“They’re not coming back, are they?” Hansel’s voice was small, trembling. His lips quivered as he stared at the spot where their parents had disappeared.

Gretel’s jaw clenched, her eyes dark with a fury that barely masked her fear. “No,” she said flatly. “They’re leaving us.”

Hansel shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “But—but why? What did we do wrong?”

Gretel grabbed his shoulders, her grip firm but not unkind. “It’s not about us,” she said, her voice shaking with barely restrained anger. “They’re just… weak.”

Hansel’s lip trembled, his small body trembling against the cold. “What do we do?”

Gretel inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay calm. “We don’t wait. We move.”

“But where?” Hansel whimpered. “We’ll get lost.”

“We’re already lost,” Gretel said, her voice bitter. “But if we stay here, the wolves will find us before nightfall. So we keep moving.”

Hansel hesitated, his tears spilling over. “I’m scared, Gretel.”

“I know,” she said, pulling him into a tight hug. “But I need you to be brave. Can you do that?”

Hansel nodded weakly against her shoulder. Gretel pulled back and took his hand, her grip steady and sure.

“Come on,” she said, her voice hardening with resolve. “We have to go.”

They turned and began walking, their small figures disappearing into the dark, endless forest. Behind them, the clearing remained still, a silent witness to their abandonment.

Somewhere, far in the distance, the wolves began to howl.

The forest pressed in on all sides, a sprawling cathedral of skeletal trees that whispered in a language only the dead could understand. Gretel and Hansel trudged forward, their footsteps muffled by the carpet of decaying leaves. The path behind them had vanished, swallowed whole by the shadows that seemed to crawl closer with every step.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Hansel clutched the small wooden figure he’d carved earlier, his fingers trembling as he held it close to his chest. His breath fogged the icy air, his voice small but resolute. “We’ll find the way back. We have to.”

Gretel shot him a sharp glance, her lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s no way back, Hansel. Stop pretending.”

He flinched at her tone but refused to meet her gaze. “Maybe they’re just testing us. Maybe they’ll come back.”

“Come back?” Gretel’s voice was cold, brittle. She stopped walking, forcing him to turn and face her. “Do you think they’re just waiting behind a tree, laughing? They left us, Hansel. They left us to die.”

Hansel’s face crumpled, his tears welling up but refusing to fall. “You don’t know that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “They wouldn’t—Papa wouldn’t—”

“Wake up,” Gretel snapped, her anger flashing like a blade. “They’re not coming. If we don’t figure this out, we’ll die here.”

For a moment, only the wind answered. Hansel stared at her, his lips trembling. Then he turned away, his eyes scanning the ground. “There’s a trail here,” he said, pointing to a faint path through the underbrush. “It might lead somewhere.”

Gretel hesitated, her sharp eyes studying the trail and its uneven markings. She wanted to argue, to dismiss his hope as foolish, but her exhaustion outweighed her pride. “Fine,” she said finally. “But keep your eyes open.”

They pressed on, the silence between them heavy with unspoken fears.

The forest grew darker as they followed the trail, the trees weaving together above like an impenetrable net. The air grew colder, sharper, biting at their exposed skin. Hansel clutched his wooden carving tighter, his steps faltering as the sounds of the forest changed. The chirping of birds and rustling of leaves had vanished, replaced by an oppressive stillness broken only by distant, unidentifiable noises—low growls, the snap of branches, and something that sounded like faint laughter.

The trail led them to a stream that bubbled sluggishly through the frozen ground. Hansel’s face lit up at the sight of it. “Water!” he exclaimed, dropping to his knees.

“Wait!” Gretel’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm before he could touch it. Her nose wrinkled as she crouched down, studying the water’s surface. It shimmered with an oily sheen, dark veins swirling beneath the thin layer of ice. A faint, acrid smell rose from it, curling into her nostrils. “It’s poisoned.”

Hansel looked at her, his face pale. “How do you know?”

“Look at it.” She pointed to the oily surface, her voice steady but grim. “And smell it. This isn’t water. It’s… something else.”

He recoiled, wiping his hands on his coat as if the stream had already tainted him. “What could do that?”

Gretel didn’t answer. She stood, her gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “Let’s keep moving.”

They walked in silence for what felt like hours, their breaths the only sound in the frozen air. Gretel’s eyes darted constantly, scanning for signs of movement. Then, she saw them—faint, clawed footprints pressed into the snow-covered earth. They were irregular, as if the creature had dragged itself, but their size and shape made her stomach twist.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing.

Hansel’s eyes widened. “What kind of animal…?”

“It’s not an animal,” Gretel said, her voice flat. “Not one I’ve ever seen.”

Before Hansel could respond, the footprints ended abruptly, as if the creature had been swallowed whole by the forest itself. A shiver ran down his spine. “Maybe we should turn back.”

“We can’t,” Gretel said. Her voice was firm, but her hands clenched into fists. “There’s nothing behind us.”