. What she said next was very important. The old gnome was her friend. She did not want someone else to fall into the creature’s tricks. And if a creature of her woods were to betray her, Liesel knew it would be a fate much worse than soldiers at the back door.
“But are you permitted to give advice, sir?”
The gnome wrinkled his nose, letting the held smoke escape out his nostrils. His watery eyes grew wide.
“Stupid girl,” he smiled.
Liesel felt her body loosen, if only a little.
“Did you bring flour?”
Liesel unbundled her rag. The old creature nodded. “Then I’ll get the clove and ginger.”
###
Liesel found her way back to her own woods quickly. Stay too long in theirs, there is no going back.
The rag bundle held the fresh gingerbread. The warmth of it felt like a tender touch Liesel forgot she knew. She remembered when she was younger, before Krista, when her mother picked her up and held her close to her chest during a storm. The doors shook in their frames.
“It will be all right,” Mutti said. “We’re safe.”
Liesel saw the same embrace when her sister fell, or cried. Her mother gave it to Krista and Krista held it tight. Liesel only watched. She stopped waiting for her mother to hold her like that when Krista came.
She wondered if either of them would feel that love ever again.
The steam of the bread billowed like a cape behind her. The smell began to attract creatures from every burrow in the woods. Squirrels lifted their twitching noses to the wind. Birds tilted their heads. Yes, Liesel could not help but notice one of the old gnome’s crows coasting above her, tilting its head toward the earthy smell of clove and cinnamon. Liesel’s stomach rolled inside her skin. That feeling she knew very well.
It was easy enough to ignore.
Once the path towards the house came into sight, Liesel felt her shoulder tense again. The witch said nightfall. Liesel chewed the inside of her mouth.
“Please…”
Liesel shook toward the sound. A bluish hand reached toward her. Its fingers caked with dirt, its body twitching. Liesel froze still, again, waiting.
“Please…”
The leaves billowed away, and a man lay in their place. His face was mangled, skin white and purple. The hair on the top of his head stuck in strange directions. Liesel smelled him from across the path.
He smelled old. Old like sour meat. A Wiedergänger? Those that live again in wanting and waiting; an after living.
Liesel’s breath ran away from her. In and out. In and out. One two three. One two three.
The man’s bulbous eyes saw only the gingerbread in her hands.
Liesel matched his gaze.
“I can’t,” she said. But the words felt cold.
Her parents spoke of people thrown from their homes in the village. Or worse, people taken away.
“People can get lost in their woods,” Mutti said. “Madness comes to some who cross between.”
Liesel wondered if this poor man lost his way. Their woods changed him. Liesel knew what it was like to be hungry in the dark.
“Please…” he said again.
“I’m sorry,” Liesel whispered. “It isn’t for eating.”
His hand fell to the forest floor. The skin of his lips flaking away, making him appear more like the fallen leaves around him.
Autumn grows teeth and claws.
A quick wind rattled the trees. Liesel wondered if her parents lost their way. Maybe they never found the city. Perhaps they wandered until they were thin and blue and chapped like this man.
Wiedergänger, all.
Liesel began to see her father’s light smile beneath the man’s face. She heard his voice in his labored breathing.
In and out. In and out. One two three. One two three.
“Papa?” Liesel whispered.
“…please,” he tried to say, but the words were dust in his mouth.
Waiting is its own kind of poison, Liesel remembered.
Liesel unwrapped the bake. The steam ruptured as the smell of spice and sugar filled the air around them.
She knew it was wrong. But she also thought it was wrong to leave him. The soldiers left the rabbit. This man was left behind. How long did he wander and wait and hope the soldiers might leave?
How long would they wait? Would they turn to Wiedergänger inside the walls of their little house?
In and out. In and out. One two three. One two three.
“Only a little,” she whispered. “That’s all you need.”
Liesel brought the piece to his mouth.
“Please!”
Liesel let the gingerbread fall. His face became gentle and still as the bread traveled down his throat.
Liesel stayed with him. She knew it was wrong for him to be alone.
In and out. One two three.
“It won’t be long now,” she whispered.
###
It was nightfall by the time Liesel returned. A chill already settled in. Liesel knew Hans would be angry with her for being gone so long. But her brother and sister didn’t need to know the things that happened in the woods. The only thing Krista and Hans needed to do was to stay in the house until it was over.
A little snap of worry did follow Liesel. What if the doors were not propped closed? What if the windows were open? Sometimes Krista liked fresh air, and could be hard all alone inside.
But the house was just where it was in the morning. The windows shut. The trees around it were undisturbed. The soldiers were gone.
Liesel stopped.
The bodies that were the cause of all of this were gone. The back door, and its stoop, cleared.
Something odd began to grow in Liesel’s neck. A swelling. She rushed towards the back stoop. Was Hans so stupid to bury them? She told him not to leave the house. Why did he leave?
But as Liesel drew closer, the house, the trees, all of it vanished in a rush of sharp leaves. Liesel spun around.
She was on the wrong path.
Hello, Liebling.
The hag crept out of the woods with the mist. First a swirl, then a smoke. Its essence mixed with what remained of the gingerbread’s steam. The creature breathed in deep, taking on the ghostly form of a hooded thing.
“Hello, mistress,” Liesel said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Are you my new pet, then? Not the little one? The hag’s laugh was a labored hissed breathing. In and out. In and out.
“Yes, mistress. And look, I brought you cake, too.”
The specter floated towards her from all the simmering cold, with it the sweet smell of dead things. It circled around her, breathing in her hair. From the bits of Liesel’s hair it caught, the creature changed again. This time it was more solid. The hood emerged to poorly shaped furs. They were tied together in patches, ears and feet still attached. Only her emaciated arms and long greasy hair shown through the drapes of rabbit skins.
She reminded Liesel of the man. Of her. A Wiedergänger.
The voice was high and hissing. A trick for a treat. That’s the bargain. Cakes and cookies won’t be enough this time, Liebling.
“Please don’t misunderstand, mistress,” Liesel replied. “I’ll be your pet. But I brought you your favorite.” At this, Liesel unwrapped the bundle. The loaf of gingerbread emerged.
Gingerbread?
Liesel felt her hands shake and her breathing quicken as she placed the loaf before the hag. “Not just any gingerbread, mistress.”
Sweets and death and spoiled meat filled the air the closer the creature drew to her.
“Enchanted gingerbread.”
The hag lifted the loaf to her face. It sniffed the bread like a wild dog. Her thick spit dribbled down the corners of her mouth. Her fur hood fell back, exposing more of herself. A face with the same sickly blue as Hans on cold mornings.
But not a face. A mask. An animal’s face. A shell. A stone.
The rock Liesel used.
Her eyes were strangest of all, though. Each was different. One looked young and hopeful. The other, another size and shape, looked dead and lost.
One eye belonged to Hans. The other belonged to the man in the woods.
No.
One eye was the rabbit’s. The other was Krista’s.
One was Papa’s. One was Mutti’s.
Clever, Liebling, the witch said without moving her lips. She threw the loaf of gingerbread to the ground. This is no treat.
“No, mistress,” Liesel said. “It’s just right. I was given good advice.”
The hag hissed. By who? it snapped at her.
“Someone clever,” Liesel said. “He said it’s time. You must eat it.”
The creature looked up at the sky, as if caught in a trap. It’s too soon, she said. It cannot be time yet.
Liesel swallowed. She said the same thing when the old gnome explained to her what must be done. He said she would deny it. So did Liesel.
“If it’s time, then our parents were gone the whole season,” Liesel said to the gnome. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“Or they’re truly gone,” the old gnome said. “And you’ve been waiting too long.”
“It is time, mistress,” Liesel urged the hag.
The witch rushed towards her. A billowing wind of dead leaves followed, thrashing at Liesel’s skin. The creature’s face was nearly at hers. She felt its wet breath on her cheek. She smelled the death building up inside her thin body.
It is not time yet!
“I don’t want to believe it either,” Liesel said, eyes closed and body clenched. “But it is almost winter, lady. We need you to change.”
The hag backed away. The rabbit skin shroud followed her, but began to fade. Liesel watched the furs thin before her eyes.
Change?
Liesel nodded.
Change.
The witch, defeated, knelt down.
Looking at the bread a long time, the hag opened her mouth wide, unhinged, and drank up the whole of the loaf. Her eyes began to tear.
Liesel waited with her. It was wrong for her to be alone. The wind howled out around them. The leaves shook and the branches swayed. The hag’s body twisted and cracked. Teeth, sharp like ice, grew beneath her lips.
“It won’t be long, now.”
And when the last of the skins turned to frost, and her body nothing but a broken branch, snow started to fall.
A tall woman stood in the hag’s place. Her lips and hair were a deep shade of indigo blue. Tall white antlers were her crown. A robe of fresh snow wrapped itself around her. Liesel gasped.
The sorceress bowed her head to Liesel. Liesel returned the gesture, in awe. The sorceress smiled. Before words could be said a strong cold wind took her away, and she was gone.
The hag was dead. Lady Snow born from her bones. And it was finally winter.
###
Liesel knocked at the door. She heard a rustle behind it.
“Liesel?” she heard Krista whisper.
“It’s me, it’s all right.” The sun still wasn’t warm as it filled the sky with light. Liesel’s breath billowed in front of her. She heard the locks behind the door turn inside Krista’s hands. When the door opened, Liesel saw her sister filling so little of the doorway. She’d forgotten how small she was.
Liesel took her sister in a warm embrace. She scooped her toward her chest, letting them both hold that feeling they’d forgotten. Liesel felt a few hot tears puddle in the corners of her eyes.
“Did you help the wood witch, Liesel?” Krista asked. “Did you give her a treat?” Liesel nodded. No need to lie this time.
“Where’s Hans?” Liesel asked. Krista pointed up to the rafter room. Hans shivered under the blanket, asleep.
Liesel climbed the ladder. She sat beside her brother, watching his breathing shake from the new frost. Liesel nudged his shoulder until he stirred.
“Is that really you?” he said between sleep.
“It’s me,” Liesel said.
“Is she gone?” he asked.
Liesel nodded. She didn’t want to share too much. The woods kept so many secrets.
“We should gather up what we can today,” Liesel said. “We can’t stay here for winter.”
“But it isn’t winter y—”
“No,” Liesel said, clipped and tired. “No more waiting, Hans. They’re gone.”
Liesel saw his face change. Hans sat up, as if to fight back. But he didn’t say anything. He saw Krista down below eating the last of their cold rabbit stew. Beside her their empty cupboards, and cold hearth.
“We’ll pack, but once you get some rest,” Hans said. “You need sleep.”
Liesel was glad Hans agreed. She was so tired. The feeling pulled her down on the blanket, and let her eyes flutter closed. Her breathing slowed.
In and out. In and out.
One two three. One two three.
