“Who might you be?” asked a voice from a nearby armchair. A handsome young man stood up and walked over to greet her. He was taller than anyone Hattie had ever seen and wore a caring look on his face.

            “Just a little girl who’s tired and hungry,” Hattie replied honestly, still slightly out of breath. She looked up into the man’s eyes, which were warm and brown under his thick dark brows.

            “Well then, why don’t we go into the kitchen?” The man laid a hand on Hattie’s shoulder and led her through a doorway into a kitchen, where a large table and two chairs sat. In the far corner was a hearth laid with a crackling red fire under which sat a large black pot. “Sit right here,” the man said, gesturing to the smaller of the two chairs, “this chair was made for you.”

            The man brought over a cup of tea, a slice of bread, and a hunk of cheese. He sat across from her with his own steaming cup and watched her eat. “What happened to your face and hands?” the man asked.

            “I thought it would be a wonderful adventure to eat honey out of a hive,” Hattie said between mouthfuls, “but the bees stung me.”

            The young man rose from his chair, walking to some nearby shelves, and pulled a couple of jars from their places. “Ah! These should do the trick.” He crossed over to Hattie and asked if he could see her hand.

            “These herbs will make things better,” the man promised, scooping some out and stirring them into a small bowl along with some warm water. “Let me fetch some bandages. I’ll be right back.”

            Hattie nodded, watching the man exit the room. She took a few minutes to study her surroundings from her chair, too tired to get up. The kitchen was quite large; behind her was a counter, extending all the way to the hearth. There were many shelves, holding all sorts of items from herbs and vegetables to plates, cups, and knives. “This kitchen is much bigger and far more interesting than my own,” Hattie observed, “What a wonderful adventure it is to see it.”

            “Now then,” the man said, heading back into the kitchen. “These should help your stings.”

            Hattie allowed the man to put the herb mixture and bandages on, sighing with relief as the pain instantly subsided. In the meantime, the man asked Hattie about her adventures and she told him how the trees almost tore her apart, how the bugs almost crawled in her ears, and how the bees had chased her into his house. The man went over to the hearth and opened the pot, checking the boiling water inside. “My mother says I shouldn’t ever go into a stranger’s house, but what she tells me is rubbish!”

“Rubbish, eh?” The man laughed as he chopped up a few vegetables with a large knife and threw them into the pot.

“Stranger or not, you are a very kind person. She just doesn’t want me to have any fun. Besides, my adventure has just begun.”

“On the contrary,” the man said, walking towards Hattie, setting down the cloth he used to open the pot’s lid but keeping the knife in his hand, “I think you should have listened to your mother.”

“Why?” Hattie pouted.

“Because little girls like you don’t obey their mothers. Little girls like you go wandering through the woods and end up in my house… a stranger’s house.” The man grabbed her wrist and she cried out as his grip re-agitated her bee stings. His brown eyes seemed black as they stared intently into her green ones, “And little girls like you want to continue their adventure. But, just like the others, your adventure will stop here!”

With that, the man forced Hattie to her feet by the wrist and dragged her to the counter closest to the hearth. As much as Hattie struggled, she couldn’t break his hold. He was too strong and she was so tired. “I’ll start with the nicely seasoned parts first, and save the rest for later.” Hattie started panicking, her breath quickened and her eyes bulged. The man pinned her arm on the counter and pulled off the bandage, exposing the herbed flesh underneath. “Your bony little arms are only good for stew.”

Hattie screamed and, just before his raised knife came down to lop off her forearm, she kicked him right below his knee. He buckled under his own weight, instinctively grabbing the pot over the hearth to keep him from falling. He yelled out in pain from the scorching heat, but never pulled his hand away from the pot’s lid. It seemed to Hattie he was unable to let go.

The pot’s lid started quivering and a loud shriek came from the steam that drowned out the man’s agonized shrieks. The steam rising from the pot became fingers, clinging to the man’s clothes and pulling him closer to the large red fire.

Before Hattie’s eyes, the man burned up in his own hearth. Just as quickly, the pot grew quiet and still again, the fingers of steam rising up to the ceiling and disappearing into thin air.