Elmeara sat up as a scratching noise reached her ears. What could that be? She leaned forward and peered through the taffy curtains. Two hunched forms lurked near the porch. 

Rotten little vandals are ruining my beautiful sweet home! Her blood pressure peaked, and a swift rush of inspiration ran through her. Sadly, the feeling quickly drained away. The ax was dull, in the basement, and her knees weren’t what they used to be. Oh, to be young!

She heard them again, the uninvited shin kickers. From the sounds of it, they might be pulling the gutters off. 

Blast it all! The holy terrors would damage all her hard work if she didn’t stop them. With a thud, she dropped her carving knife and whetstone, slipped through the back door and around to the front yard. There they were – a boy and a girl, sitting on the stoop, gnawing like a pair of demented beavers. 

The boy squatted in baggy, low-riding pants as black as his Metallica T-shirt and greasy hair. She wasn’t sure what was more revolting, his underwear leering at her from his droopy drawers or his arms and clothes glistening with chocolate stains. He was positively drooling on himself. 

Elmeara rolled her eyes. Bah! No surprise, teenage boys do that naturally. 

The girl was marginally better, dressed in short shorts and a mid-riff baring shirt. Then she spied the Christmas tree collection bits and bobs that flashed and glittered from the girl’s navel, ears, eyebrows, and lips. 

Egads! The King of the trailer park must be missing a princess! A steady clicking noise came from the girl as she licked the candy cane downspouts. 

Newt eyeballs! This one had a tongue piercing. She was going to take forever to prepare.

They looked up at her, eye’s widening. No doubt they are more embarrassed at being caught than ashamed of the damage they’re causing. But, as her mum used to say, “When life hands you a stray chicken, get out the gravy.” 

So, with as much saccharine as she could muster, she asked, “What are you doing to my house?” As if they don’t know, but I might let them explain themselves. No need to appear too vindictive, yet.

“I’m hungry,” the girl whined. The slack-eyed boy stared while chewing with an open mouth. More chocolate dripped off his chin.

Elmeara shivered. Disgusting! “Why didn’t you just ring the bell,” she said, pointing toward the door, but blanched at the hole in her door frame. The teenage termites apparently ate that too. 

She struggled to keep her voice controlled. “Ahem, well, if you had bothered to ask, I would have given you something.” Seriously, you little pests! It takes real skill and time to bake a gingerbread two-by-four.

“We’re sorry,” they chimed, giving her puppy dog eyes. Nice try, you little manipulators, but I have jars of those in my basement.

She resisted a grimace. Phooey, they are baiting me. Still, I need to take the high road. “What are two beautiful, scrumptious children doing alone in the forest? Did you get lost?”

The girl answered with a flip of her long blond hair. “Like, our stepmother totally frizzed out when I asked for a ride to the mall. She told us to WALK! I couldn’t believe it. It’s like forever a mile away. So I said, like, you gots a minivan, sista, so why don’t you just take me there already! But the hag went all Tom Cruise and pushed me out the door.”

Ah yes, the old tired and overused “mean step-mom” routine. Elmeara shook her head. Some animals eat their young or should at least consider it. She studied the boy, and he stared back with one eye, the other hidden behind a clump of long hair. “Have you been victimized for the same reason?”

“Huh,” he said, dullness disappearing from his eyes. “Sort of – the step-witch pulled the plug on my X-box, and right in the middle of a wicked round of Grand Theft Auto, I’d just iced a cop and … “

“Poor thing,” Elmeara interjected. That unfortunate stepmother ought to be given a medal or at least a shovel and a shaded backyard.

“Well, my sweet things, why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable.”

The boy perked up. “You got wifi?”

“No.”

He stared sullenly at the ground as another bit of railing dribbled down his chin.

“Oh no,” the girl whined, looking at the strange rectangular device in her hand. “I’ve got no bars.”

A smile crept across Elmeara’s face. Heh, heh. I do – in my basement. The girl noticed her staring. Uh oh, better play along. “Little young to be hanging out in bars, aren’t you?”

With a shake of her head, the girl rolled her eyes, “No, duh! I’m talking cell signal.” She held out the box and waved it at her. 

Like that is going to help you, hehe. “Sorry, no signal here. I receive a letter every now and then, but no phone calls.”

“Wow, how prehistoric!” the girl said incredulously.

Prehistoric, eh? I’ll outlast you, dearie. “How quaint, my dear. I’ve got some tasty lemonade inside. We can talk more there.”

“Okay. Come on, Hans, we’re going to chill with granny in her crib.” With a bang, she threw open the front door with such force a couple hard candies popped out of the door frame.

“Mmmmmppfhh,” Hans drooled, dropping the masticated porch railing with a plop on the ground. 

Elmeara darted for the door. Phooey! Drooling Dudley beat me to it. She hesitated before grabbing the glistening doorknob.

Ack! It would have been cleaner if he had licked the thing. So she dug into her robes, searching. Let’s see: ice pick, scalpel, a bottle of ether, gauze, bone separator – nope, no salad tongs. Guess I’ll risk it. With a grimace, she grabbed the knob, rotated the candy-coated mess enough to swing the door open, and followed her meals on heels to the kitchen.

When she caught up with her dumplings, they were already poking around the kitchen. The boy stuck his head into the refrigerator. “Wow, you don’t eat much, do you?”

“Well, I haven’t had victims …  um … made a trip to the store in quite a while.”

The girl pawed at the giant meat cleaver on the butcher’s block. “I take it you’re not a vegan?”

Elmeara managed a weak grin. “No, not exactly.”

The girl scrunched her face up in disgust. “I could never eat meat; it is so disgusting.” 

How disappointing. Vegans are always bony and tasteless – I’ll save her for last. 

The boy gave her a smirk. “Not me. I love a good steak, but not too raw; it can’t be mooing.”

Elmeara gave him a congratulatory grin. “Me too,” she said, resisting the urge to pinch his arm. “Pink and juicy for me.”

“OMG!” the girl shrieked. Elmeara’s heart skipped a beat. With concern, she followed where the girl pointed at an oven in the corner. The youngster exclaimed, “That is huge! You could cook a horse in there.”

Not a horse, my little dumpling, believe me. They tend to run off before you can properly season them. “I like to cook large animals. They tend to last longer.”

“Bleh,” the girl said with an exaggerated expression.

“Before we do anything else, could I have your names?” Not that it mattered, but it sure made labeling leftovers easier.

“My name is Gretel, and this is my brother Hans. What’s your name?”

“Elmeara.”

“That’s odd. How about we call you Elly?”

How about I call you dinner? Stupid children. These two were definitely not grade-A material. Let’s see, are the bitter ones sweet or the sweet ones bitter? Oh well, it didn’t matter. That’s what condiments are for, so on to business.

“How about some lemonade, my sweeties?”

Hans perked up. “You got any Red Bull? I need to get jazzed.”

That’s all I need; my dinner full of caffeine. “No honey, but the lemonade is sweet. Will that do?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, I suppose so.” 

She pushed a glass toward him. That should make him drowsy. I just need to deal with the broccoli eater now.

“What can I do for you, my dear?” 

Gretel stared at the floor, hair shrouding her face. Slowly she started swaying, her hands clenched and her arms flaying. 

Elmeara scratched her head. Is the girl having a seizure?

“YEAH! Put a ring on it, uh-huh, put a ring on it,” the girl shrieked to the floor. 

A ring? What is she talking about? Elmeara jumped back to avoid Gretel’s dry heave dance moves. Thin white cords trailed up the girl’s sides and into her ears. That, combined with the glazed expression, made her look like she’d been freshly lobotomized. 

Elmeara waved a hand in front of Gretel’s face and yelled, “DO YOU WANT SOMETHING TO EAT?”

“Yeah, I’ll have a seat,” she answered, sashaying on a stool next to the butcher’s block.

Elmeara’s eyes widened. At this rate, I won’t be able to eat until after sundown, which always gives me indigestion. Plus, children seldom taste better the second time around.

She grabbed the girl by the shoulders and shoved her through the pantry door. “Search the top shelf. There should be a delicious can of peaches in there.” THUMP. The lock clicked into place.

Gretel’s voice drifted through the door. “Hey! There’s no light in here!”

“There’s a switch on the wall; keep looking for it.” Turning around, she found the boy, his head bopping and swaying, eyes glazed over. Ah, the lemonade was working. Now to the oven. She danced all around to him. “Come, my dear, you must be tired. Time for a nap.”

“Wwwwha ….” he stammered, spittle dripping on his shirt front. 

She grabbed his collar and pulled him toward the oven. With her other hand, she tugged open the heavy iron door.

“Uh oh,” he said.

Elmeara tensed. Had she made a mistake? Had the lemonade not taken effect?

“I’m gonna …”

Suddenly he bent double and sprayed the butcher’s block with predigested porch railing. Elmeara cringed. Blasted child! It took me weeks to clean from my last meal. His jerky movements threw her off balance, and she teetered too. His head thumped off the surface of the butcher’s block and recoiled toward her face.

Oh no! Too late. Stars filled her eyes as his knobby noggin dented her forehead. She rocketed backward as the world quickly faded to black. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the loud thump of the oven door slamming shut.

* * *

Hans woke up a few minutes later, only to find himself staring at the kitchen ceiling. As he sat up, pain pounded at his temples. “Oh man, I ain’t felt like this since … uh … last weekend.”

Thumps erupted from the pantry door. “Hey, let me out of here!”

He rolled his eyes and shambled to his feet. “Keep your panties on.”

Pulling the door open, Gretel glowered at him, a glowing iPhone in her hand. “Granny told me there was a light switch in here, but I couldn’t find it.”

“She probably forgot. You know how they always forget their teeth and pills.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She attempted to brush past him. “Ewwww, you reek. What did you do?”

A quick sniff of his glass confirmed it. “I think granny gave me some loaded lemonade. You know how I can’t hold my Jack.”

“Why would she keep that in her fridge?”

“Maybe she’s a booze hag or uses it for arthritis. You know oldies can’t walk anywhere without screaming in pain.” His face lit up. “Oh man, I had a killer idea!”

“What?”

“You know how old people are always popping pain pills? I’ll bet she’s got some Vicodin or Percocet around here.”

“Sweet!” Gretel’s brow furrowed. “Wait, where is she? We don’t want her catching us.”

“Beats me. She probably fell asleep on the crapper.”

Gretel looked at the mess on the butcher’s block. “Then again, she probably went to find a mop, puke boy.”

So, they searched, but not finding Granny, they quickly crushed and huffed her prescription meds and emptied her liquor cabinet. 

* * *

Elmeara woke up in complete darkness. Where am I? Her fingertips brushed against cool metal with raised ridges. She tried to stand but bumped her head on the ceiling. Tracing the boundaries, she quickly tallied up the dimensions. If this is a closet, why isn’t there a door hand handle?

* * *

Hans sat on the kitchen counter. “We should head home before the step-witch sends the five-oh after us.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t do that.”

“Sure she would; she’d like nothing more than to put us in juvie.”

Gretel nodded. “Okay, let’s go. Strange we didn’t find granny.”

“Yeah,” Hans said, wiping pill dust off his upper lip. “I kinda feel bad about taking her stuff. Maybe we should do something nice for her.”

Gretel pointed at the butcher block. “How about cleaning up that mess you made?”

“Nah, too much work,” he said, yawning. His eyes drifted around the kitchen before settling on the oven. “I know what to do. Let’s go!”

With a shrug, Gretel whipped out her iPhone. “Hey, I got GPS,” she shouted, walking out the front door.

“Cool.” Hans stepped in front of the oven and searched the display. “Thanks, granny,” he said, punching the button marked “Auto-Clean.”

* * *

Light erupted from the walls, quickly turning from brown to red. As it increased, so did the heat. The realization came to Elmeara, like the sweat on her forehead. 

Oh, how I hate children!