Modern Fairy Tales Ch. 02

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
slyc_willie
slyc_willie
1,344 Followers

"Thanks for lunch," he said dryly, then let go of the handle, letting the basket crash to the ground. Mother let out a startled yelp, stepping back. Her hand flashed up, ready to slap her son's face, but his unflinching stance made her pause. Hansel had never stood up to her before.

With a last look, he stepped past his mother, giving a quick glance to his father. The docile patriarch said nothing, guilt and embarrassment telling within his features. Hansel suddenly loathed the man who had given him life. How can he just stand by and watch it all happen?

There was no answer to his silent question, nor did he think he would have accepted one. Both weary and angry, Hansel ascended the stairs to join his distraught sister.

***

Gretel had her arms wrapped around her knees, hugging her legs to her chest while she sat on the bed. The single lamp colored the room in a soft, dusky amber, which helped to make the chamber seem less dirty than it was.

"She's gonna try t' get rid o' us again, ain't she?" she asked in a small voice as Hansel closed the door.

"I reckon," he mused, then sighed, leaning against the door. "But, y'know, I been thinkin'."

Gretel lifted her head. "'Bout?"

Hansel's face contorted from the thoughts behind it. "Do we really wanna stay here after all? I mean . . . Mother's always gonna be trying t' get rid o' us."

Distressed filled Gretel's face. "And where we gonna go? What we gonna do? And don't ya be expectin' me t' hand out suck jobs left n' right!"

Hansel grimaced. "I weren't thinkin' nothin' like that," he said, easing onto the bed before his sister. His shoulders slumped. "I ain't really sure what I'm thinkin.'"

Gretel uncurled and slipped her arm around her brother's shoulder, resting her cheek against his arm. The intimate contact was comforting to them both. "Well, I'm thinkin' we definitely gotta stay t'gether."

Hansel managed a smile and gripped her hand. "Me, too."

***

The aroma of ham steak and bacon wafted up through the house the following morning, rousing the twins from sleep. For a few minutes, it was as if the events of the previous day had never transpired; they rose, washed up, brushed their teeth, slowly letting the fog of sleep leave their minds. It was only as they were getting dressed that a sense of anxiety speared through them.

Hansel froze after he had pulled up a pair of worn old jeans with holes in the knees. He stared at Gretel, topless for the moment as she held a flimsy yellow blouse. Their eyes locked; they shared the same thought: what's Mother gonna do today?

A sense of resignation in the face of doom overcame them. They knew Mother was going to try something, and they had to be ready for it. That simple fact was powerful and obvious.

"We'd best, uh, head down t' breakfast," Hansel finally said. His eyes lingered on the firm breasts Gretel so casually revealed. They had seen each other naked numerous times throughout their lives, yet now, even this candid exposition of nudity drew out a different reaction from Hansel. The previous day had changed a lot of things, it seemed. He was conscious of the fact that he know felt a certain level of buzzing arousal around his twin, a sensation that was new to him. Unlike Gretel, who had enjoyed a brief fling with Cooper Barnes (before he got arrested for running moonshine), Hansel remained a virgin.

Gretel nodded, quickly donning her blouse. She could feel the difference between the way her brother used to regard her, and the way he did now. But she was not entirely sure how she felt about that change. Part of her had enjoyed the 'naughty' things she had done the day before, knowing Hansel had been there to watch.

Does that I mean I like turnin' my own brother on? She wondered. But she pushed the thought from her head and took Hansel's hand. "C'mon, Han," she said, the feel of her brother's grip making her strong. "We only got us, y'know."

"No matter what, we stay t'gether," Hansel affirmed.

They descended the stairs as if joined at the hip, following the wafting aromas that, despite the unease both twins felt, conjured up grumbles of hunger from their stomachs. They could hear Mother puttering about in the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pans and plates, flatware and glasses. The cacophony was almost intimidating.

Hansel and Gretel stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, looking up the tiny table dressed with the old plastic red and white cover. Four plates had been set, a pitcher of orange juice set in the middle. The twins' father was already seated, turned sideways in his chair as he read that morning's edition of the Brimstone Revealer. He glanced up briefly at his children's arrival. His face could have been carved from one of the winnowed old trees that lay outside of town.

"I didn't think ya two'd be long, what with what I'm cookin'," Mother said as she saw her children. "Well, sit yourselves down. Ya need t' have a good breakfast."

Hansel eyed her suspiciously. "Another long drive today, Mother?"

Her faint smile vanished completely. "Sit."

The twins exchanged cautionary looks, then took their usual places at the table. Hansel tried to catch his father's eye, but the elder man hunched down, holding the paper close to his face. His actions were plainly suspicious. He knew what Mother planned, but of course, he was not about to share his knowledge.

And again, Hansel thought, how can he just let this happen? What kind o' hold does Mother have on him? Is my father really that weak-willed that he'd let his own children be taken away? Unless . . . unless he never really wanted us either . . . .

Hansel leaned back in his chair, feeling nothing but contempt for his father. He suddenly felt a loss of appetite.

Mother set heavily-laden plates of ham and eggs upon the table, then sat as well. Silently -- as was the custom; no one spoke when a meal was served -- the four dug into their food. Hansel and Gretel found themselves forcing down the mouthfuls of food; it tasted good enough, but anxiety and nervousness kept them from enjoying the meal as much as they should have. Still, they knew that Mother expected them to finish every bite.

So they did, struggling to do so, but eventually, every forkful was devoured and the plates held nothing but streaks of grease. Mother cleared away the plates and glasses, glancing to the clock on the wall.

"You have chores to do, children," she said bluntly, her back turned to the twins.

Frowning with consternation, Hansel and Gretel stood from the table. Silently, they left the room, unable to see the wicked smile that adorned their mother's face, nor the small bottle of sedatives she lightly fingered.

***

"I don't get it," Gretel said as they took their tasks. Gretel's was to do all the laundry, while Hansel had been assigned the task of trying to fix the clothes the dryer. The contraption was ancient in his eyes, easily older than he, and by at least a decade, he was sure. It very rarely worked, resulting in the family clothes being hung to dry on the line out back. When it did cooperate, it made such a racket that the entire house seemed filled with the cacophonous sound. But Mother always insisted that Hansel try to make the device operable; a clothes dryer was a status symbol in Brimstone.

"I don't either," Hansel grunted as he pushed the dryer away from the wall. His pockets were laden with various old and somewhat rusty tools; many of them, he was certain, predated his entry into the world as well. "She's actin' like nothin' ever happened."

"What ya think she's gonna do?" asked Gretel, stuffing worn and dirty clothes in the washer. That machine, at the least, did function.

Hansel sighed, removing the screws that held the rear panel of the clothes dryer in place. "I don't know," he said, sharing a perturbed look with his twin. "But I reckon she's up t' somethin.'"

Gretel paused, wavering on her feet slightly with another armload of clothes to shove in the washer. "Yeah . . . I guess . . . ." Her eyes fluttered; the clothes tumbled from her arms to the floor. Reflexively, she slapped her hand to the surface of the washer, to keep from toppling over.

"Greta!" exclaimed, Hansel, shooting to his feet. He came around to catch Gretel just as she slumped, eyes rolling back in her head. She was like dead weight in Hansel's arms, arms hanging to the floor, legs falling slack. She muttered something that might have been words, but Gretel apparently lacked the capacity to speak.

"Greta! Greta!" Hansel cried, lowering himself to his knees, clutching his twin sister against him. His mind whirled with confusion and fear as to what caused her to behave this way, even as he felt a sudden inexplicable fog rolling through his own mind and sapping the strength of his limbs. The world about him grew cloudy, once-clear shapes becoming hazy.

The last thing he saw -- or thought he saw -- was the vague image of Mother standing in the doorway, watching. Even through the haze of his vision, it seemed to Hansel that she was smiling.

***

Hansel had never seen a gorilla before in his life. He had never been taken to a zoo, had never seen any television program about gorillas. But he had learned of them, somewhat, in biology classes at the run-down little school which educated all the children of Brimstone. And it seemed to him, as he awoke blearily, that one of the great, furry beasts had been sitting on his head.

Vision returned slowly, after his ears told him that he must be outside somewhere, judging from the chirping of birds, the rattle of insects high amongst tree boughs, the gentle rustle of leaves from a stiff breeze. Darts of sunlight stabbed into his eyes, making him wince and squeeze them shut. Defensively, he rolled onto his side, seeking the darkness his own shadow would provide.

Amid grunts and groans, Hansel gathered his strength, slowly feeling energy begin to return to his limbs. He heaved breath upon cool, dry grass, feeling the blades between his fingers as he curled them. With some struggle, he opened his eyes, peering at strangely vivid green spears of foliage just inches from his face.

"Greta . . . ." he grunted weakly, looking about, eyes narrowed to slits against the harsh light. He found his sister laying a few feet away, demure in her sleep. She seemed peaceful, as sublime as Sleeping Beauty awaiting her prince. Laboriously, Hansel crawled to his twin, shook her shoulder. "Greta."

She murmured, brow furrowing. It struck Hansel how much the way he and Gretel felt was similar to what they experienced after imbibing too much cheap whisky on their birthday. He wondered what it was Mother had placed in their breakfast; the fact that she had done so was not in question in Hansel's mind.

Gretel moaned, beginning to come awake. Quickly, Hansel shushed her, his face close to hers. "Open your eyes slowly, Greta," he whispered. "Th' sun's really bright."

His twin muttered something, then clumsily slapped a hand over her eyes. "Wh-where we at, Han?" she asked, her voice dry and rough. She cleared her throat, gingerly blinking her eyes beneath her hand.

Han looked around, his eyes finally adjusting. They were surrounded by trees, which afforded a loose canopy overhead through which the mid day sun penetrated. They had been set, ostensibly by their parents, within a tiny glade. There was a path that lead through the trees, but no clue as to where it would take them.

"I don't know," he said, trying to hide the anxiety he felt. "Nothin' looks right."

Gretel sat up, squinting her eyes and glancing around as well. "She done it again," she lamented.

Hansel nodded, anger setting his jaw. "Yeah. She done it again. And this time, we ain't got no picnic basket."

***

No tears spilled from their eyes once Hansel and Gretel regained their strength and facilities. A morose acceptance of reality filled them both as they grasped one another's hand, following the path away from the glade. It was, as far as Hansel could tell, late afternoon. There was no telling how far away from brimstone they were. They might have even been outside the county for all they knew.

Eventually, they came to a road, but unlike any they had ever seen in Brimstone. This one was paved with grey-blue asphalt, a dashed yellow line running down the center. Hansel and Gretel stared upon the nearly alien terrain. Only once before had they seen what Mother called 'the Highway,' and that had been the one and only time the family had traveled to Culver for a funeral.

"Oh, lordy, Han," lamented Gretel. "We ain't nowhere near Brimstone, are we?"

Hansel gave his sister's hand a reassuring squeeze. "It don't really matter, once ya think 'bout it," he said grimly. "We wouldn't know which way t' go anyways."

Gretel's eyes darted left and right along the road. Nothing could be seen but asphalt and trees. Her fear was palpable, yet controlled for the moment. "Well . . . which way, then?"

Hansel shrugged and tugged on his twin's hand. "I guess one way's as good as another . . . ."

***

Not a single vehicle passed by on the road for the hour or so that the twins marched. They spoke little, not really needing to talk, knowing that nothing they could ask of the other would improve their situation. The less said, the less chance they had of losing their nerve and their drive to continue on.

Finally, as the sun sat low, and the forests on either side of the road became dark with menacing shadows, there came a sharp bend in the road. Just beyond that turn, an oasis seemed to blossom. There was a rather sizable lot before a long, low building, with several cars and trucks parked within it. A sign at the edge of the road, mimicked upon the wall of the building beside broad glass doors, read: "Haggie's Diner."

The twins practically broke into tears of elation at the sight. They hugged and grinned, finally feeling a sense of hope intrude upon their woebegone minds. Amid laughs and giggles, they ran hand-in-hand toward possible salvation.

As they approached the doors to the establishment, the glass portals swung open before them, a tall, stocky man emerging. He paused upon seeing the teenagers who faltered and stopped short in his presence, eyes scanning briefly over the pretty, albeit dirty girl. With only a slight nod and smile, he headed toward a well-used truck, sucking on a toothpick.

Sharing a look that bespoke caution, Hansel and Gretel stepped through the doors, inhaling the nearly intoxicating aromas of fresh-cooked food. The floor was covered in black and white tile, the booths and free-standing chairs before small square tables padded in dark, polished red vinyl. There was a classic jukebox against one wall, and Waylon Jenning's mournful drone emanated from speakers hidden within the ceiling.

"Sometimes it's Heaven, sometimes it's Hell

Sometimes I don't even know

Sometimes I take it as far as I can

Sometimes I don't even go . . . ."

The twins stared, impressed and taken aback. Never had they seen such a place. Old Man Walton's little diner was nothing but a shack compared this magnificent edifice. The floors were clean, and more than that, they shone! The coffee machine behind the counter, the glass-doored pantry boxes upon the short counter, even the stainless steel door that lead, presumably, to the kitchen looked buffed and polished, catching stray rays of light and glittering like diamonds.

"Wow," the twins spoke in unison.

There were half a dozen patrons in the diner, most of them seated in low-backed chairs along the counter, all of whom turned to glance at the new arrivals. The diner could have easily accommodated five times as many customers, if not more. A far cry from Old Man Walton's paltry three tables and little breakfast bar.

Hansel and Gretel endured the scrutiny of the other diners for a few moments, until the men -- there was not a woman in sight, Gretel quickly noticed -- returned to their meals or coffee. The siblings were glad their appearance was not an intrusion; they needed no more worries than which already plagued them.

"You got any money?" whispered Hansel under his breath, while simultaneously digging in his pockets. He found a few crumpled bills and some coins, which he produced as Gretel drew her own hands from her pockets.

"I got five dollars," she said with an encouraging smile, smoothing out a wadded bill against her thigh.

"'Bout th' same," muttered Hansel, looking at his tiny fortune. "Hope it's enough."

Carefully, the pair approached the counter, standing between stools at the nearest end, away from the burly men who looked to be truckers, hunters, loggers or similar. Some looked, assessing Gretel casually. One man smirked, but said nothing before tilting his mug back against hair-shrouded lips.

The stainless-steel door opened, and a tall, imposing woman emerged, walking with almost stately regality. She was both slender and strong, beautiful and imposing. Faint wrinkles were the only sign of age upon an otherwise unblemished face dominated by storm-colored eyes which, under the right circumstances, could be quite menacing. The woman wore a dark blue dress which accentuated her curves rather than hiding them. In particular, the ample and somewhat freakish size of her bosom was showcased within tight fabric, cleavage shown courtesy of a few unclasped buttons.

She smiled upon spying the twins, curling thick red hair back behind her ear with a flip of her wrist. Nails painted to match the color of the dress glittered briefly. "Well, afternoon there, kiddos," she exclaimed buoyantly, approaching the end of the counter. A cursory look over the garb of her new patrons produced a wondering laugh. "Don't you too look like warmed-over you-know-what."

The twins blushed in shame, casting their eyes down. Hansel rubbed the greasy and dirty bills in his hand hopelessly. The amused chuckles of the men in the diner reverberated in his ears.

"Hey, now, no need to be so glum," the woman said supportively. "I'm Meg. I own the place. Inherited it after my mother passed on. Here, relax; find yourself something to eat."

The twins climbed reluctantly into a pair of stools, leaning one another as if sharing conspiratorial secrets. They flipped the menus open, holding them up while Meg busied herself with the other customers.

"We can't afford none o' this," Gretel whispered worriedly after a minute.

Hansel ground his teeth in thought. "Yeah, but she don't know that," he said meaningfully.

Gretel frowned. "We can't do that," she insisted. "That's stealin'!"

Hansel gave his sister an intent look. "Ya wanna eat, or don't ya?"

A slender, blue-tipped finger appeared over the edge of Hansel's menu, pulling it down. Meg smiled upon the twins. "You two ready to order?"

"Um—" began Gretel.

"We'll take two o' th' specials," Hansel interrupted, speaking quickly. He sat up straight, meeting Meg's eye. "An' load 'em up," he added with a crooked grin.

Meg smiled and winked. "Sure thing, young man," she said, and turned with the barest swish of her skirt.

Gretel slapped her hand to her brother's arm and hissed. "What're ya doin'? We can't even afford one o' them plates!"

Hansel shot her a look. "No, but I bet we can run faster'n she can," he said meaningfully.

Gretel sighed, hanging her head. Despite her misgivings, however, hunger gnawed at her like a scraggly old hunting dog on an old bone. The die had already been cast, she figured. Might as well just go 'long with it . . . .

***

The food was delicious. Two thick sausage links served with sauerkraut, toast, warm potato salad and fresh-baked bread, with large cups of lentil and bean soup to start with. The twins ate voraciously, both due to hunger and because they understood this would be the last meal of the day and possibly the last for a while. Not a single crumb was left upon either plate by the time Hansel and Gretel were finished. They washed down the last bites with dark, bitter tea.

slyc_willie
slyc_willie
1,344 Followers
123456...8