I wrote a short story for the Wickedness and Wonder anthology. The premise was: What happens in a fairy tale after the happily ever after? As the title suggests, not all endings stay happy. There may be some… darkness.

But all fairy tales have darkness, don’t they?

So here’s my take on what happened after the happy ending…

That Cottage in the Woods…

Even in daylight, the cottage cast menacing shadows. Vines crawled over most of the walls, the door hung crookedly on one hinge, and a shutter laid on the ground. Missing roof tiles added to the ramshackle and despairing look.

            “I don’t like this,” grumbled Hansel.

            I spun around, threw up my hands and glared at him.

            “We have NO choice! Would you rather stay here and freeze or starve? Maybe you’d rather be eaten by wolves?”

            He stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and stuck his chin out in that mulish pout. Even though first born, he was the follower. I was the bolder one. Someone had to be.

            “Maybe we could make it to the next village.”

            I tilted my head. “Don’t you think word has spread, and that we won’t be run out there too?”

            “This place gives me nightmares!” He rubbed his face. “She was fattening me up to eat next.”

            “I had to kill the witch! You don’t think I get nightmares??” I left him standing there and thrust the door aside, anger fueling my strength. Leaves, dirt, branches, and animal nests lay in piles. Somewhere in the dark, a critter skittered across the floor. Spiderwebs hung from the rafters like macabre garlands. The sight of the black cauldron hanging in the fireplace, which she used to boil the bones of the children she beguiled, made me shudder. That would be buried in the woods, never to be used again. The oven, unfortunately, had to stay. Hansel was not going to like it, but we would need it to cook.

            Her bones might be in it still.

            A shuffle behind me announced that Hansel finally found the courage to come in. I pointed to the door.

            “First thing, fix the door so the wolves can’t get in. I’ll start cleaning in here.” I dropped my knapsack on the dirty table. I would have to sacrifice a piece of clothing to make a cleaning rag. In the corner, I picked up a bucket and tipped out the dirt. Her broom stood nearby.

            “Don’t,” Hansel whispered.

            “I know!” I snapped. No one would touch a witch’s broom any more than their wand. “I’ll make one from some pine branches.” I threw open a window so some of the stale air could escape, but under the dense forest, not a breath of wind moved. Hansel would have to cut down trees that were too close to the house. “Unless you want to sleep in a tree again, get started, it’ll get dark quick.”

            He left without a sound and my shoulders slumped. I had to think of everything; food, shelter, and escaping from the villagers when they turned on us. Hansel provided the strength when, where, and how I told him.

            I was so tired.

            But there was work to be done.

            With a sigh, I headed to the creek.   

            After four days of hard, grueling work, Hansel had repaired the door and roof, hauled out piles of debris, and trimmed back the overhanging branches. He’d discovered an axe dropped in the overgrown weeds, so we had a nice stack of firewood. The inside of the cottage I had scrubbed clean until blisters on my hands cracked and bled. The chimney was still sound and a merry little fire crackled, roasting a freshly caught rabbit which filled the cottage with a tantalizing aroma. While Hansel tore down the vines that sought to pull down the cottage, it was time for me to look inside the oven. Once the oven was cleared and enough wood burned, Hansel wouldn’t complain if I filled our empty bellies with baked bread or meat. Not that he had a choice.

            Steeling myself, I lowered the oven door.

            Chunks of bones nestled in the ashes.           

            I had been prepared for that, but I’d hoped she’d burned to nothing. Maybe if I’d stayed and kept the fire stoked after I pushed her in, she would have. But terror had driven me to free Hansel and help drag him as far as I could—to the same village that now scorned and drove us out. First, one farmer’s cow died. Then the cabbage crop became diseased. When the baker, who’d taken us in when we escaped, discovered weevils in his flour, fingers pointed and accusations arose that we were to blame; we were the witch’s minions.

We ran for our lives.

            So here we were, in the one place no one should be, trying to hide and survive. Using a short piece of firewood, I scraped the skeleton and ash into the bucket. Who knew what evil remained in her bones; I would not touch them and find out. When the oven was mostly empty, I closed the door and put fresh pine branches over the bucket, which I shoved into a dark corner. If Hansel saw the bones, he would rebel and nothing I said would change his mind; he would refuse to live here and we’d be at the mercy of the forest and the weather. I quickly busied myself with cutting up some wild onions Hansel found while hunting for the rabbit which was now our dinner. He grunted by the door as he ripped down a rope of vines.

            The door squeaked. He came inside, swiping the sweat and dirt from his face with his arm.

            “Here,” I held out the cup. Before we ran from the baker, I swiped a cup, a small pitcher, some bread, and a knife, nothing that would be immediately missed, hoping the baker wouldn’t chase after us if and when he discovered the pilfered things. I prayed he would be content with us being gone.

            Hansel drank the tepid water deeply, tipping his head back. Exhaustion left dark smudges under his eyes. Soon though, when winter snows blanketed the forest and the days were short, he could sit by the fireside, whittling and repairing things we needed at his leisure.     

            I needed an excuse to get him out of the cottage so I could bury the bones. “Do you think you could get more of the onions? I can store them for winter.”

            His shoulders drooped. “Sure. Give me some time, okay?”

            “Of course, but I don’t want you out there when it starts to get dark.”

            He nodded, grabbed the knapsack, and headed out. I watched him from the doorway and as soon as he disappeared from sight, rushed to grab the gruesome bucket and slip away.

            I ran through the woods, low hanging branches tearing at me, my feet pounding on the ground. An outcrop of granite lay ahead. There was a small crag, big enough to dump the ashes and bones in without having to touch them. I emptied the bucket then pushed rocks and dirt until the crag was filled with a mound on top. No animal should disturb the bones now, and maybe the earth would cleanse the evil. Using sand, I scrubbed the bucket and rinsed it many times. Still, I would only use it for cleaning water; neither Hansel nor I would drink from it. We may be poor, but we weren’t stupid.

            I was back at the cottage no more than a few minutes when Hansel returned. He handed over the sack, fairly filled with wild onions and some herbs.

            “Sit, I’ll bring you dinner.”

            He shook his head. “I need to wash, I can’t stand my own stink. Where’s that bucket?”

            “No!” I yelled. He drew back. “It was hers, and we don’t know if she used it for some dark potions. I only use it for cleaning. Go to the stream and wash up, here’s a cloth.”

            He glowered. “It’s going to be cold! There was frost last night.”

            I nodded. “Yes, Hansel, I know, but I don’t want anything to happen to you. I have to wash the same way.”

            With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the cloth and headed out toward the stream.

            The next morning when Hansel ate the cold last bits of the rabbit, I sat next to him at the table.

            “Maybe you could fish for our dinner?” I wanted him away from the cottage so I could fire up the oven.

            He looked up from his too small portion. He was a boy doing a man’s work and he needed more food, so I’d taken as little as I could.

            “I should burn the debris we took out. I’ll feel better when we get rid of as much as we can. Bad enough we’re in her house.”

            “That can wait, you’ve been working so hard. When it snows, we’ll burn it. There will be less chance of the fire accidentally spreading. We need food, and you need a rest. Put in a line and just sit for a while.” I laid a hand on his arm. It seemed more muscular to me, but then it would with how much work he’d done.

            He ate the last bite of rabbit and threw down the bone. “I guess you’re right. Don’t want to sleep on an empty belly. It’s just that there’s so much to do.”

            “Before you come back, get some river mud. I want to make some bowls and see if they can be hardened in the fireplace. Then we can have plates too.”

            “That’s a good idea. Hand me the bucket.”

            It would only hold mud; surely no evil would come of that. After all, I’d had my hands in the bucket many times as I cleaned the cottage. I retrieved it from the corner.

            “As many fish as you can. You need to eat more.”

            He grinned. It was the first in a long time. I smiled back.

            “You’re so bossy.” He stood, stretched his back, and yawned.

            “That’s because I’m good at it. Take the cup in case you get thirsty. I have the pitcher.”

            He bent over to kiss the top of my head. When had he gotten taller?

            “I’ll be a few hours.”

            “I’ve got things to do, so no hurry, but back before—”

            “Dusk, yes, I know, Miss Boss. What are you going to do?”

            Uh…

            “I think I’ll plan out where I want to put in a garden next spring. Sweep the floor because you track in dirt, you know.”

            “Stay close to the house.” He closed the door quietly. I swept the room so that when he came back, he would see at least that accomplished chore.

            I stacked dried twigs and leaves to start the fire in the oven. Once they caught, I put several small branches. Once the fire was hot enough, I put in three hefty logs. The oven burned so hot I had to open the cottage door and the windows. If Hansel smelled the smoke, maybe he would assume it was the fireplace.

            Close to the cottage I scavenged more wood so that I wouldn’t use all of the stack. It also gave me time to think about where a garden would go, if we survived the winter. I stuck a few sticks in the ground, giving the impression of a fenced area. Carrying in my load of wood, I stoked the fire again, careful to stand back from any blast of smoke or heat. I would do this several times to make sure every bit of her was gone before I cooked our food in there.

            I sat at the kitchen table, wondering what else I could do when a shaft of sunlight shone in through the open door. Dust motes danced on the beam and it lightened my heart. My eyes followed the trail to the opposite wall. A knot hole in the wood was missing. I remember cleaning the walls and feeling it. In the light, something about it was peculiar. It looked too perfect, like it wasn’t the odd shape that knot holes were.

            It looked like a finger hold.

            The sun went behind a cloud and I shivered.

            Curiosity drew me. Lighting a twig from the fireplace, I held it up. I grabbed another twig, about as thick as a finger, and poked it in the hole. Levering it, a section of the wall popped out, revealing a compartment in the wall.

            In it rested the witch’s grimoire.

            I jumped back in horror.

            I refused to touch it so I could not remove it. If Hansel saw it, he would drag me away from here and with the cold nights, we would surely freeze.

            I jammed the piece of wood back.

            Over the days, while I thought about the grimoire, I was not tempted to use it. If a witch did something that seemed good, it was only to deceive and corrupt something else.

            But winter set in and Hansel had little success hunting rabbits or birds or anything else for us to eat. It seemed as though the forest and the stream were barren. I’d made an onion broth, but it was watery, with few onions and a sprinkling of dried herbs. And now it was gone. We would starve if we couldn’t find something to eat.

            “I’m sure I’ll catch something today,” he mumbled, a sad smile pulled tautly across his drawn face. It had been at least five days since we’d had something more than onion broth.

            My smile was shaky. “Oh, I know so! I’ll keep the fire going so we can put it on the spit as soon as you get in!”

            He trudged out to check the various traps that had so far proven to be useless, along with his lines in the river.

            Hunger pains gnawed at my stomach. Drinking water to hold them off only worked for so long. A light snow dusted the ground, except under the trees, so maybe Hansel could still find more onions or mushrooms, something.

            But if he didn’t…

            My eyes darted over to the grimoire’s hiding place. I chewed my lip with indecision. The oven was clean. We could roast anything Hansel caught.

            If he caught anything.

            I’d just take a peek, but I wouldn’t touch it. Using my cleaning rag, I pulled off the panel and lifted out the book. There was no surge of malice; it felt like an ordinary book. I set it on the table. The cover was a dusty dark brown leather. I was not fooled; it was human skin. That was another reason not to touch it. Witches each made their own grimoire. Who was the poor soul who’d lost their skin for this one?

To Be Continued… Next Week

So stay subscribed to find out how it ends!

And if you want to cheat and buy the book, and enjoy other stories, it’s available on Amazon: