Free A Tale Dark and Grimm by Adam Gidwitz Page A

bed.
    It wasn’t her fault.
    She had the sudden impulse to take all of the sadness that had been crushing her and hurl it away—to hurl it at those who had caused it in the first place—to make them feel the pain, and know it, and understand it. And understand her.
    Slowly, she reached into her pocket and let her hand close around something that was small and cool and turning blue.
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    The next day, the village was all merriment. Tables were set all about with bread and beer and cider, as well as harvest gourds and autumn leaves and other signs of the festive season. Neighbors spoke cheerily about the cool, clear weather, and little clouds of steam puffed from their mouths. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the smell of roasting sausage, topped with apples, wafted over the gathering.
    The handsome young man stood with the other men, drinking beer from a great mug and laughing about this and that. Children ran to and fro. Soon the sausages were ready, and heaping platters were brought to the tables. Gretel quietly emerged from the old woman’s house, her hands buried deep in the pocket of her dress.
    Everyone went to their seats at the tables, and the master of the town stood and delivered a few fine words. A couple of the older men did as well. Then the handsome young man stood up, raised his glass to the women, and said they were as beautiful as any women in all the world. All the men cheered heartily, and the women blushed and smiled.
    And then, to everyone’s surprise, Gretel stood up. “Can I say something?” she asked timidly. Even standing, she was smaller than most of the sitting adults.
    â€œGet up on the chair, honey,” one of the villagers told her. So she stood on her chair.
    â€œI want to tell you—” she began. But then she stopped. She looked at the handsome young man. He was smiling at her. But then she glanced down at his hands—hands that could tear a girl’s soul from its body—“a dream,” Gretel said. “Just a dream that I had.”
    The villagers murmured with approval. Once upon a time, you see, dreams were thought to possess hidden truth.
    â€œI dreamed that I went into the Schwarzwald,” she said. “But as I walked through it, and the rain hit my face, and the roots tripped my feet, I heard the trees whisper, Go home, little girl, go home; to a murderer’s house you’ve come.”
    The villagers started with dismay, and the young man was staring at Gretel with a very strange expression on his face. Gretel glanced at his powerful, magical hands, and said hastily, “It was only a dream.
    â€œI came to a house in a clearing. And white birds hung in cages from the eaves. And they chanted, all together: Go home, little girl, go home; to a murderer’s house you’ve come. But I went inside the house and followed a light into the cellar, where I found an old woman wearing a chain of iron. She told me to flee, and that the man who lived there was her son, and a warlock—and a murderer.”
    The young man suddenly leaped to his feet. All the villagers stared at him. Sheepishly, he sat back down.
    â€œIt was just a dream,” Gretel said cautiously. “Just a dream.
    â€œThen the man came home. And,” she added quietly, “he looked just like you.” And Gretel pointed to the handsome young man—who was staring intently at her and had begun chewing on his fingernails like a madman.
    â€œHe had a girl and he was dragging her by the hair. He threw her onto a table and pulled a pure white dove from her mouth and put it in a cage. It was only a dream. And then he took an ax and he chopped the girl to bits. It was only a dream. And he licked the blood off his fingers and threw the bits of the girl into a boiling cauldron. It was only a dream!” The villagers were now talking to one another excitedly, pointing first at her and then at the young man.
    â€œExcept one piece didn’t