The Building of the Gingerbread House

The witch surveyed the meadow in the midst of the pines and dismounted from her broom. A black cat jumped down as she looked around. It would do. So far from the unenlightened village that they couldn’t arrest her. Ever since graduating from the Sorcerous Culinarian Academy, she had been looking for someplace to call her own and practice her unique brand of magic. Here, deep in the forest she would be free from interruptions. She smiled. In time, perhaps, she would be famous. For now, she had to set up shop.

Setting down her sack that was nearly as large as herself she rummaged through it. The first thing she pulled out was a book, Ye Olde Guide to Baking Thy House, which she studied carefully before diving into the sack once more. Next came out a large mixing bowl, that was rather larger than the bag itself.  She had to fly up on the broom to dump the ingredients in. Sacks of flour, bundles of butter, armfuls of cinnamon, buckets of molasses, and more ginger than the village dreamed could ever be in the world. The cat tried to play with the ingredients and was shooed off.

The saplings at the edge of the meadow grew taller while she worked. As she stirred her concoction, rains fell down and she held up a marzipan umbrella to hold it off. The cat found a dry spot and had kittens. When the green leaves turned brown and flew from the trees, she plucked them out from the gooey brown mass. Before the sun slipped behind the trees, she lit great fires and continued her work as the moon rose. She rolled the dough, cut it and measured. She baked it in an oven the size of a horse that she pulled from the sack. New trees kept growing and the meadow was smaller than it had been. She laid down the gingerbread bricks and spread maple syrup over them for the mortar. The kittens of the black cat’s kittens played over the bricks as they rose taller. Clear melted sugar made the windowpanes and the roof was thatched with licorice.

At last it was done. The forest nearly touched the house itself now. The witch looked with pride on her creation. A house that had taken centuries to build, but would be talked of for centuries more. A black cat brushed against her as she patted the gingerbread walls. She walked hunched and slow into the house. She would rest a bit before she turned her mind to other matters. Just as she settled into a sturdy pretzel chair, she heard it. A sound that made her heart skip a beat and her old bones shake in horror. It was a munching, crunching sound interjected with high pitched squeals of delight. Someone was eating her house. Clenching her fists she roused herself from the chair. Whoever was out there was going to pay dearly for destroying her house.



Prompt: DIY