Hansel and Gretel and the Gingerbread Trap

Hansel pressed his nose against the cold kitchen window, watching his stepmother whisper angry words to Father by the dying fire.

Even though he couldn't hear them, he knew what those sharp gestures meant. There wasn't enough food. Again.

His little sister Gretel tugged his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Hansel lied, though his stomach twisted like a wrung-out dishcloth. "Go to sleep."

But later that night, Hansel crept to the doorway and heard everything. Tomorrow, their stepmother had decided, the children would be taken deep into the forest and left there. Forever.

Hansel's heart hammered against his ribs. He had to think fast. While everyone slept, he tiptoed outside and filled his pockets with white pebbles that gleamed like tiny moons in the darkness.

The next morning, their father looked at his boots as he said, "Come, children. We're going to gather wood." His voice cracked on the last word.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the forest, Hansel secretly dropped the pebbles one by one, creating a trail that sparkled in the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Gretel noticed and squeezed his hand. She understood.

When their parents abandoned them in the darkest part of the woods, Gretel's chin trembled, but she didn't cry. "We'll be all right," Hansel promised. "Watch."

Under the moonlight, the white pebbles glowed like a constellation fallen to earth, leading them safely home.

Their stepmother's face turned purple with rage when she saw them on the doorstep, but she forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.

The next time, she locked the door so Hansel couldn't collect pebbles. All he had was a chunk of stale bread. As they walked even deeper into the forest, he crumbled it behind them, leaving a trail of crumbs.

"Don't worry," he whispered to Gretel. "I've got a plan."

But when they tried to follow the bread crumbs home, there was nothing there. The hungry birds had eaten every last one.

They were truly lost.

For two days, Hansel and Gretel wandered through the tangled woods, eating nothing but a few sour berries. Gretel's legs ached, and Hansel's throat felt like sandpaper. Just when they thought they couldn't take another step, the most delicious smell drifted through the trees.

Vanilla. Cinnamon. Warm sugar.

They pushed through a curtain of vines and gasped.

Before them stood a cottage made entirely of sweets. The walls were constructed from golden gingerbread, the roof was tiled with chocolate bars, and the windows were made of clear sugar candy that sparkled like diamonds. Gumdrops lined the path, and candy canes held up a porch decorated with swirling peppermint columns.

"Is it real?" Gretel breathed.

Hansel broke off a piece of the gingerbread wall. It was real, all right—and absolutely delicious. Soon both children were gobbling the house, too hungry to question their good fortune.

"Nibble, nibble, little mouse, who's that nibbling at my house?" called a creaky voice sweet as honey.

The candy door swung open, and an old woman emerged, leaning on a twisted cane. Her smile showed too many teeth.

"Poor starving children!" she cooed. "Come inside. I'll make you a proper feast."

The cottage interior smelled like a bakery, and the old woman served them mountains of pancakes, rivers of syrup, and clouds of whipped cream. After days of hunger, it tasted like heaven.

But when Gretel went to wash her plate, she noticed something that made her blood run cold: a massive oven, big enough to fit a person, with strange scratch marks on the inside of the door.

That night, the old woman's kindness vanished like morning mist. She grabbed Hansel with fingers strong as iron and shoved him into a cage. "I'm going to fatten you up," she cackled, her eyes glinting. "And when you're plump enough, I'll cook you in my oven!"

She was a witch who ate children.

Gretel was forced to cook enormous meals for Hansel while surviving on crab shells herself. Each morning, the witch—whose eyesight was terrible—would make Hansel stick out his finger to check if he'd gotten fat enough to eat.

But clever Hansel poked out a chicken bone instead. "Still too skinny!" the witch would shriek.

After three weeks, the witch's patience snapped. "Fat or thin, I'm cooking that boy today!" she snarled. "Girl! Get over here and check if the oven's hot enough."

Gretel's mind raced. This was their only chance.

"I don't know how," she said, making her voice small and scared.

"Stupid child!" The witch stomped to the oven. "You just stick your head in and feel the heat, like this—"

The moment the witch leaned into the oven, Gretel summoned every ounce of courage and shoved with all her might.

The witch tumbled inside, and Gretel slammed the iron door shut.

Her hands shook as she grabbed the cage key from the witch's pocket and freed Hansel. They hugged each other tight, both crying and laughing at once.

Before they left, they discovered the witch's treasure room, filled with chests of pearls and precious gems—riches stolen from all the children who'd come before.

Hansel and Gretel filled their pockets and ran.

They wandered for hours until they reached a wide river. A beautiful white duck agreed to ferry them across, one at a time. On the other side, the forest began to look familiar.

Then they saw it: the chimney of their own cottage, sending up a thin ribbon of smoke.

They burst through the door to find their father sitting alone, his head in his hands. When he saw them, he leaped up with a cry of joy. "I've searched for you every day!" he sobbed, holding them close. "Your stepmother left, and I thought I'd lost you forever."

When Hansel and Gretel showed him the witch's jewels, his eyes widened. They would never be hungry again.

That night, safe and warm and together, Gretel looked at her brother and smiled. They had been lost, trapped, and terrified—but they had also been brave, clever, and strong.

And they had saved themselves.