It was 1939, a bright moonlit night. So, bright you could read from it. That’s how my grandpappy began the story. He and his friend Sam went to the crossroads with Sam’s older brother Junior and his friend Willie. Junior and Willie loved the blues, but neither was any good. Junior was tone deaf sounded like skinned cat bakin in the sun. Willie had no dexterity in his hands. It looked like Nosferato’s deformed digits on his acoustic guitar. The sight was grotesque. They went down them crossroads the same one they tell Robert Johnson sold his soul. Well, these boys knew Robert’s story. Knew all 29 songs he wrote and believed the deal he made. But, they was smarter. They wouldn’t make his mistake.

See my grandpappy knows the story so well cause he was there. He saw the whole thing play out. Junior and Willie invited my grandpappy and Sam to meet a man they called the stranger at the crossroads. Junior was going to sing like Louis Armstrong and Willie would play like Lead Belly. That’s what they said all afternoon and evening while we waited. Maybe four cars drove past the entire time, but none stopped. It got dark and the sketters started eatin us like a full course meal. Me and Sam were tired and wanted to go home. Willie said if the stranger didn’t show by 11:00 we’d all go home.

Part of me thought they was playin me and Sam for fools. But, the darker it got the more Junior and Willie got angry. They was slappin sketters then each other over whose fault it was for draggin everyone there. Sam tried to break it up and got a whopping. I figured anyone mad enough to stay was serious or crazy. I ran off. Willie tried to stop me, but I was faster. Sam stayed. He didn’t believe them and wanted to prove his brother wrong.

I didn’t actually leave. I circled back and hid in the tall grass just down the way from the crossroads. That’s when it happened. Lord ol mighty. He came. I saw a man appear from nothing, he moved silent through the air then suddenly pebbles crunched under his shiny wing tips.

He was dressed in black from head to shoe. His clothes and hat were perfectly clean. Not a pinch of dust. I caught a glimpse of his handsome face in that bright moonlight. His black skin was creamy smooth and well featured like a movie star without a bead of sweat. How can that be travelin in the delta heat? And not once, not once did he have to chase away any damn sketters. He turned his head in my direction. That’s when I saw, lord, no eyelids no pupils neither. His eyes were brilliant eggshell white balls, solid and unreadable. He greeted them in a clear and friendly tone. Junior and Willie didn’t axe who he was. They were so excited they told him what they wanted. The man listened politely. All the time I knew those bright eyes were searching for me. When they finished their excited rant the man simply replied.

“You’ll get it, but it ain’t free.”

Willie quickly offered him $5.00 in jest. The man snickered.

“You boys ought to know how this work. You waited here all day.”

“You need a soul.”

The stranger nodded.

“Here you go,” Junior said as he pushed his little brother forward.

“What’s this?”

“My little brother Sam. Our daddy beats him cause he won’t do chores.”

“That true boy?”

“Yes sir.”

“You ain’t lyin are you?”

“No sir.”

“Well ok. Junior why don’t you hmm a few bars and Willie strum a few jazz chords.”

Junior suddenly had Louis’s gravelly voice and Willie’s once strained hands played smooth and silky. They glided up and down the fretboard with ease.

Junior and Willie danced about and looked like their heads would explode.

“Alright boys. Make sure you’re at the Jazz house on Saturday night.”

“Why?” They asked together.

“Cause your little brother Sam will have an accident. Can’t have you two anywhere near.”

“Yes sir.”

It’s 2002, two weeks ago, Floyd and Harold Simmons invited George and me to the crossroads. They promised we be their new bandmates. George didn’t believe my grandpappy’s story.

It was 1939, a bright moonlit night. So, bright you could read from it. That’s how my grandpappy began the story. He and his friend Sam went to the crossroads with Sam’s older brother Junior and his friend Willie. Junior and Willie loved the blues, but neither was any good. Junior was tone deaf sounded like skinned cat bakin in the sun. Willie had no dexterity in his hands. It looked like Nosferato’s deformed digits on his acoustic guitar. The sight was grotesque. They went down them crossroads the same one they tell Robert Johnson sold his soul. Well, these boys knew Robert’s story. Knew all 29 songs he wrote and believed the deal he made. But, they was smarter. They wouldn’t make his mistake.

See my grandpappy knows the story so well cause he was there. He saw the whole thing play out. Junior and Willie invited my grandpappy and Sam to meet a man they called the stranger at the crossroads. Junior was going to sing like Louis Armstrong and Willie would play like Lead Belly. That’s what they said all afternoon and evening while we waited. Maybe four cars drove past the entire time, but none stopped. It got dark and the sketters started eatin us like a full course meal. Me and Sam were tired and wanted to go home. Willie said if the stranger didn’t show by 11:00 we’d all go home.

Part of me thought they was playin me and Sam for fools. But, the darker it got the more Junior and Willie got angry. They was slappin sketters then each other over whose fault it was for draggin everyone there. Sam tried to break it up and got a whopping. I figured anyone mad enough to stay was serious or crazy. I ran off. Willie tried to stop me, but I was faster. Sam stayed. He didn’t believe them and wanted to prove his brother wrong.

I didn’t actually leave. I circled back and hid in the tall grass just down the way from the crossroads. That’s when it happened. Lord ol mighty. He came. I saw a man appear from nothing, he moved silent through the air then suddenly pebbles crunched under his shiny wing tips.

He was dressed in black from head to shoe. His clothes and hat were perfectly clean. Not a pinch of dust. I caught a glimpse of his handsome face in that bright moonlight. His black skin was creamy smooth and well featured like a movie star without a bead of sweat. How can that be travelin in the delta heat? And not once, not once did he have to chase away any damn sketters. He turned his head in my direction. That’s when I saw, lord, no eyelids no pupils neither. His eyes were brilliant eggshell white balls, solid and unreadable. He greeted them in a clear and friendly tone. Junior and Willie didn’t axe who he was. They were so excited they told him what they wanted. The man listened politely. All the time I knew those bright eyes were searching for me. When they finished their excited rant the man simply replied.

“You’ll get it, but it ain’t free.”

Willie quickly offered him $5.00 in jest. The man snickered.

“You boys ought to know how this work. You waited here all day.”

“You need a soul.”

The stranger nodded.

“Here you go,” Junior said as he pushed his little brother forward.

“What’s this?”

“My little brother Sam. Our daddy beats him cause he won’t do chores.”

“That true boy?”

“Yes sir.”

“You ain’t lyin are you?”

“No sir.”

“Well ok. Junior why don’t you hmm a few bars and Willie strum a few jazz chords.”

Junior suddenly had Louis’s gravelly voice and Willie’s once strained hands played smooth and silky. They glided up and down the fretboard with ease.

Junior and Willie danced about and looked like their heads would explode.

“Alright boys. Make sure you’re at the Jazz house on Saturday night.”

“Why?” They asked together.

“Cause your little brother Sam will have an accident. Can’t have you two anywhere near.”

“Yes sir.”

It’s 2002, two weeks ago, Floyd and Harold Simmons invited George and me to the crossroads. They promised we be their new bandmates. George didn’t believe my grandpappy’s story.

Shattered. My desperate eyes followed her sultry, uncaring walk to the gate as I treaded water in ten foot end of my parent's swimming pool. My love in her pink one piece and matching heels was leaving for the last time and every step killed me a little. She said not what I had done for her to rip my heart out.

I asked, but she repeated, "You should know."

My mind was a blackboard with random thoughts scratched across. You think I cheated? I had not. I refused you something you desired? I gave what was possible. I was answering each common complaint instantly until they became absurd. You hate my swim trunks? Possibly.

If I had time I'd get a carving knife from the kitchen and stab myself in the heart. She would have to see my red love spread like fire through the chlorine.

I wanted to say something profound or unequivocal. Magic words that would halt her step and endear her to hear my reconciliation.

Once, there was a man who loved a woman so much...too strong. My heart yearns to be near you even when you aren't far...um no. Then it hit me. It was sharp, direct with just a pinch of desperation.

"I'll stay in the pool and drown, so I don't have to watch you leave!"

Without a pause in her stride she replied, "good!"

Shit! Now what?

There was no time to exit the pool and stop her at the gate. Maybe, if I waited. Waited for her anger to subside a couple of days. No, this was the kind that festered and grew into a hard memory. Akin to when Thanos killed Loki in front of Thor.

Granted, I've been immature. I'm nothing like her previous lovers. They were all the strong, learned, and obviously mature. I thought my uniqueness is what drew her in. The first time we met in the crowded room of my peers. I stood out with my scarred forehead and disheveled hair. She said as much, but...

That was ages ago. Soon she would...

"I'm sorry." I blurted.

She stopped and slowly turned.

"I shouldn't have said you could pass for human," I said.

"See you in class tomorrow and don't expect any special treatment when I grade your essay on how to interact with non Earth women."

Detective Constable Hansel Kruger hastily shoved a rucksack into the hollow of a moss-covered tree. As he covered all signs of disturbance around the tree Detective Constable Gretel Meyers came from behind in a policewoman’s uniform. She tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a silver wine cup.

“This fell out again,” Gretel said in a British accent.

“Verdammt! Wir brauchen einen neuen Rucksack,” Hansel grunted in his native German.

“English my luv.”

Hansel sighed and reburied the sack.

“Now go wash up. I left your clean uniform out for you by the brook," Gretel said while drying her hands on her dress uniform.

"What is that?” Hansel said in a light British accent.

"What this? It reminds me of me mum!” Gretel replied caressing the red diamond pendant around her neck.

“You took it from the bird?”

“Yeah, just like you took all of her silver.”

“We don’t steal from bodies. What if someone?”

“Recognizes it? I’ll flash’em me badge. Now go wash your bloody hands!"

“You think they’ll stop for a plonk?”

“Of course. It’s 1972 not 1892,” Gretel snaps.

“These farmers don’t own cars or a telly. They live like its 1892.”

“Alright.”

DC Hansel drops his blood-stained uniform into the brook next to Gretel’s. He puts on his clean uniform and returns to Gretel. He smiles when he doesn’t see the pendant. They walked under the humid canopy drinking copious amounts of water. They traveled deeper into the woods as sunlight fell from the elder treetops to the tops of saplings. With their coats tied around their waists and canteen almost empty they were about to give up and camp for the night. Then Gretel caught the scent fresh apple pie. They both ran towards the smell in the dying daylight when they found a tiny cottage made of rock candy. It had a gingerbread door and a lemon drop handle.

“It’s true,” Gretel exclaimed.

The villagers spoke of a rich woman in the woods who baked the best food. Despite their perspiration they threw on their coats. Hansel knocked on the door. An elderly woman answered looking very concerned. She was exactly as the villagers described her. She was old and wrinkly wearing a red and black frock that covered her from neck to ankle.

“Evening luv, I’m DC Kruger and this lovely is DC Meyers from Manchester. We’re looking for a man named Crumb said to have passed this way. Have you seen him?” Hansel asked.

The woman studied the young man for a moment. He was unshaven and had a scar on his face, but his uniform looked well-fitting around his portly frame. Then her gazed fell upon the curvy young woman slightly taller and older. She had a sweet face and alluring smile. Her uniform was form fitting around her bosom and her bare ankles showed. A bright red diamond pendant rested atop her blouse.

“Dear me. What has he done?”

“Robbed and killed the Widow Cook,” Hansel said.

“Oh! We’ll I ain’t seen nothin to tell you truth.”

“Oh. Well seein how’s we’re good coppers we’d still like to ask you questions. You don’t mind,” Hansel said.

“Well, then you better come in.”

The elderly woman served them both a wedge of apple pie on flowery plates with silver forks and stained glasses of cow’s milk. Hansel and Gretel devoured the pie and drank the milk in one gulp.

“My, what good appetites. Don’t they feed you in Manchester?”

“Not like this,” Gretel replied.

“Would you like more pie dear?” The old woman asked.

“Oh yes, please it is so delicious.”

“Just to be sure you haven’t seen Crumb and you live alone?” Hansel asked.

“Yes.”

The old woman grinned and fed them the rest of the apple pie. Then seeing how they were still hungry she gave them a piece of German Chocolate cake and more milk. Gretel ate daintily and wiped her mouth often with the napkin. Hansel seemed to have lost his manners as he shoveled heaps of cake into his mouth managing to get as much icing on his face as in his mouth. The elderly woman wasn’t cross with him. She simply smiled. When Hansel finished eating he finally wiped his face. Gretel pointed to the icing and cake crumbs on his lap. Hansel stood up and brushed off the crumbs, but smeared the icing all over his uniform.

“Oooo, that won’t do,” The elderly woman chuckled. She left the room.

Hansel immediately rushed to the hallway. He smiled at Gretel. Gretel popped up from her chair and quietly opened the cupboards one by one. The cupboards were stocked with baking ingredients, plates, bowls and cups. She couldn’t find silverware or stained glassware like she had heard. Gretel looked back to Hansel and shrugged. She looked in the cupboard drawers and found utensils, but they were hammered metal of no value. Hansel coughed and Gretel sat back down. The elderly woman returned with a pair of pants and a clean shirt for Hansel.

“Here dear. These should fit you until I clean that uniform. You can change in the woodshed DC Kruger and bring in more firewood if you don’t mind. My oven is cooling, and I have to bake more goodies.”

“Thanks, luv,” Hansel replied and went outside.

Hansel changed into the lavender scented clothes. He reentered the cottage with an armful of wood. He dropped the wood and pulled the revolver from his uniform. The elderly woman was seated in his chair hand on her hip. Blood steamed from her hand and formed a pool on the floor below. Gretel was face down with a rolling pin stained with flour and blood next to her head. Hansel pointed the revolver at the old woman.

“You bitch! You bludgeoned a police officer?”

“No dear. I hit someone pretending to be a police officer. I recognized Widow Cook’s pendant. Your girlfriend stabbed me then told me who you really are and what you planned to do.”

Hansel felt Gretel’s neck and kissed her head. Gretel snapped up and groaned.

“And we still are,” Hansel replied.

He helped Gretel wrap his sweaty shirt around her head while keeping his pistol aimed at the old woman. They old woman cackled. Hansel chuckled with knowing.

“We’re the new generation,” Gretel sat up and grunted.

“See, we move around, change our appearance…” Hansel began to add.

“And lie!” The old woman growled.

“We didn’t lie. We were DCs from Manchester until our proclivity for larceny and extreme brutality were discovered. So, we embarked on our true careers,” Hansel rebutted.

The old woman smiled, and her free hand touched her lips.

“That’s why we are here. To take down the best,” Hansel said.

“True, I’ve eaten more children than I can remember. I’ve also eaten adults, mostly politicians and lawyers. I’ve always wanted to eat corrupt police. Their pent up emotions would be an exotic taste I’ve never had. However, there are far fewer corrupt police in the world. I’d given up hope. Then you knocked on my door. I thought I caught myself a couple of thieves. Oh, how delicious you will be.”

“What?” Gretel grunted.

“You won’t be beating me,” the woman added. “I’ve been stabbed before, and I know this is not fatal. I’ll dress this wound when you are asleep. I poisoned you. I haven’t killed adults in so long I wasn’t sure of the dose. So, I made sure it was in everything you ate. You’ll be dead in an hour, probably.”