Hansel and Gretel: A Rewrite

 

Me: Rewrite the story of Hansel and Gretel into a horror story with a scary ending

In a village ravaged by famine, Hansel and Gretel were abandoned in the forest by their desperate parents. Left with nothing but hunger gnawing at their bellies, the siblings wandered deeper into the woods until they stumbled upon a strange, decrepit cottage made of rotting gingerbread, its windows cracked like old bones. Drawn by the scent of food, they approached, their stomachs growling. Before they could even knock, the door creaked open, and an old woman, pale and skeletal, stood in the shadows, her smile too wide for her gaunt face.

The old woman invited them inside, her voice sweet but cold, and offered them a feast like nothing they’d ever seen. They devoured the food, their hunger overriding any sense of danger, and as they ate, the old woman’s gaze never left them. But something was wrong—the walls seemed to breathe, and the air was thick with the stench of decay. That night, as they slept, Hansel woke to find himself locked in a cage, the bars rusted and sharp. The old woman loomed over him, her skin sagging like melted wax, and her eyes gleaming with unnatural hunger. “I’m fattening you up,” she croaked, her voice no longer kind, “for my feast.”

Gretel, forced to work in the kitchen, tried to free Hansel, but the witch always watched, her bony fingers twitching with anticipation. Days passed, and Hansel grew weaker, his body wasting away despite the endless food. Desperate, Gretel finally decided to strike first. She lured the witch to the oven, hoping to push her in, but the old woman anticipated her move. With terrifying strength, she grabbed Gretel by the wrist, her touch icy and deathly cold, and forced her into the blazing oven.

As Gretel’s screams filled the house, Hansel watched in horror, powerless to stop it. The witch turned to him, her lips curling into a grotesque smile. “Now,” she whispered, “you’ll join her soon enough.” The flames roared louder, and with a sickening crack, the oven door opened, revealing not charred remains, but Gretel—twisted and burned, her eyes hollow, her skin blackened—crawling out, her body now a puppet of the witch.

Hansel screamed as his sister, no longer human, reached through the cage bars with blackened fingers. The witch laughed, her voice echoing through the cursed forest, as the door slammed shut, trapping Hansel forever in the witch's living nightmare, with his sister's broken form at his side. And deep in the woods, the house still stands, waiting for the next lost child to wander in, where the smell of burning flesh never fades.