by WA Hawkins

You hear a knock and you’re already at the door—you’re starving. But instead of Uber Eats, you find a gingerbread house. Tiny shutters and gumdrop chimney, dredging up a childhood memory.

Very funny, you text your sister. She hasn’t forgotten either.

It wasn’t me, she says. Someone’s messing with you.

Thing is, you never told anyone about that house in the woods. Or the gems and pearls that paid for this house. Or the witch you stole them from. You turn your head, scanning the treeline. But all you see is falling snow, and all you hear is the wind.

WA Hawkins is a writer from South Louisiana. He’s the producer and host of Micro, a podcast featuring short fiction, CNF, and poetry read by the author. You can find his work in The Guardian, Scalawag, Southerly, HAD, and the proverbial elsewhere.