Bread Crumbs and Sugar Casings

Hush witch, hush witch, sleep steady and sound.

You paid for your safety and to stay out of the ground.

Hush witch, oh hush witch, till the ring of the bell.

We left you a pittance so we won’t go to hell.

Hush child, hush child, I can hear you in here,

I left you a nice treat so you’ll lend me an ear.

Hush child, oh hush child, sweet child of mine.

Come in for dinner, we won’t waste any time.

Hush child, hush child, with glass houses and stones,

You left me here stranded in a palace of bones.

Now hush child, oh hush cold, come have something sweet,

And then we’ll have dinner, how I can’t wait to eat.



The old lullaby rang in my ears. As always, I spent my nights watching the wood, awaiting my next guests. After all, many were abandoned in the midst of famine. The curse I laid upon the land resulted in hardships unable to be fought by the people alone. The intent was to show the king how his people needed him to lead, but instead it forced him to embrace his more selfish nature. The curse was still intact, as it would be until the red moon had risen thrice. Tonight however, the moon had risen in a pure white glow. It was nearly midnight, and a child snuck out of his house at the edge of the woods. He filled his pockets with creamy white pebbles, glowing silver in the moonlight. He hurried back inside.

At daybreak, I returned to the edge of the woods, watching the children and their parents as they took a twisting path through the trees, eventually settling at a clearing deep into the forest. Every few steps, the peculiar little boy dropped one of his pebbles onto the ground. They were nearly invisible in the daylight. Upon reaching the clearing, the father sent the children to gather wood and brush, making a large fire to stay warm. He and their mother left them by the fire, heading deeper into the woods. The children were what I desired, but their parents were interesting as well. The father tied a bough onto a dead tree, which the wind blew to sound like an axe chopping down trees. Then the parents departed.

Long after nightfall, the children awoke. “How are we ever to get out of the wood?” The girl cried.

“Wait a bit, until the moon is up, and then we’ll find our way sure enough.” The boy comforted. They waited for what seemed to be hours, but soon enough the moon rose, lighting the boy’s stones. By daybreak, the children had returned to their father’s house. The mother scolded, but the father rejoiced and the children felt themselves being swept into his arms and brought inside. Not but a month later, I sent plague and famine to strike again. Once again, the family left to enter the woods. This time, however, the boy had no stones to lead him back. He dropped bread crumbs until they reached a clearing deeper in the wood.

At midday, the girl split her bread with him. They fell asleep, and once the moon had risen, found themselves with no path back. I let out a small chuckle, knowing my birds had eaten their bread crumbs. The children wandered, searching for food, but there was none to be found except some berries growing by a tree.

For two days they wandered, finding my bird on the third morning. A beautiful snow-white bird, one that often glowed silver in the moonlight. She sang the sweetest melodies and her entrancing songs led all who heard it to my cottage. They followed the bird, moving along the overgrown path until the delectable smells of freshly baked gingerbread and pumpkin spice floated towards them and they no longer needed the bird to follow.

I could faintly hear the children’s voices coming from outside. “I’ll eat a bit of the roof,” the boy said, “eat some of the window, which you’ll find a sweet morsel.” They were moving closer, and eventually, the boy broke off a piece of my lovingly frosted roof—the sugar swirls were made to be enticing, after all. The girl was near my window, nibbling on the sweet sugar casing.

“Nibble, nibble, little mouse,” I called in a shrill voice, “who’s nibbling at my house?”

“‘Tis heaven’s own child, the tempest wild,” the boy called back. The children went on eating as if nothing was the matter. Both the children grabbed more sugar, moving to gobble it up as if it were a Christmas feast. I made my way to the door, opening it and hobbling out on my old walking stick. The children dropped their morsels, frightened by my appearance no doubt. I shook my head nicely.

“Oh, ho! You dear children, who led you here? Just come in and stay with me, no ill shall befall you.” I took the girl by the hand and led her into the house, leaving the boy to follow close behind. Once they had been seated, I presented a most sumptuous supper: milk and sugared pancakes, with apples and nuts. I let the children feast, preparing for them the softest beds made of marshmallow fluff and spun sugar to lull them to sleep.

The children fell asleep instantly, and during their slumber I prepared for the feast. In the morning, before the children had awoken, I hauled the boy off to the stables, locking him in for good measure. I then went to the girl and shook her awake. She was frightened, reduced to a spineless shell without her brother’s guidance.

“Get up, you lazy bones!” I cried, “Fetch water and cook something for your brother. When he’s fat we shall feast.” The girl began to cry, loudly and bitterly, her tears wrecking my gingerbread floor. However, she soon realized she had no choice in the matter. She must do what I told her to do. So I made sure the best food was cooked for the boy, and the girl was given the scraps.

Each morning, I went out to the stable and called for the boy to stick out his finger, so that I may see how fat he was getting. The poor boy wasn’t growing a bit. He was thin as ever, cold as bone, and much like his sister, every passing moment seemed to be spent in tears. 4 weeks had passed, and still the boy refused to fatten. No matter, I thought, we must prepare for the feast. So this is what we did.

I kneaded the dough and cut the potatoes, diced the garlic and sauteed the onions. When all was ready, I turned on the oven and began the fire, preparing the stew.

“Ho girl. Be quick and get some water. The boy may be fat or thin, but come morning we will feast!” The poor little sister sobbed as she carried the water, adding to the bucket with every tear she cried.

“Kind heaven help us now!” cried the little girl, “If only the wild beasts in the wood had eaten us, then at least we should have died together.”

“Just hold your peace,” I said, “it won’t help you.” She ran to the stable to keep her brother company, no doubt preparing for the feast herself.

Early in the morning I put the kettle on the fire, returning to the dough and preparing the bread to bake. “First we’ll have to bake,” I told her, “I’ve heated the oven already and kneaded the dough.” I pushed the girl out to the oven, from which flames grew by the second. “Creep in,” I said, “and see if it’s properly heated, so that we can shove in the bread.” I cannot say I had malicious intentions with my statement, I needed simply for the girl to make sure the oven was heated.

“I don’t know how I’m to do it; how am I to get in?” The girl asked.

“You silly goose!” I cried out, “The opening is big enough, see, I could get in myself!” I crawled toward the oven and poked my head in, feeling the heat rush against my face. I felt two small hands on my back, and, as I turned to look back, a sharp shove forcing me into the oven. The large iron door shut behind me and the girl locked the door. I screamed for her to let me out, but she ran away to her brother. I gave a slight chuckle, knowing the heat from the fire would not kill me, merely let me return as a younger witch, to continue living my days in this house made of gingerbread and sweetly spun sugar.

As the children ran across the woods, to the pond where a duck carried them home to their father, I heard the echoes of an old song that I knew would haunt those children forever.

Hush witch, hush witch, sleep steady and sound.

You paid for your safety and to stay out of the ground.

Hush witch, oh hush witch, till the ring of the bell.

We left you a pittance so we won’t go to hell.

Hush child, hush child, I can hear you in here,

I left you a nice treat so you’ll lend me an ear.

Hush child, oh hush child, sweet child of mine.

Come in for dinner, we won’t waste any time.

Hush child, hush child, with glass houses and stones,

You left me here stranded in a palace of bones.

Now hush child, oh hush cold, come have something sweet,

And then we’ll have dinner, how I can’t wait to eat.