Animalistic

It was with heavy footfalls that I walked through the woods. A small pressure was being applied to my hand by my younger sister, and I was starting to think that was the only thing that kept me going.

When I awoke in the night less than forty-eight hours ago to my stepmother yelling at my father about the lack of food and money, I knew what to expect. This wasn’t the first time the two of us had been driven into the woods near the top of the mountain and left alone. But I had always managed to get myself and Margaret back home safely.

Not that home is particularly safe anymore, I reasoned to myself, free hand absent mindedly going to my bruised ribs. The path we were on was dark, the moon hidden behind the thick layer of trees that branched above their heads. It was far from quiet in the woods, nocturnal creatures almost constantly scurrying about.

Margaret whimpered, holding my hand tightly when a shrill noise broke through the wall of foliage towards our left. Though at nine she was a bit old for the dark to petrify her, the unknown world around her frightened her to no end.

I gripped my little sister’s hand back, giving a silent reassurance that it would all be fine despite not believing it myself. We continued walking, making our way through the thick underbrush that scraped at our exposed ankles. Tugging on my arm, Margaret silently pointed at a house not far ahead that I had failed to notice.

It was a warm brown color, with white accents around the windows and door. A small porch wrapped around the cottage, and there was a large loaf of bread sitting on a plate at the edge of the porch. As we grew closer, we saw that there were grapes as well as cheese on the plate. We hurried forward, and grabbed the food without much thought; our stomachs groaned in excitement as she and I devoured it.

Then, Margaret spoke. “Johnny, why is the house made of gingerbread?” I opened my mouth to correct her, when I stopped short. The house was made of gingerbread; the accents I had thought to be paint, upon closer inspection, turned out to be icing.

“There’s something off here, Margaret. We need to leave, now,” I said to her, nervously looking around. This place, it seemed eerie, disturbing. Like a twisted children’s tale where they die to get some moral or another across. Margaret didn’t want to leave, though. She was fascinated by the house, and her small body made its way closer. “Margaret,” I started, but she ignored me and reached out to touch the house.

As her fingers grew closer, the door to the house was opened. In the opening stood an old woman not much bigger than my sister; her hunchback was only a slight one. I froze at her appearance, unable to move.

“Hello little girl,” the woman said to Margaret, “what’s your name?”

“Margaret,” my sister said, smiling, showing her missing front teeth to the woman. The woman smiled back at Margaret, and I felt a chill of terror run down my spine. “And that’s my brother Johnny!” she said excitedly, pointing at me. The old woman squinted, trying her best to focus her vision on me.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both! Would you like to come in for some food?” the woman asked. “You’re both so thin and could use some fattening up.”

My gut told me not to, but Margaret had already taken the woman’s hand and was being lead into the house. With fear coursing through my veins, I had no choice but to follow my little sister.

***

Roughly one month. Five weeks. Thirty-five days. That’s how long it had been since the woman locked me in here. My eyes darted away from the hard, dirt floor where I had kept track of the passing days in thin lines scratched into the surface as my mind started to drift to what had happened over that time.

I grabbed blindly around me, trying to find the small bone I shoved out of the small opening to make the near sightless woman think I wasn’t gaining weight. She wanted to fatten me up so she could eat me. I knew I didn’t have much time before she got fed up and slaughtered me for food, but I wanted to prolong it as long as possible. Until I could convince Margaret to run.

It was then that I heard the soft thud of my sister’s footsteps. I smiled, and waiting for my sister to open the small window we used to talk and for her to give me food. To my surprise, I heard the click of the lock and the door to the cramped wooden structure swung open.

Margaret flung herself at me, arms wrapping tight around my waist.

“Wha—Margaret! She could hurt you for unlocking the door and letting me out!” I exclaimed, worried about the reaction the wicked old woman would have.

“She can’t do anything to us anymore, Johnny!” she said, laughing, “She’s dead!”

My mouth dropped open, and I looked at my baby sister in shock. Once I processed what she had said, I started to laugh as well. “How?” I asked her, as we ran along the edge of the clearing the house was in.
“She wanted me to get inside the oven, so I could clean it. But I knew it wasn’t so I could clean it. I told her I didn’t know how to get in. So she started to climb in it to show me, and I slammed the oven shut and locked it, and turned the heat real high!”

Giddy. That’s how I felt when she told me that. So giddy, in fact, I picked her up and skipped back to the house. “I’m hungry; how about you? You hungry, Margaret?” She nodded in response and I smiled. “You in the mood for yummy old witch meat?” I asked her.

“As long as it’s not too burnt,” she told me, nodding her head happily.

“Do you know how long ago you put her in?” I asked as we walked into the house, her still in my arms. She glanced at the clock above the stove, and smiled wider.

“Thirty-five minutes!” she told me proudly. I ruffled her hair as I set her down, and turned on the light inside the oven.

“We’re gonna have to wait awhile for her to be done, but let’s make some gravy to go with her okay?” My sister nodded and we got to work. Before long, I was tugging hard to get the old woman out of the oven and toss her onto the cardboard we had placed on the floor.

Taking a large knife, I started cutting into the flesh. Smiling wider than I had in years, I dished up the meat and Margaret and I started to eat. An hour later, we were both stuffed and curled up together by the fireplace.

The next morning, after eating breakfast, Margaret voiced something rather odd.

“Johnny, I want to go home.”

I stared at Margaret, surprised by her statement. Wanting to go home? There was nothing good there, not at all. “Honey, why do you want to go back there?” I asked her, tilting my head to the side.

Her lips parted into a smile of sorts, and she stood on her tippy toes to whisper in my ear. “Well, let’s start getting food ready for the trip back then.” It was during this time, when we were packing the food that I found it. The drawer filled with money, jewelry. That was put into the bag too.

***

By the time night had fallen, we had made our way through the woods a couple of miles. Our path was blocked by a small river, about twenty feet wide, at least fifteen feet deep, and a rather strong current.

“How are we gonna get across this?” I asked Margaret, not really expecting an answer from my younger sister.

“The duck of course,” she told me, pointing to the rather large white bird at the edge of the water. Margaret skipped over to the duck, and began to talk to it. “Mr. Duck says we have to go one at a time, so you go first,” she told me. I nodded, and climbed onto the back of the bird. Within a few minutes, we had crossed the water. We waved to the bird as we walked away.

We walked through the night, and by the time the sun started to show itself on the horizon, we were outside of the rundown building that was home. With quick fingers I grabbed the key kept above the door and unlocked the door. I opened it slowly and closed it at the same speed, being careful not to slam it.

Margaret and I made our first stop in the kitchen, picking the largest and sharpest knife we could find from the drawer before going to the bedroom our father and stepmother shared. With a swift movement, I slit my sleeping father’s throat. A small gasp of pain and a gurgling noise was the only sounds of protest he made; my stepmother wouldn’t be so lucky for a quick death.

I straddled her sleeping figure, pinning her to the bed. Her arms were soon raised above her head, and tied to the metal bars of the bed frame. I did the same with her ankles and the smaller bars at the opposite side of the bed.

She was still asleep.

My sister handed me a scarf she had grabbed, and I smiled at her, using what she had handed me to gag our still sleeping stepmother. The knife returned to my hand once more as I began to slice up my father and gather up meat to cook for breakfast.

It was then that my stepmother stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open, and confusion quickly overtook her features as she glanced around and tried to move her limbs. When her eyes met my own, and she saw the human flesh in my hand, she tried to scream.

“No, no, no,” I said, waving the knife around. “No screaming, Mother Dearest. I might have to hurt you if you do that,” I told her as I moved closer to her restrained body. I let my arm drop, and I traced her bare leg with the tip of the knife blade lightly.

“Johnny, can you cook breakfast now? I’m hungry,” Margaret said from behind me. I turned to face her, smiling.

“Anything you ask, Princess. Come on, let’s go make some bacon,” I told her, lifting up the fatty meat in my hand.

Once we were fed, we returned to the room where our stepmother was struggling against her restraints. “Tsk, tsk, that’s not very nice,” I told her, approaching the bed. “You’re being a bad, bad girl. I think I need to punish you.”

Her eyes widen in fear, but I just grinned wider. I began tracing small designs into her upper leg with the knife, gently at first, but steadily adding more pressure. Her body twisted, trying its best to escape the blade. Her efforts were futile.

When the wound started bleeding profusely, an overwhelming sense of satisfaction filled me, and I looked at Margaret, who looked to be just as gleeful as I was.

“Johnny, can I try something? Pretty please, with a cheery on top?” she begged me.

“Anything you want, Sweetie. What do you want to use?” I asked her, walking over and bending to her level.

“The bat,” she told me, a look of determination on her face.

“Using her own tool on her? You’re such a creative child.” The wooden baseball bat was in her hands a few moments later, and Margaret stepped towards the bed with excitement radiating off of her. Pulling the bat up above her shoulder, she swung it down hard on our stepmother’s hip bone. The woman once again started to scream, though her cry of pain was muffled by the woolen material in her mouth.

Margaret lifted her arms again, and lowered the bat with the same amount of force as she had previously. For five more hits did Margaret repeat this, before placing the bat against the wall looking completely content with her work.

“Let’s go take a nap, okay, Honey? We’ll come and play with Momma over there again later after we rest up and bathe,” I said to Margaret as I led her out of the bedroom and into the room we used to share after tightening the ties on the wrists and ankles of our stepmother.

A few hours had passed before we awoke from our nap, and I ran a bath for Margaret as I wandered into our parents’ room to double check the ties and to get more meat for the next meal. The woman, though she should hardly be considered a human and let alone a woman, was still tied to the bed securely, though she was now asleep.

By the time Margaret finished bathing and I had hopped in the shower, I had made up a roast beef from my father’s thigh as well as a baked potato for each of us. We finished our meal and returned to our parents’ bedroom for more of our playtime.

Mother Dearest was still asleep, and I considered the best way to wake her. I searched through the closet to find her metal belt, and before long I was standing above her with it in hand. Bringing my hand back, I lashed the belt forward above her stomach. An almost inaudible sound of suffering flew from her lips as she awoke, and I hit her once more with the belt.

“Glad to see you’re up again, Momma,” I said as a large smile grew on my lips.