Red Ridding Hood

I heard the whispers of the townsfolk as I made my way through the market with my basket, filling it up with breads and corn for my grandmother. They were all gossiping about my red hood. They believed red to be the devil’s color.

My little ignorant, superstitious town or settlement, should I say, that is nested on the outskirts of an ancient forest. Those who venture in too deep never return home. My grandmother lives in a cabin in the woods. Also, again taboo to live alone in the woods, but my grandmother is considered a witch by many just because she knows herbs and mixes remedies for the sick. But they still call her a witch. My mother, on the other hand, is adored for her caring nature and baking. And that my father, a woodcutter, supplies wood for fires and housing. That is the only reason my grandmother is tolerated.

Some girls my age stand and snicker at me on the church grounds. A smirk creeps on my face as I pull the hood over my head more and pretend to walk past them, ignoring them before jumping and growling at them. They scream with fright and run into the church, shouting for the pastor to pray for me. I laugh and carry on the path towards the forest.

Just the very sight of the forest would have normal people running for the hills but not me, no I enjoyed the thick, dark bush and creaking trees that let out an eerie noise as the wind blows through the leaves. But most of all, I enjoy how there are almost no bugs, no crickets chirping, no mosquitoes. There are a few bees and birds around. And the bees are big and mean, as are the birds–they are mainly crows. And a predator would kill the few deer that dare to roam the woods.

Some believe it’s a wolf, others believe it’s an evil beast. But whatever it is, very few have lived to tell the tale. Mostly they are just too injured and die days later. Others are just too traumatized to speak.

I smiled entering the forest from a worn pathway and skip, humming while picking mushrooms and herbs that I have come to recognize from my grandmother. Today the forest sounded extra eerie, no rodents or squirrels, not even the sound of bees disturbed the silence.

I embraced the silence until I heard soft footsteps in the distance. I strained my ears and could make out that it was an animal treading slowly and quietly across the forest floor. A predator? That does not sound like a deer. Straining my ears more, I held my breath and focus on the sound–indeed a predator that is stalking its prey. But there are no animals nearby, so I am the prey then.

I reached into my basket for my dagger and gripped it firmly in my hand, and waited until the creature approached me from behind. Before it could lunge at me, I turned around, ready to ram my dagger into the monster’s heart.

“Grandmother!!” I cried out. “You scared me.” I scolded at the large grey wolf.

She let out a bark of laughter before nudging her snout against me.

“Did you find anything good to eat?” I asked, seeing her clean fur.

She shook her head.

“Well, maybe next time.” I said with enthusiasm. “Let’s head back. I got some breads and mushrooms for you.”

She made a gagging noise sticking her tongue out, but came to inspect my basket. I picked it up, and we headed towards her cabin. Her cabin is nuzzled between thick trees with shrubs covering the ground. The cabin’s wood had darkened with age and weather, making it as black as the tree’s trunks covered with some moss. Only a dim light from the fire shone through the window.

As we entered the warmish cabin, grandmother shifted back to her human self and put on her nightgown while I set the basket on the table and stoked the fire. I went outside to get some water from the pond that I would boil in the kettle and pot. When I came back in, my grandmother was already busy sorting the mushrooms and cutting the bread. We would make a mushroom stew. I liked our time cooking even if we weren’t chatty. It was still a wonderful bonding experience.

After a while, we heard noises coming from outside. Hunter or wood cutter. Either way, we need meat for the stew. A smile spreads across my grandmother’s lips as her teeth being to form into sharp canines. A grin appears on my face before I suck in a deep breath and scream for help, throwing my chair against the wall. We hear a man approach easy picking.

The door flies open and he barges in with his axes. His face is full of fear of seeing such an enormous wolf and me, a small little helpless girl. My grandmother growls at the woodcutter. He throws his one axe at my grandmother who dodges it, then he grabs me by the hand and pushes me behind him, using himself as a shield as he tries to lead me to the door.

I let out a loud crackle as my grandmother sits on the floor with her glowing yellow eyes that are gleaming with anticipation of joy in this tit for tat game. The woodcutter stops in confusion before turning to face me. His confusion soon turns to fear as my face starts contorting into a snout, sprouting brown fur, and my eyes glow yellow. Before he has a chance to scream, I lunge at him and rip his windpipe out.

We change back to our human selves and close the door. I pick up the chair and neaten everything up while grandmother prepares the meal. A few hours later, we are enjoying a bowl of stew full of meat and mushrooms with the bread.

“It’s a full moon tonight.” I state, looking out the window at the bright night sky.

“Who shall we turn?” Grandmother asks sipping her herbal tea.

“I have a few in mind.” I say with a grin.

We walk out into the chilly night air and nod to each other, tilting our heads back and howl to the moon. They will hear this howl in the village and we just love to have them scramble in fear.