Sweet Revenge

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"Welcome to Gingerbread House Confections, can I interest you in some of our fine licorice?" the annoyingly cheerful woman behind the counter asked. "We have black licorice, red licorice, licorice twists, licorice laces, licorice nibs, licorice gum, licorice jelly beans - "

"No," said the short, balding man with thick, dark-rimmed glasses and a bushy mustache. "I do not want licorice."

"How about some nice caramels, then?" she offered. "We have hard candy caramels, soft caramels, chewy caramels, salted caramels, sea salt salted caramels, chocolate covered caramels, caramel covered chocolates - "

"No, I don't want any caramels, either."

"Perhaps a nice truffle. We have maple walnut, dark chocolate key lime, strawberry cheesecake truffles, peanut butter, peanut butter and jelly, caramel peanut butter, coconut cream, caramel cream, raspberry cream, cookies and cream, cookie dough - "

"Please, I am not hear to buy candy," the man insisted.

"Oh, of course, I should have guessed a man of your bearing would be looking for a delicious gourmet cookie. We're famous for our Gingerbread, as I'm sure you know, but we also have snicker doodles, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, chocolate-chocolate chip, white chocolate chip, oatmeal butterscotch, lemon coolers, lemon crisps, lemon snaps - "

"I am not hear to buy candy, cookies, cakes, or confections of any kind," the man pronounced officiously. He opened the satchel that was slung over his shoulder and fished out a sheet of paper. "Your establishment is overdue for a health inspection."

"It is?" she asked.

"It is," the man answered.

The portly woman perched the reading glasses hanging on a chain around her neck upon her porcine nose and looked at the paper. After a moment, she spun it around so it was right-side up for her. "I had no idea I was supposed to arrange an inspection," she said.

"You're not, all inspections are scheduled by the health department."

"Then it's you who is overdue."

The man snatched the paper back and stuffed it into the satchel. "Unfortunately, there appears to have been a bit of paperwork mishandling at the home office. But it doesn't matter who is overdue, the fact is that this establishment is out of compliance."

"Yes, but I didn't know that. How can I be out of something I didn't know I wasn't in?"

"That makes no sense. Even if you didn't know you are not responsible for scheduling the inspection, a responsible business-person would be aware of the status of all licensure and other municipal obligations and as such, should reach out to the governing agency to remedy the deficiency."

"Is there a number I can call - if this happens again in the future?"

"No, there is not. We had to turn it off. Telemarketers and calls from online pharmacies kept filling up the answering machine."

"So, how am I supposed to attempt to remedy the deficiency?"

"You could write a letter," the man suggested.

"To which address?"

"The address on the letter."

"Which letter?"

"The letter I just showed you explaining that you are out of compliance."

"But I never received that letter, and you took it back from me."

"Yes, well, I shouldn't have done that."

"Regardless I didn't actually receive the letter that had the address on it that I could have written an inquiry to if the letter had arrived before I was out of compliance."

"Be that as it may," the man said.

There was a pause.

"Be that as what may?" the woman asked.

"Excuse me?"

"When someone says, 'be that as it may,' they follow it with something that should have been done regardless of the original situation."

"No they don't."

"Yes, they do. Everyone does," the woman insisted.

"I don't," he replied.

"Then I stand corrected, because you are certainly part of everyone, and if you say you don't say anything after 'be that as it may,' my assertion that everyone does was certainly incorrect. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

There was another long pause.

"Are you sure you wouldn't care for some licorice? Red licorice isn't technically licorice, but we call it that anyway since, even though it's not at all the same flavor, it looks similar apart from the color, that is - "

"No," the man insisted. "I really must tend to this oversight expeditiously."

"Well, don't let me stand in your way."

"Madame, you are quite literally standing in my way," he said, indicating that she was blocking the door to the kitchen with her girth.

"Oh my," she said, moving away from the entrance. But then she stepped back in front of the swinging door. "I'm sorry, but could I see your identification?"

"My identification?"

"Do you have a badge or something? You could be anyone."

"Well, I couldn't be anyone."

"How would I know?"

"I couldn't be Mel Gibson."

"Of course not. You don't look anything like Mel Gibson. He is much taller."

"My point is you tend to make statements that are overly broad exaggerations. We are not starting off on the right foot."

"I see your point."

"I should hope so."

"So, do you have a badge? Or some sort of laminated card?"

The man opened his satchel again and dug through the contents. "Eureka!" he shouted when he had found a hard plastic card holder holding a card that was also plastic, that had a tiny photo resembling the man - though without the glasses and mustache and more hair. He showed it to the woman. "Satisfied?" he asked.

"That doesn't really look like you."

"It's an old photograph."

She took the plastic card holder and studied the card within it carefully, holding it up so that she could compare the image with the man in front of her. "I guess that could be you."

"There's a very good chance of that, since I was the one who sat for the photograph."

"You're name is Grimm?" she asked, curious.

"Yes, it is."

"Any relation?"

"To what?"

"The brothers."

"Which brothers?"

"The brothers Grimm."

"Never heard of them," the man said.

"Really? That's peculiar. Ev - "

"You were going to say 'everyone's heard of them,' weren't you," the man accused.

"I was not. I was going to say, 'Ev… a nice day.'"

"I haven't finished my inspection."

"I'm an optimist."

The man sighed with frustration, then pushed his way through the swinging door into the kitchen, snatching the plastic card holder back from the woman's pudgy grip as he did so.

The kitchen was enormous. Mr. Grimm paused to rummage through the contents of his satchel until he found a clipboard. He leafed through the papers that were held fast by the metal clip at the top, making sure he had all the required forms at hand.

"This is quite a large facility. How many people work here?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just me," the woman replied.

Grimm lowered his head and peered up at the smiling confectioner over the top of his dark-rimmed glasses. "You make all of this?" he asked, waving his hand toward the racks of candies and cookies and cakes and cream puffs.

"Oh, yes. I love to bake and make candy. It's quite a passion of mine. Over here we have donuts, both filled and frosted, there is were I pull the taffy - each piece is stretched one thousand times. That's the secret to a perfectly chewy taffy. And of course the cupcakes are quite popular. We have over one hundred flavors. Red velvet, Black Forest, orange surprise, lemon surprise, lime surprise, grapefruit surprise - which is surprisingly popular - "

Mr. Grimm cut her off. "How long have you owned this business?"

"My goodness, it's been in my family forever."

"Forever is not an answer I can put down on my form," Grimm said sternly. "In what year was this particular establishment put into service?"

"I don't know, precisely, but this expansion was done ten years ago."

"Fine, that will do for my purposes," he said, scribbling the information on the form as he walked through the maze of racks. He eyed the food, looking for any infractions.

Everything looked spotless.

He ran a finger along the underside of one of the racks and it came up clean.

He came up on a wall of ovens, one in the center having much greater proportions than the others. "That is a very large oven."

"I have a lot of baking to do."

"I don't believe I've ever seen an oven of that scale."

"It was custom made," the woman said proudly.

Grimm walked up to the oven and pulled open the door. It was large enough to fit a person quite comfortably. He pulled out a penlight and shone it on the gleaming interior. "Hmm," he said, as he exchanged the light for a pen and made some notes on his clipboard.

"Do you like your job, Mr. Grimm?" the large woman asked.

The small man peered at her. "Excuse me?"

"You seem to be very good at what you do, but do you enjoy it?"

"It's a job," he replied.

"It's just that I can't image a little boy saying, 'I want to grow up to be a health inspector.'"

"I find the work very rewarding. I feel like in my small way, I'm just as important as a police officer or a firefighter," he said, in a somewhat defensive tone.

"Oh, I have no doubt," the woman replied. "Were your parents health inspectors as well?"

"No," he said, as he continued inspecting the giant mixing machines. "They were teachers."

"Really? What did they teach?"

"Literature," he grumbled.

"And you've never heard of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm? Grimm's Fairy Tales? They really are quite ubiquitous."

"Yes, so you've told me."

"I just thought with you having the same name, you would have some connection to - "

"Please, I have work to do here. What's in this cabinet?"

"Those are the molds for the holiday chocolates. You know, Easter Bunnies, Santa Clauses, hearts and flowers."

He opened the cabinet and looked over the molds, picking a few of them up and inspecting them carefully."

"Do you know anything about your grandparents?" the woman asked.

Grimm looked at her with a combination of annoyance and curiosity. "Of course I knew my grandparents. What kind of question is that?"

"I'm just curious as to where they were from. Perhaps there is a relation to the German authors?"

"My grandfather Grimm's father was adopted. I'm sure - apart from the name - there is no connection to these brothers you keep on about. Where do you store your perishable ingredients?"

"The walk in cooler is just over there," the woman replied, pointing to a gleaming stainless steel door." She followed the diminutive inspector as he walked toward the industrial sized refrigerator. "He was an orphan, your great-grandfather?"

"Yes, he and his sister," Mr. Grimm replied. "Now, can we stop this distracting inquiry into my genealogy and get on with the inspection?"

"Of course, of course," the woman said. "Whatever you need. I'm just curious by nature, and your name reminds me of a story from my own family."

"I'm sure that's very interesting, but I really do need to finish my work."

"You do go on, don't let me disturb you. It's quite a fanciful story, anyway, apparently Wilhelm Grimm and his wife, Dortchen, adopted two young children who had murdered someone in my family."

"That is indeed quite fanciful," Mr. Grimm said as he continued examining the eggs, milk, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries, peaches, plums, pears, pomegranates and other assorted produce.

"The Brother's then convinced everyone that the murder was actually self-defense. They even wrote a story about it, totally mischaracterizing the incident, claiming my relative had kept them prisoner and threatened to eat them. Can you believe that? Outrageous. The truth of the matter was that she was a maker of sweets as I am, and they had robbed her, so she simply kept them confined until a constable could be found to adjudicate the matter. This was back in nineteenth century Germany, it wasn't like you could just pick up the telephone and ring the police."

"No, I don't suppose it was," Grimm said as he finished with the refrigerator and made numerous marks on his clipboard.

"They even claimed she was a witch! Imagine that."

"Indeed," the small man said absently as he checked the electrical connections between the bank of blenders and food processors arrayed on a gleaming counter.

"Well, in truth, she was a sort of a witch, but not the sort who would eat children. More like a magician - in the kitchen, of course," she added with a laugh as if it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said.

"Everything seems to be in order," the health inspector pronounced. "I must commend you on keeping such a pristine kitchen. All of the refrigerated items are clearly labeled and dated, your food preparation areas and equipment are clean, no signs of vermin or insects. And your ovens are spotless." He scribbled a few more notes on the forms, then added his signature.

"I'm so pleased to hear that," the woman said. "You know, I was so afraid that someone else would come to do the inspection."

Grimm paused as he was stuffing his clipboard back in his satchel. "Pardon me?" he asked.

"Well, Maryanne - who works in your office - is a loyal customer. So, when I asked her to misplace my paperwork so that my case would be escalated, I wasn't completely sure the task would be assigned to you."

"Do you mean to imply that you arranged for me to be the one to inspect your establishment? Whatever for?" he asked.

"Why, your name, of course. Grimm."

Mr. Grimm raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I'm not quite following."

"It's simple, really. You're great-grandfather and his sister killed my sister," the woman accused.

"You're sister?" he asked, incredulous.

"That's one of the benefits of being a witch. Longevity," she answered. "Time. Time enough to track down the descendants of the miscreants who murdered my dear sister, burned her alive in her own oven."

Grimm looked at her for a long moment. Then he smiled and began to laugh. "You almost had me there," he said. "I thought for a second that you were going to stuff me into your over-sized oven as vengeance." He laughed again. "Oh, that is rich. Quite amusing. I get it now, Gingerbread House Confections, just like the house the witch lived in in the story."

"Which story?"

"Hansel and Gretel," he said, still chuckling

"I thought you said you'd never heard of the Brother's Grimm."

The man stopped laughing. He clutched his satchel.

"It's taken me over a century to track you down," the woman said, the jolly demeanor evaporating, replaced by a dark, sinister expression that gave the small man chills. "Grimm is a much more common name that you would imagine. And it took me a while to discover that your grandparents had emigrated from Germany to America. This is such a big country to find such a small man in."

She waved her hand and bolts slammed into place locking the swinging door, while metal shutters rolled down over the windows, sealing them in the large kitchen. The lights dimmed.

Then the large oven roared to life, casting an eerie glow into the darkened room.

"And now," the woman said, tightening her apron strings and pushing up her sleeves, "I shall finally get the justice my sister deserves. You are the last descendant of those vile children. There shall be no one of your line left to terrorize us poor witches."

The witch, despite her size was quick and strong. As Grimm made a dash for the door, she reached out and grabbed one of his arms, then pulled him back to her and got a hold of his other arm, grabbing him so he was facing away from her, lifting him up so his feet dangled a foot off the ground.

"But I had nothing to do with whatever happened to your sister. I'm innocent," Grimm pleaded.

"Well, since your great-grandfather and his scheming sister are long since passed, you'll have to do," she said without a hint of remorse.

"Certainly we can work something out," Grimm said. "It was a long time ago. You have a successful business, murdering me could adversely affect your business plan."

"Honestly, I'll be glad to be rid of this shop. I only set it up so that I could contrive a situation where I could ensnare you, and bestow upon you the fate your ancestors earned."

"You've been waiting ten years for me to come inspect your shop?" he asked, wriggling as best he could to no avail.

"Yes, it's been difficult being so nice and cheerful all these years. Baking and making confections was actually my sister's passion. Once I've finished you off and avenged her and I'll be able to return to my previous vocation."

"What was that?" Grimm asked, curious even as she carried him closer to the waiting oven.

"Mostly potions. Casting a sleeping spell on an unsuspecting princess from time to time."

"That's sounds fascinating," the little man said, the panic rising in his voice, "I'd love to hear all about it," he added, hoping to stall for time.

The witch nodded at the oven and the doors swung open.

A wave of heat hit Grimm directly in the face.

"Sorry, but your time is up," she said. She lifted him higher and pushed him feet first toward the waiting inferno.

Grimm waited until he was inches from the oven door, then pulled back his legs and shot them out so that his feet landed above the oven, causing him to flip over the witch, twisting out of her grasp and landing behind her.

She was surprised that the little man was so agile. "Do you really think you can escape?" she asked.

"Yes, I quite expect I will," Grimm said as he launched a side-kick at her ample buttocks causing her to stumble forward into the oven.

He quickly grabbed her ankles and shoved her deep inside the cavernous cooking chamber, then slammed the doors shut. He looked around and grabbed a steel ladle and slipped it through the door handles, effectively locking her inside.

"What have you done?" the witch cried from inside the oven. "Let me out! Let me out right now!"

"My grandfather warned me about you," Grimm said. "He made sure I was trained in martial arts in case I ever found myself in this situation. To be honest, I thought he was a little crazy."

The witch ranted and raved for a while longer before she finally fell silent.

Grimm removed the clipboard from his satchel. "Oh my, human remains in the oven. I'm afraid you've failed your inspection after all," he said.

You can find out more about the author, his podcast and books at RichHosek.com