The Lost Children

The woods got lonely in the winter.

The tree branches, usually dripping with greenery, were stark and black against the night sky. The life that the forest was usually teeming with was tucked away for the winter. The squirrels that liked to tap dance on my roof were in an acorn-induced food coma. Even the mice that I usually swatted away with my broom had sought shelter for the long, cold nights. It was just me, alone, in my cabin.

I was making myself soup when Laura called. "Hello, dear!" I squealed into the phone. My daughter rarely called anymore. I peeled a potato and held the phone between my ear and shoulder.

"Hey, mom," said Laura. "How are you holding up?"

"Good, good!" I lied. I wasn't good--though I wouldn't admit that to her. My eyesight was going. Last week, I'd used a cup of salt instead of sugar in my cookies. I'd stoked the fire with an old shoe instead of a log. But if Laura knew that, she'd try to put me in a home. Something I absolutely did not want.

"The kids and I are calling to wish you a Merry Christmas," she said. Then, in the background, I heard two little voices call, "MERRY CHRISTMAS GRANDMA!!"

Tears welled in my eyes. I hadn't seen my grandchildren in years. Laura refused to make the trek to the cabin and I couldn't drive that far to see her--I was self-aware enough to know what a hazard I was on highways now that my eyes were so weak.

"Would you come visit?" I found myself pleading. "Please?"

"Mom..." Laura said, her voice weary.

"Just for a day," I interjected quickly. "We'll do presents and hot chocolate. Please. I...I don't know how many more opportunities they'll have to see their grandmother."

The last part was slightly manipulative, but it worked. Laura gave in. "Fine," she deadpanned. "We'll be there tomorrow morning."

I hung up with a smile on my face. I'd get to see my daughter and her children tomorrow! Suddenly, I felt pain in my finger. The potato peeler had sliced it, and blood was dripping steadily into my soup.

Oh well! Not even that could put me in a bad mood. I shoved the pot of soup aside and climbed in bed early, willing tomorrow to come quickly.

I woke up to a crying sound outside. It was still dark out, so I grabbed the baseball bat I had sitting by my window and eased toward the front door. I swung it open and lifted the bat, but instead of an intruder, I saw a boy and a girl looking lost and confused. My grandchildren! They had arrived early! But where was Laura?

"Hello, dearies!" I called to them. They turned towards me and started. I realized I was still holding the bat, so I lowered it. "Where's your mom?" This only caused the girl to cry harder. I realized that Laura must have dropped them off and realized she'd forgotten something at home. My silly daughter!

"Come in, come in!" I said, opening my door wider. They hesitated. I realized they might not even recognize me -- it'd been years since they last saw me. But I couldn't very well leave them out in the cold, could I? "I have hot chocolate," I offered.

This enticed them. They came inside with me and I let them sit in front of the fire while I made them their drinks. Adam and Amy. Oh, how I missed them! While they drank and got warm, I made up their beds in the guest room. "I was thinking we could do lunch and presents around noon!" I called to them while I worked. "Sorry I don't have a Christmas tree--"

I rounded the corner, back into my living room, and found them both asleep on the floor. They looked so peaceful. I put blankets over them and stoked the fire once more. Then I set out into the forest to find something I could use for a Christmas tree. Anything to make the day as special as possible.

I returned to the house just as dawn was beginning to peak over the horizon. Despite the long winters, the mornings in the woods were as gorgeous as ever. The sunlight spilled like a golden egg yolk across the wide expanse of trees. I smiled to myself and opened the front door. To screaming.

"YOU KILLED MY SISTER!" Adam was yelling at me.

"What?" I asked him, alarmed. "What happened?" And where was Laura? Shouldn't she be here by now?

"YOU BURNED HER IN THE FIRE!"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. This wasn't funny. Where was Amy?

And then suddenly, I went cold. I ran out of logs yesterday. What had I tossed into the fire before going outside? Could it have been the limp, sleeping body of a 6-year-old girl? Had my eyes gotten that bad?

"Adam," I started to explain, but he ran out the door. "ADAM!" I called after him.

He didn't get far, though. He fell into a ditch that I had dug years ago, to trap deer and other animals for hunting. It was covered in leaves, so I had forgotten it was there.

"Adam!" I ran towards the ditch and clawed at the leaves and sticks on top of it, revealing what I dreaded to see. Adam was lying at the bottom of it, his body still.

I started to sob. What had I done? How would I tell Laura?

I went back inside. The fire had gone out, and just as Adam had accused, there was Amy, her body burnt. Crying, I dragged her outside and put her in the hole with her brother. The least I could do was bury them together.

In the house, I picked up my phone with shaky hands to call Laura. I paused, though. What could I even say? I had done the worst thing a person could possibly do, all because I wouldn't accept how bad my confusion and eyesight had gotten.

Before I could dial, I heard voices. Confused, I placed the phone back in its cradle. I opened the door to the chilly winter morning, where a search team of dozens of people, led by a uniformed police officer. "Hansel!" They were calling. "Gretel!"

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. Who were Hansel and Gretel?

"Excuse me ma'am?" The officer said politely. "We're looking for two children who went missing yesterday. It's believed they were trying to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back home, but the trail ends here. Have you seen these two children?"

He held up a photo to me, and suddenly, I knew what I'd done.

It happened in slow motion: a woman, probably Hansel and Gretel's mother, looked into the makeshift grave her children were lying in and began to scream.

"No, please--" I started to explain. But the officer had pointed his gun at me. Handcuffs clicked over my wrinkly, bony wrists. As I sat in the back of the squad car, a Honda with chipped green paint rumbled down the driveway. Laura. She climbed out of the front seat.

The passenger doors opened. Amy and Adam stepped out of the car, looking around them in confusion.

I stared at them, and then at my daughter, and then at the mother whose children I had just killed. Laura was talking to the officer, and then looking at me in horror through the window of the car. I'm sorry, I wanted to say. But she and the kids reversed back down the driveway, not giving me a second glance.