Sweet Revenge
By Marsha Sisolak

Liza hummed as she pressed the cords of black licorice into the little men on her cookie sheet. The spicy aroma tickled her nose and she leaned closer. Had she added too much cinnamon? Her gingerbread man license taped over the oven spelled out the baking rules quite clearly. After all, she did not want her license revoked because her cookies had run away like Helen's.

She sniffed. Served Helen right. As though any boy would pay attention to a direction not to open the oven door. Scamps, each and every one of them, just like her nephew Jack. The second your back was turned, they did just as they pleased. Liza snickered. She would loved to have seen the expression on Helen's face as that gingerbread man hotfooted it down the road. One thing to use them to set the pace for the high school cross-country team, something else to chase one yourself.

But there would be none of that here today. Gingerbread men she made knew their place.

The fog deepened outside, and the room darkened. Liza shivered and lifted the cookie sheet, checking the little men's raisin eyes for signs of swelling. It was trickier in the damp -- they picked up on the fog sprites' mischieviousness. Everyone else refused to even make them on days like this, but Jack had begged her over a month ago, and she had promised them for his birthday.

Liza never went back on her promises. Ever.

She frowned at the little men, then slid the cookie sheet into the oven. The door slammed shut.

She cleaned up the mess, then plopped down in the chair, fingering the lucky wart on her chin as she gazed out the window. Fog swirled, small eddies forming sharp-nosed, elongated faces. Liza waved at them, and they stuck out their tongues, finally disappearing when the timer beeped.

With a practiced hand, she opened the door a scant inch to check for signs of movement inside. Not a twitch. But the mouths had melted slightly and now had a gruesome cast.

Liza pulled the cookie sheet out and set it on the counter. Not that Jack and his friend Tom cared what the cookies looked like. They worried about how fast they could get the cookies into their mouths.

The cookies cooled and stiffened. Liza stuffed them into a Ziploc bag, then set it on the top of the refrigerator with a self-satisfied nod. They would not get down from there without breaking an arm or a leg. She headed out the door and into the garden for the rest of the day. The rapunzels needed weeding.

She had ten minutes of peace on the porch swing the next morning before cartwheels rumbled in the road and dust floated up over her stone walls. Liza took a last sip of coffee and sniffed the air. Paul here already for his morning gossip?

The driver of the cart pulled up in front of her gate, yanking on the reins so abruptly the horse almost reared. "Howdy, Liza. Got some bad news this morning." He climbed out, old bones moving stiffly, white hair fluttering.

Her hand jerked, and the dregs of her coffee splashed from the cup onto her skirt. "Is it Jack?" Her voice quavered. Not Jack. Please, not Jack. A scamp, but as boys went, not bad.

The old man's feet clumped up the pathway to the door. "No. Not Jack," he reassured her, although his face did not lighten. "It's Helen. And her grandson."

Liza sprung to her feet, porch swing smacking her calves. Helen? Had she jinxed her inadvertently yesterday? She turned to set the coffee cup on the side table. "What happened?"

"Don't rightly know, ma'am. She was fine yesterday. So was her little grandson. But in the wee hours of the morning, the neighbors heard screams. Little bites taken out of them, it looks like. All over. Nibbled to death," he added with some relish.

The cup dropped from her nerveless fingers to crash on the porch. Shards skittered on the wood and the initial impact left a long scratch in the paint. She bent to pick up the pieces, knees weak, and hands shaking. A sharp point had punctured the tip of her finger, and blood dripped onto the porch where it sizzled into green steam. Liza watched the wound seal, not meeting Paul's eyes. "Any idea who did it?"

The old man shrugged. "Not a clue. If you ask me, it was an animal of some sort."

Lisa took a deep breath and collected the remaining fragments. It could not be her gingerbread men. She was sure they had not moved all night.

Paul hobbled to the cart and struggled into his seat. "Well, I'd better get going. The service will be in a day or so. See you there." Lifting a hand in salute, he clicked his tongue to the horse.

Liza headed inside, thumb sore but no longer bleeding. She dumped the remains of the shattered cup in the sink, then lifted the plastic bag from the refrigerator.

The gingerbread men gazed innocently at her through the plastic. They had all body parts intact and buttons in place. Their mouths held the same grim line. She turned the bag and eyed the edges of their feet. No dirt. Liza gently placed the bag back on the refrigerator. Must have been the shock of Helen's death that set her to thinking it could have been these little rascals. But Jack would take care of them. Jack and Tom both. They knew to eat the legs first, just in case.

With a sigh, she rubbed her stomach, and decided to visit the garden for something green to settle it.

Instead, she gaped at destruction. The rows of beans were knocked down and her rapunzels flattened. Liza dropped to her knees with a small moan, then stared through the weeds to the abandoned house next door. Not them. They had- moved as soon as she had taken custody of Rapunzel.

So she sniffed the ground, catching a faint whiff of anise. Following the scent to the stone wall, she peered over. A skid line marked the tall grass on the other side. Liza's eyes narrowed. Muttering an imprecation under her breath, she melted through the wall.

Once deep into the dark woods that lined the back of her property she slowed, her nose wrinkling at the smell. A sweet note tainted the usual dankness of the forest. The muscles in her neck tightened as she thrust herself forward, pushing branches aside.

A small den, the entrance covered by berry bushes, lay before her. With a hiss, she crouched down and reached inside. Something soft met her fingers, and she pulled out a clump of rusty-colored fur. She used both hands to grab the animal more firmly and drew it out.

She gasped. The fox had been chewed, tiny bites of fur taken off all over its body. The blood had dried and crusted on what fur remained.

Liza dropped it.

Impossible.

Or maybe not.

She galloped through the trees, fog sprites tittering, as she slipped through the wall into her own garden.

Jack and Tom's bikes lay overturned on the grass in the front yard. She knew even as she dashed around the corner of her house, breath rough in her throat, she was too late. The screen door stood ajar and the birds had gone silent, while the sprites swirled about her legs.

No sign of disturbance inside. But the gingerbread men were gone. And so were the boys.

Liza slumped into a chair, her heart pounding, and thought furiously. Why would her gingerbread men eat Helen, her grandson, and the fox, but not the boys?

She chewed a cracked nail. No telling where they might head next. If it was revenge, just about everyone in the village had had a gingerbread man at one point or another, and they should have snacked on Jack and Tom. She jumped up and sprinted out the door. At the last moment, she grabbed Jack's bike, remembering she could never catch them on foot. It wobbled as she started riding, nearly dumping her to the ground. She glared at the fog sprites sliding between the spokes, but tossed a quick spell at the bike, which left off the nasty tricks. Liza turned left at the gate toward town. With any luck, she would catch those killer cookies before they found their next victim.

Her legs pumped furiously, skirt rising as it caught the air. Every so often the bike gave a little leap into the air, but Liza refused to take the hint. Instead, she kept her eyes peeled on the shrubbery that lined the dirt road and kept sniffing, trying to capture the elusive scents of anise and ginger.

She had almost reached town when she remembered the farmers who had chased Helen's gingerbread man. That explained why they had not eaten the boys. Jack and Tom knew all three farmers and where they lived. Liza made a sharp right at the next crossing. Harold was the closest.

As her wheels skittered onto the gravel drive, she glimpsed the screen door of the white clapboard house banging in the wind. At the lonely sound, her heart sank.

Liza leaped off the bike, dumping it in one smooth move just as Jack did. She darted up the steps and into the house.

A chair lay tossed on its side, and blood spattered the braided rug. Liza skidded to a halt as she caught sight of a worn boot peeking from behind the overstuffed floral sofa. A toe, or what had been a toe, stuck out the hole in the tip of the boot. It was not Jack's boot, though.

She went closer, hoping Harold might still be alive. Her nose wrinkled. No. If nothing else they were thorough. Liza wondered about their appetites, her stomach queasy. They weren't exactly nibbling any more. She tore herself away from the grisly remains and ran back to the bike. Carl was next closest.

Ten minutes later, she dumped the bike on the grass in Carl's front yard, her chest heaving. Her throat ached as she stumbled up the rickety porch stairs. The screen door was closed and hope surged. She tapped on the frame, listening intently for any sound from within.

There was none.

Gritting her teeth, she eased open the door. The living room and kitchen had nothing out of the ordinary. To her relief.

She walked down the hallway. "Carl? You here?"

There was no answer from beyond the closed bedroom door. She tapped on it. A scrabbling sound came from inside. She yanked the door open.

The window stood open with the white dotted-swiss curtains billowing into the room. Liza ran to see something moving in the tall grass. She caught a glimpse of Carl on the hardwood floor as she turned to leave, but did not bother to stop. Nothing she could do for him anyway based on how badly they had chewed his nose and ears.

By the time she made it outside, whatever had been in the grass was out of sight. Liza tore back to the bike and climbed on uncertainly. She had to beat them to Gaffer's place. But she had never liked heights, and certainly not climbing that tower of Rapunzel's, even if it had been the safest place for her. She winced and cast the spell. This, however, was an emergency. The bike wobbled into the air.

She swallowed, making sure she had control of her voice before she spoke. "Gaffer's. Step on it."

The bike surged forward, wheels turning without her help. Liza closed her eyes and let the vertigo have its way with her. She stuck her legs out to the sides and held onto the handlebars, praying to the Great Witch above that she did not throw up on some passerby below.

The bike dipped sharply, making her yelp. Her eyes flew open.

Three small brown forms scurried below her. She squinted down at them. They'd grown. Two boys ran after them yelling.

The wind buffeted the bike and her ears. Whatever it they screamed was unintelligible. The bike lifted slightly, then took another nosedive.

Liza shuddered. "Faster!"

The bike shifted into another gear and caught a gust of wind. The earth raced past. Her knuckles tightened around the handles as she swayed, and the bike angled down into a steep glide. Liza's stomach plunged with it. Meet you on the ground, she thought. Maybe I'll still be in one piece.

As the wind whooshed past her ears, she realized that she had caught up to the gingerbread men, little legs whirling. The bike sailed over their heads, then dropped like a rock from the sky. She fell off, collapsing in a heap. Gingerbread feet scampered over her, followed by boys' feet landing right in the middle of her stomach.

"Oof!" Liza grabbed her mid-section and rolled to her knees, panting. What was wrong with those boys? A pain shot up her arm to her shoulder. She stood with effort, rocking back and forth while the cookies did a gingerbread men pyramid to ring the doorbell. "No!" she screamed. "Don't open the door, Gaffer!"

The wind caught her words, blowing them down the street. The door rattled and swung open, Gaffer's solid form framed there for a split second. Then, as he yelped and bent over, they all jumped him, ripping hair from his scalp. Gaffer was shaking them loose when the boys smacked into him, knocking him flat. The gingerbread men had free access.

Liza shrieked and stamped her foot. Not only had they trampled her rapunzels, they had used the boys for their own nefarious purposes.

It was time they met their baker.

She lifted her arms, the right one protesting with stabbing pains and conjured a baking pan, a spatula, and a knife. Then she strode forward, pushing aside the two boys who, mouths ajar, had stepped away from Gaffer to watch the proceedings with great interest. "Bloodthirsty little beasts," she snapped.

The gingerbread men gnawed in frenzy, and their victim had stopped protesting.

Liza swung the knife at the closest gingerbread man, neatly severing his head from his body. The head spun in the air, its mouth continuing to open and close, and she caught it on the cookie sheet. The body ran in circles until she stuck out her foot and tripped it. It fell flat on the ground, decoration side down. Liza scooped it up with a quick motion of her spatula, depositing it without fuss on her pan. She repeated the action for the other two little men.

As she dumped the last body on the pan, she noticed the bodies scrabbling around in an attempt to find the right head. Liza smacked them with the spatula. "That's enough! You're done for the day."

She shot a glance at Gaffer. He was done, too. Forever. Never even had a chance. She glared at the little squirming figures on the pan, little arms and legs fluttering while their mouths screamed silently. Raisin eyes stared up at the sky in horror.

Fog swirled in from the ocean in thick heavy streamers, hanging over Liza's head, once-wicked little faces appearing in the fog, now wet and dripping. Almost regretful. Liza gave them a hard stare. Maybe they had learned a lesson. At her nod, they moved closer to the gingerbread bodies, leaking moisture. Droplets landed on the cookies and disappeared. The bodies and heads swelled.

The boys jostled her elbow. "What's happening?" Two innocent little faces stared up at her, Jack's eyes more limpid.

"They're melting," Liza said sharply. "Which is what happens to all gingerbread men who get caught. Usually they melt in someone's mouth, but that's not always the case." She glared at the boys. "And what exactly were you doing?"

"They said they'd eat us," Jack whispered, shuffling his feet.

"Uh-huh." Liza shifted her focus to Tom, who paled. "How'd they get down?"

"Parachuted," Jack said. His eyes lit. "It was cool, Aunt Liza. They used that bag you had them in and grabbed onto the corners."

She surveyed him coldly. "Right. In other words, you had the perfect opportunity to catch them and you didn't. How your mother puts up with you, I'll never know, Jack. Despite the harp and the hen, you're still more trouble than you're worth." She glanced at the pan. The gingerbread men had dissolved and a sea of crumbs floated on the surface. "Most men are," she muttered, "and just look at the mess Rapunzel made of her life. Stupid child. After all I'd done for her, too."

She shrugged and poured the slop onto the ground. Raisin eyes floated to the top of the puddle and stared at her.

"As for you two," she said, and rounded on the boys, "No more gingerbread men for either of you ever again, even as a birthday treat. Now run. I'll stay here while you boys go get help. I'm not cleaning up this mess alone." She scowled at the two boys who quailed instead of protesting. Jack and Tom darted off.

Liza glared at the raisin eyeballs doing a backstroke in the puddle. She pointed a bony forefinger at them. They plumped up and sank out of sight.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the muck at her feet. She would just have to spell the authorities into fining her. No way could she lose her license. The latest rumor had it that Rapunzel had found that prince of hers, and that he wasn't blind anymore. One of these days she might actually have the good luck to run into him again. Better to be prepared. Who knew when the next foggy day would be? She nodded and zapped the puddle. The eyes resurfaced, staring at her expectantly. Liza scooped the raisins up and tucked them in her pocket.

That prince would never even know what bit him.

The End

Story copyright Marsha Sisolak, published by the Fortean Bureau
http://www.forteanbureau.com