The Grimm Conclusion Read Free

me.”
    So Joringel followed his stepfather past his mother’s study and into the kitchen. The stepsisters were nowhere to be seen. The man walked over to the great chest of apples. He unlatched the sharp brass lock and lifted the heavy lid with a creak of hinges. “There,” he said to the little boy. “Choose any apple you want.”
    Joringel bent down and leaned his head over the apples. They smelled fresh and rich, and their yellow skin was dappled with rose and—
    BANG!
    The stepfather slammed the lid of the chest down.
    Right on the back of Joringel’s neck.
    And the little boy’s head fell off into the apples.
    For a moment, there was no sound in the kitchen at all, and the only movement was the dust dancing in the slants of light from the window. The stepfather stood stock-still over the chest. The boy’s small, headless body lay on the floor. Blood pooled under his severed neck. His head, of course, was in the chest of apples.
    And then his stepfather said, “Oh no! His mother will be furious with me!”
    Wait, he just
killed
the kid, and he’s worried his wife will be
ticked off?
    You think?
    The stepfather gathered up the little boy’s body and carried it to a chair that sat near the front of the house. Then he went to the kitchen, opened the chest, retrieved Joringel’s head, and took it over to his body. He placed the head on the severed neck, and then tied it on with a white handkerchief. Finally, he put a fine red apple in the little boy’s hand.
    Joringel sat in the chair, eyes wide and staring, facing the front door.
    The stepfather surveyed his handiwork, nodded once, and went back to the kitchen to clean up.
    Is everyone okay out there?
    I will remind you that, just because this is a fairy tale, that does
not
mean that it is appropriate for little children. Little children should not be hearing stories about decapitation and infanticide. In fact, anyone who’s young enough not to know the words
decapitation
and
infanticide
should probably put this book down right now.
    Okay? Did you do it?
    No, I didn’t think you would.
    A little while later, Jorinda went looking for her brother. She found him sitting in the chair by the front door, his head tilting slightly off to one side, his eyes wide, an apple in his hand, and a handkerchief around his neck. The handkerchief was red.
    â€œLittle Brother, Little Brother! What a lovely apple you have!” she exclaimed. “Will you share it with me?”
    But her brother just stared at her, deathly still.
    Jorinda began to feel frightened. She went into the kitchen to find her stepfather scrubbing the floor. “Father, Father!” she said. “I think there’s something the matter with Little Brother! His eyes are wide and staring, his face is pale, and when I asked him to share his apple with me, he didn’t say anything at all!”
    The stepfather shook his head. “Oh, he’s just being rude. Go back in there and ask him to share it with you again. If he still doesn’t reply, slap him in the face.”
    Oh, yes—he said that.
    So the little girl went back into the front room and said, “Brother, Brother, will you share your apple with me?”
    And he said . . .
    Nothing. Because he was dead.
    So the little girl took a deep breath, looked ruefully toward the kitchen, cocked her hand back, and slapped her brother in the face.
    And his head fell off.
    â€œOH, MY GOD, I KILLED MY BROTHER!” the little girl screamed.
    Her stepfather burst from the kitchen, saw the boy’s head lying on the floor, and bellowed, “What have you done, you wicked child?” He glanced at the closed door of the study and hissed, “Your mother will be furious with you!”
    Jorinda was hyperventilating.
    The man took her by the arms and whispered, “There, there, my dear. Don’t cry. Come in the kitchen.” And then he added,