by Miriam Cawood

Created on: March 03, 2008

Cinnamon Sticks and Candy Canes

Jeanie was sitting at the table in her pajamas with her red-handled hammer ready. It was a Christmas eve tradition to smash the Gingerbread house to bits and eat a piece before bed. Since Mom and Dad were out at a party, Aunt Ruth was looking after her.

Aunt Ruth brought her a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Jeanie looked at Aunt Ruth doubtfully. She wasn't sure Aunt Ruth was sane; could you be sane if you were a witch? Because that was what Aunt Ruth was. Jeanie was sure her Mom shouldn't have invited Aunt Ruth for Christmasafter all when magic and special events were aroundlike the birth of a princess in fairy storiessomething dreadful usually happened.

"What's in the mug?" Jeanie asked thinking of bats' wings and puppy dogs' tails.

"An early Christmas present!" Aunt Ruth beamed at her. "This is an enchanted mug."

Aunt Ruth handed her a spicy stick of cinnamon and a smooth red-striped candy cane. "If you stir your mug of hot chocolate three times clockwise with the cinnamon stick you will be sent somewhere to learn about the true meaning of Christmas."

Aunt Ruth had been eating too much fruit cake, Jeanie thought. Dad always says there is something wrong with people who eat fruit cake.

"I know all about Christmas," she pouted. "I want to break apart my Gingerbread house, eat a piece, and go to sleep so Santa will come."

Aunt Ruth started to turn as red as the Poinsettia centerpiece. "First, you'll learn about gratitude," she snapped with an icy smile. She forcibly took Jeanie's hand and stirred the steaming chocolate three times with the cinnamon stick.

"Remember to stir the chocolate three times the other way in order to come back," Jeanie heard Aunt Ruth's voice say before everything faded in a red and green mist.

When the mist cleared Jeanie found herself in a strange place. The ground beneath her was made of a hard white substance, the walls of the building surrounding her was grainy brown material. The spicy smell of gingerbread and the sweet smell of icing sugar were heavy in the air.

Jeanie stared in awe. She had shrunk and was inside her gingerbread house. Some white sticky stuff from the ceiling fell on her. She wiped it off her face with her finger and licked it. Yum, icing. The icing never would harden very well. She remembered last year her gingerbread house had fallen down before she could hit it with her hammer. She looked doubtfully at the gingerbread roof above herit looked a little shaky. Jeanie took her small cup of

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