GLYNN WASHINGTON, HOST:
Even as a young girl, I was told two things. First, never go into the forest no matter how much it called, no matter what delights danced just out of sight. And no matter whom you saw beckoning you forward, never go into the forest. The second rule - even simpler - if you go to the forest, leave before the sun sets.
This rule, I kept religiously. I would not be caught in the wood after dark - never. Still they called me witch, sorceress, demon spawn. I didn't care because it meant they feared my magic, of which I had none - only herbs, leaves, dirt. Of course to my face, they named me Sister. Sister, come quick, the baby has a chill. Sister, the pox has taken father. Sister, the burn will not heal. Sister - I did what I could - small things. They paid me in berries, in rabbit, in apples - things snatched from the edge of the forest. They all paid, but not the twins.
They lived in the woodcutter's house, and they neither asked nor did they give; they watched. They watched as I left for the forest. They watched at twilight as I emerged again. You see, our forest was a liar, a moving trickster jigsaw puzzle. That's why I threw the way stones, so I could find my way back. Full pockets of white stones, dropped one at a time in the forest - a trail back home to save me from facing the night when the forest did more than move.
Like every other creature, this forest had a heart. Twice, I'd glimpsed it. Once, it appeared as a magic castle off in the distance; the other, it was a glowing cave. Each time I saw it only as the sun raced towards the horizon, leaving no time for exploration. Instead, I ran back following my stone trail before the forest turned black.
I needed more time so one day, I set off at first light. This morning, the twins flashed their shared grin at me as I raced into the forest. It occurred to me then that they knew. They'd seen the heart. No matter, I felt drawn, led, but still I was careful to place the stones. This forest was not my friend. I ignored the shrieks, the whispers, the promises calling from either side, moving only toward the center a few steps at a time, orienting, a few more steps, orienting again.
Then, with the sun still high in the sky, I saw it - a cottage made of story. Shimmering wisps of fairy dance around her eaves, her frame, her chimney. A cobblestone path led to her door. The grasses, the birds, the wind, the sky sang one song together here. Beauty distilled.
I walked down the path, knocked on the glowing door - no answer. But when I pushed, it opened without resistance. The smell of fresh bread and secrets lured me inside. A fire roared in the hearth. A tea kettle bubbled beside it. And there in the center of the room on a table, lay a single enormous book. I opened it. On the first page, there was written a single word in a dark, angry script. It said simply - tricked. I turned the page - tricked. Tricked - every page of the book, the same word in the same scrawl.
I dropped the tome, looked to the storybook window and see the sun plummeting from the sky. The hearth burst fire, knocking the kettle over in a rage. I seize open the door, setting sun glowing in the distance. I run, searching for my way stones. Instead, I see nothing. I redouble my search - nothing. None of my stones lay where I had dropped them, so I run blind into the dark forest. I run, death chasing, I run. The forest grabbing at every turn, leaves like fingers grasping, holding, leathery wings flapping in the above. I run, crashing, bloody gashes slashed into my arms, my legs, my face. I run toward light. What light? I know not, but I run toward it. Even as the monster chases, hot breath hissing behind me, I run. And when I crashed in the clearing, only then do I understand what I'm running toward - torches.
They wait with torches vowing to kill anything that comes from the dark forest. My neighbor's thick farmer hands yank me from the ground, ready to carry out the sentence. I see the twins tittering one to the other, each holding a fistful of stones. My way stones, my path. Hansel, I screamed. Gretel, tell them, tell them what you did. They laugh. As the crowd of neighbors draws closer, I know that if they want a witch, I must give them one.
Touch me, I hiss. Touch me, and I will rain curses upon your children. Know that the dark night will never leave your nursery. It hurts me to tell this lie. I had pulled most of their children from the womb, heard their first cries. I could never hurt them. Still, my words sting like a lash. They pull back, glancing one to the other before returning to their own homes. I look toward the twins. And with absolute cold certainty, I know that it is either them or me.
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WASHINGTON: Today on SNAP JUDGMENT from PRX and NPR, "The Path," amazing stories from real people finding a way out of no way. My name is not Glynn Washington. Lock yourself away from everybody and everything 'cause you're listening to SNAP JUDGMENT. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.