The Dark Side of Gingerbread

It's like the creak of a door when
she opened a book. Its spine
cracking under the weight of her
hand, and she wets her finger,

red haemorrhaging from the page.
Twisted words torqued into detail.

Off with their heads, my mother read.

Grimm tales of the faceless, named,
and epic morals. Mum reads, and
each word is a snap of a camera.

Fairytale nightmares. Too dark
for sweet dreams. Witches and
gingerbread houses. Children
in ovens. Red hooded cloaks, and
crocodiles that tick like a clock.
Pipers and rats. A talking mirror.

Mum saying, Sweet dreams as her
last story eases into my dreams,
into that realm of demon sleep.

And then she'd switch off the light.

And so here I am. My bedtime read.
The Joy of Cooking, the 2nd edition.
How to Make a Gingerbread House.