‘Gretel—’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she whispers. ‘That’s not my name.’
‘Are you here?’ I say. ‘Are you real?’
Gretel watches me a long time before speaking. ‘You asked me that once before.’
I did. And I still remember her answer, in the cellar beneath the Gingerbread House: This is real, Elijah. All of it. You’re real, so am I. So is my mum. So is my family. This place is real, too. It’s not where I want to be, and I hope I’m not going to die here. I hope, more than anything, that you’re going to help me survive this – but it’s real, I promise you. It’s about as real as a thing can get.
I look at the tray and the overturned bowl of food. I lift my head and look outside at the mounds of tufted grass. The wind blowing through the doorway feels real, which means the door must be open. The food smells real, too, which means someone must have brought it.
My heart feels as light as a dandelion clock. If Gretel really is here, it means I can scrub one black mark off a conscience filthy with them.
She glances past me. ‘I have to go.’
‘Wait—’
Her feet make no sound as she crosses the shed. At the threshold, she hesitates. The wind makes snakes of her hair. Then she’s gone.
I blink after her, wondering what just happened.
This is real, Elijah. All of it. You’re real. So am I.
But that was then, and this is now.
When my gaze wanders to the far wall, I notice that Mama is back, her knees drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t look at me, but this time, at least, she speaks. ‘Only one way forward from here. You’re a survivor, Elijah. So survive.’
I think of my filthy conscience, and the one black mark I’d hoped to avoid. Then I close my eyes and wait.
Elissa
As Elissa shuffles across the grass, the wind batters her and she nearly falls. Her head is abuzz; her throat is on fire. In the last few days, her arm has grown so painful with infection she’d amputate it if she knew how. If she survives this – unlikely, given what she’s just seen in the tool shed – she can’t imagine any doctor could save it.
The ghoul is waiting outside the shack, smoking a roll-up cigarette. He follows her inside and shuts the door.
The witch, Annie, is on her knees by the far wall, loading logs into the wood stove. Watching her, Elissa thinks of the old fairy tale: how Gretel shoved her captor into the oven and released Hansel from his cage. The comparison is so absurd she almost laughs, but there’s no breath in her lungs for that.
Knees cracking, Annie climbs to her feet. ‘This fucking wind,’ she mutters. ‘This fucking cold.’ Finally, her eyes meet Elissa’s. ‘You see him?’
‘Yes.’
Annie gestures to a footstool. When Elissa sits, the old woman grins. ‘Round here, you’re a lick of fresh air. You do as you’re told, and that’s good. I think you want to help us, don’t you? I think you want to do the right thing.’
Slowly, Elissa nods her head.
‘I’m pleased. Because we like you, girl. We want to invest in you.’ She leans closer. ‘What did he say? When you took him the food?’
‘He asked if I was real.’
Annie grunts. From a wall cupboard, she grabs a packet of pills, popping two from the plastic packaging. ‘Here,’ she says. ‘Take these. They’ll help with your arm.’
The witch watches her swallow them, before adding, ‘He visited you, didn’t he? Down in the cellar. Came there on the pretext of befriending you.’ She pauses and her face crinkles. ‘It’s OK, you don’t have to say anything. There’ll never be anything, ever in this life, that you can conceal from me.’
Elissa stiffens. The last time she heard those words they came from the ghoul. He’s watching her from across the room, smoke drifting from his nostrils.
‘Elijah didn’t want to be your friend,’ Annie says, lowering herself into a rickety chair. ‘He was just checking out the competition. He ever tell you that’s not his real name? Elijah was his little brother. I’m guessing he didn’t share what he did to the poor boy.’
Every time the witch speaks Elissa’s grasp on the situation feels like it’s collapsing. Facts she’d thought irrefutable suddenly seem in doubt.
‘We can’t stay here long,’ Annie says. ‘And we can’t leave you behind. I’d like to take you with us, but we don’t have room for two. It’s you or him.’
Hearing that, Elissa thinks of the promise she made when she first woke beneath the Memory Wood: to survive this horror, whatever the cost.
‘That boy,’ Annie continues. ‘He’s a survivor. He values his life above all else. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.’
‘So do I,’ Elissa whispers. ‘So will I.’
She means it, too. Right now, she can think of nothing she wouldn’t do to see her family again.
‘Those times he visited you, down in the cellar,’ the witch says. ‘He ever tell you about the others?’
‘He told me about Bryony.’
‘He tell you what happened to her? How she died?’
Elissa’s throat closes up. She shakes her head.
That boy. He’s a survivor. He values his life above all else. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.
‘Those pills will make you drowsy,’ Annie says, getting up. ‘If you stretch out on the floor, you might catch a few hours’ sleep. Later, I want you to take him another meal.’ Returning to the cupboard, she opens a drawer and removes a knife. The blade is six inches of sharp steel.
‘If I were you,’ she adds, her turquoise eyes glimmering, ‘I’d take this along. Because, believe me, if he gets the chance to improve his situation, he won’t hesitate.’
That tongue pops out, probing yellow teeth. ‘Like I said, we can only take one.’
Kyle
Later, Papa visits. He stands in the doorway for a bit, smoking his cigarette. When he steps inside and notices the overturned food bowl, his forehead creases.
‘It wasn’t me,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not being difficult. She dropped it.’
‘Huh,’ he replies. ‘What a bitch.’
‘It wasn’t on purpose.’
‘You don’t think?’
A silence grows between us. ‘She was real,’ I say. ‘I saw the flames and … I thought I’d killed her.’
‘You didn’t,’ Papa says. ‘Not yet.’
I raise my head fully. ‘Not yet?’
‘Annie’s in there right now, explaining how things are. She’s clever, that Elissa. Ruthless, too. Some of the things she’s been saying …’
He pauses, spits.
‘What things?’
‘Oh, stuff about you. Annie told her about Eli. About what you did.’
My blood crashes in my ears. ‘Papa—’
‘Save it.’ He drops his cigarette to the floor, grinding it out with his heel. ‘I probably shouldn’t even be here, warning you like this.’ Retrieving the tray and its contents, he steps out and shuts the door.