“Hi little boy,” the kindly old lady standing in front of the town bakery with a tray full of gingerbread cookies said. “Would you like to try one?”
The little boy looked at the cookies on the tray, looked up at the old woman, and started to cry.
“Oh my gracious,” the old woman said. She looked at the little boy’s mother and said, “I’m so sorry that I made your little boy cry.”
“It’s not your fault,” the mother said. “Ever since we read him “Hansel and Gretel,” he associates gingerbread cookies with the witch who eats little children.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Jennifer Pendergast.
Amanda came running into the house that her father and mother were looking at and excitedly asked, “Daddy, can we buy this house?”
“Do you like this house?” he asked her.
“Oh yes,” Amanda said. “There’s a playhouse in the backyard, Daddy. It looks like a Hansel and Gretel house.”
“Is it made out of candy and treats?” Amanda’s father asked her.
“Daddy, don’t be silly,” Amanda laughed. “But it looks like a storybook cottage. Come see.”
As it turned out, Amanda’s parents bought the house with the playhouse in the backyard. It came with a small table and chairs and shelves on the walls, and Amanda moved her dolls and stuffed animals onto the shelves and set up her tea set on the table. She would go to the playhouse every day to play tea party with her dolls, stuffed animals, and her imaginary friend.
Until one day when she came running into the house it tears. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” her mother asked.
“She tore apart my dolls and stuffed toys,” Amanda cried.
“Who did?” her mother asked.
“My friend who lives in the playhouse.”
Amanda’s mother followed Amanda to the playhouse and looked inside, and screamed.
Written for Susan Spaulding’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Top photo credit: Susan Spaulding. Old hag image credit: Google Images.
The small group of rather ghoulish looking creatures made their way through the forest to the isolated cottage to spend Halloween night together with their favorite witch.
As the ghoulish guests entered the cottage, they removed their wet galoshes and placed them just inside the door. Once the last ghoul had his galoshes off, they all gathered around a large, black caldron hanging in the oversized hearth, not only to warm their cold, damp ghoulish bodies, but to inhale the irresistible aroma of the goulash that was boiling inside the kettle.
One of the ghouls asked the witch what the secret ingredients were that made her goulash so incredibly delicious.
The witch cackled, as witches are wont to do, and replied, “If I reveal to you, my ghoulish little friends, you must promise not to tell a soul.”
The ghouls all said in unison, “We promise,” and raptly waited to learn the witch’s secret ingredients.
“You know those two children from the village who went missing a few days ago?” The witch said.
“You mean Hansel and Gretel?” one of the ghouls responded.
The witch smiled. “Such tasty little morsels, they are.”
And then she started her cackling again as the ghouls joyfully danced in front of the cauldron with its boiling goulash.
When I read today’s one-word prompt, “ghoulish,” two other similar sounding words popped into my head — goulash and galoshes. So I decided to concoct a tale using all three words.