the attic, and she quieted down.
Now Hansel made his way into her bedroom. On the dresser before an obsidian mirror stood a wig stand, with the grandmother’s gray wig on it. Around it was her makeup—thick black lipstick that looked like a petrified oil slick and blush that looked like dried, powdered blood and fake eyelashes that looked like—no, were—the legs of flies. In the closet were her dresses.
Hansel closed the door to her room.
He came out an hour later, dressed from head to foot like the Devil’s grandmother. He wore a billowing black dress, makeup all over his face (he had put it on as best he could, which wasn’t very well), and her gray wig. He’d skipped the eyelashes.
In the kitchen, Hansel took what looked to be a pot of human fingers out of the icebox. He put the pot on the stove and turned on the heat. “Leftovers,” he said to himself. Then he set the table with forks and knives made of human bone and teeth, and he waited for the Devil to get home.
When he heard the Devil’s footsteps trudging up to the door, Hansel began to scream at the top of his lungs. The door opened and the Devil came in.
“Damn it, Grandmother! Can you stop your infernal singing for one bloody instant?”
“Someone’s in a bad mood today,” Hansel said in his best grandmother voice.
“Without my blasted glasses, there isn’t any point looking for sinners. I made a complete fool of myself,” the Devil said sullenly.
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t, dear,” Hansel said. And he began to ladle the fingers onto the Devil’s plate.
“Your voice sounds strange today, Grandmother,” the Devil said. “Are you well?”
A cold sweat broke out all over Hansel’s skin. “Of course, dear,” he said. “Just a little sniffle.” And he sniffled twice.
The Devil sat down at the table but immediately turned on Hansel. “I tell you, it stinks of human flesh in here! It’s disgusting!”
But Hansel remembered what the grandmother had said the day before. “Of course it does! What do you think we’re having for dinner?”
The Devil took one bite of his dinner and spit it out. “This is revolting. What is it?”
“Leftovers,” Hansel said nervously.
“Ugh! I hate leftovers!” The Devil stood up and stomped into the living room and plopped down on the couch. “What a horrible day!” he shouted.
Hansel took a deep breath, and then slowly walked into the living room. “Here, dear,” he said. “Let me stroke your hair. Everything will be better in the morning.” And Hansel sat down in the middle of the living-room rug, just as the Devil’s grandmother had done.
The Devil grumbled and laid his head in Hansel’s lap. “Grandmother, why are you shaking?” he said.
“The better to rock you to sleep, my dear,” Hansel said, and he tried to prevent his teeth from chattering, too.
“Grandmother, will you sing to me?” the Devil asked, his eyelids fluttering closed.
“Certainly, my dear,” Hansel said. He swallowed hard. And then he began to scream at the very top of his lungs.
“Grandmother, what a beautiful voice you have,” the Devil said.
“The better to sing you to sleep, my dear,” Hansel replied.
“Can you stroke my hair?” the Devil said.
With trembling hands, Hansel began to stroke his hair.
“Grandmother, what delicate fingers you have,” the Devil said.
And the Devil slept.
As soon as the Devil’s breathing was nice and even, Hansel took one of the Devil’s golden hairs between two of his fingers and, trying not to wake him, plucked it out.
“Tar and pitch!” screamed the Devil, sitting up. “Why did you do that?”
Hansel’s heart had jumped into his mouth. But he said, as calmly as he could, “I’m sorry! I fell asleep and had a bad dream. I must have grabbed hold of your hair.”
The Devil settled himself back in Hansel’s lap. “I love bad dreams,” he said. “What was it?”
Hansel swallowed. “I dreamed that there was a city with a fountain of wine, but that it flowed no longer, and all of the people were sad.”
“Aha! Those old fools!” said the Devil. “I placed a frog right under the fountain. That’s what’s stopping up all the wine! All they’ve got to do is kill it. But they don’t know that, of course.” He chuckled at the unhappiness he had caused and fell back to sleep.
As soon as the Devil’s breathing was nice and even again, Hansel took another golden hair between his fingers and plucked it out.
“Sulfur and brimstone!” screamed the Devil, sitting up. “Why did you do that?”
“I’m sorry!” Hansel said. “I fell asleep and had a bad dream again. I must have grabbed hold of your hair.”
The Devil settled himself back in Hansel’s lap. “Well,” he said, “what was it this time?”
“This time I dreamed there was a city with a tree that gave golden apples. But the tree was dying, and it would give apples no more, and all of the people were sad.”
“Aha! Those old fools!” said the Devil. “I placed a mouse under the ground at the root of the tree. It’s nibbling at the roots and killing it. If they just took the mouse out and did away with it, the tree would produce golden apples again. But they don’t know that, of course.” He chuckled at all the misery he had caused and closed his eyes again.
Again, Hansel waited until the Devil’s breathing was nice and even, and a third time he plucked out a golden hair.
“Father above and Me below!” screamed the Devil, sitting up. “Don’t tell me! You had another bad dream!”
“Yes!” Hansel said. “I’m so sorry!”
The Devil settled himself back in Hansel’s lap. “I’m getting sick of this,” he said. “Tell me the dream, but if you pull my hair again, I’ll put you out there with the sinners.”
“I dreamed there was a poor ferryman,” Hansel said, “who had been in his boat for seven years, and couldn’t leave, no matter how hard he tried.”
“Aha! The old fool!” said the Devil. “All he has to do is hand his paddle off to someone else, and he’ll be free, and
He was just settling into a nice, peaceful sleep, with Hansell holding the three golden hairs in his hand and shaking like a leaf, when a scream pierced the house. The Devil sat up. “What in Hell was that?” he shouted.
“It sounds like someone in the attic!” Hansel said. “Has one of the sinners escaped?”
“We’ll soon find out!” the Devil cried, and he leaped to his feet and ran up the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, Hansel jumped up, threw the wig and dress off, and banged out of the door of the house. He turned for the doors of Hell and broke into a run, gripping the three golden hairs tightly.
After a while he glanced briefly over his shoulder. To his surprise, he discovered that the fire and the pits and the demons with the pitchforks had disappeared. All he saw now were poor sinners, writhing on the floor of a great cave, screaming in sorrow and remorse for all the pain they had caused. Holding the three golden hairs, he knew that he was seeing the truth—Hell as it really was.
He arrived at the great black doors. As he laid his hands on them they swung open, and he stood blinking in the daylight.
The old man, who had been sitting on the ground just outside all this time, leaped to his feet. “You’re out!” he cried. “Hallelujah!” And then he said, “Why are you wearing makeup?”
But just at that moment, a terrible cry echoed from the depths of Hell—the unmistakable, blood-chilling, hair-raising, stomach-turning cry of the Devil.
“Run!” Hansel cried. And they did. They sprinted over the dusty ground away from the black doors of Hell.
