Little Red

There are a lot of scary things living in the forest; bears, monsters, wolves.

One wolf in particular was realizing that it was his lucky day. He could see a little girl straying from the path. With that bright red hood, it wasn't hard to find her. As the Wolf crept closer, he could see her chestnut hair and bright blue eyes. His stomach started rumbling; it’d been so long since he’d gotten to eat a proper meal.

But, more than wanting to eat, the Wolf wanted to play.

That was always the best part about playing with humans. They always tried to escape him; trick him, run from him, hide; but it never worked. No matter how hard they tried, they’d always end up in his belly.

The only question was, what game did he want to play with this one?

He crept toward her, silent, hoping the wanting growls from his stomach didn't ruin his fun. The little girl didn't notice; too busy kneeling down in the dirt, picking wildflowers from beneath the brush. As he asked himself what game he wanted to play, a peculiar scent caught his nose. There, next to the girl, was a basket. Whatever was inside it smelled absolutely delicious.

“Hello, little girl,” said the Wolf.

She spun around, red hood fluttering in the wind. Her eyes were wide with shock, but it faded quickly and replaced itself with a smile.

“Hello, Mister Wolf,” said the little girl.

“That’s quite a nice smelling basket you have there,” he said, “May I have it?”

The little girl shook her head. “Oh no, I’m sorry, Mister Wolf, you can’t. This basket is full of food and medicine for my grandma. She’s sick, you see, and my mother's sent me to take care of her.”

All too easily, the Wolf realized what game he wanted to play. He bid her farewell and dashed off into the forest. Never questioning how the little girl could look at him without an ounce of fear.

It took him no time at all to find the cottage. He stalked toward it, dreaming about the two meals he was about to have.

If the Wolf had been more observant, he would have noticed several odd things about the cottage. Cobwebs hanging in its corners. The flowers planted beneath the window were all wilted and brown. Several of the shutters were hanging loose or had fallen off completely.

The Wolf didn’t notice any of these things. And why would he? He was the Wolf. The only thing he feared was the Woodsman, and he didn’t smell him anywhere near this cottage.

As he snuck inside, he found that the door was already unlocked. He snickered at the foolishness of this little girl and her grandmother, thinking no harm would come to them in a forest with so many monsters.

His steps were silent. A thick layer of dust covers everything in the room like a shroud. The chairs and cupboards look like they haven’t been touched in ages. Old, burnt logs sit in the fireplace. The Wolf does not notice as he moves deeper into the cottage.

The Wolf sniffs the air. A woman, old and frail. Passed her prime, but delicious all the same. Her scent weaves in and out through every room, yet none more than the one at the very back. The door is shut, but the Wolf knows this is where he'll find her.

He opens the door and sneaks inside. In the center of the room, there is a bed. In the bed, there is a shape, and a head of curly white hair poking out from beneath the covers. The Wolf can already hear the screams; can already taste his meal.

The Wolf reaches up and rips the blanket off with a clawed hand. He roars and growls, waiting to see her terror, but he doesn’t find it. What he does find, hidden beneath the covers, shocks him into silence.

No old woman is lying in the bed. Instead, there is a skeleton. Stark-white bones stare up at Mister Wolf. Its legs have been severed at the knee, and the black stains beneath them are all too obvious.

Before the Wolf can react, before he can say a single word, something thuds into his back.

The room starts to spin. His thoughts cloud. Something is wrong. There’s a noise; a steady drip-drip-drip that the Wolf can’t find.

His knees buckle, and the Wolf falls to the ground. As everything turns black, the Wolf hears a little girl giggle.

The Wolf wakes up again and finds himself somewhere new. A basement with sparse decoration. The only thing he can see is a lit cauldron in the center of the room; smoke trailing upward, escaping through the ceiling.

He tries to lean forward, but he can’t. The Wolf turns to his right and sees that he’s been chained to the wall. He tries to stand, but he can’t. The Wolf looks down and sees that his legs are lying beneath him, lifeless.

The Wolf snarls and growls, pulling at his chains, but they don’t budge. When he finds whoever’s done this, he’s going to rip them apart until there’s left but bones.

As the Wolf rattles his chains, a voice pipes up somewhere unseen. “Mister Wolf, you’re awake!”

The Wolf recognizes that voice. He watches as the little girl with the bright red hood steps into view. She’s smiling, innocent as a babe, but the Wolf is too angry to play his normal games.

“Did you do this to me?” The Wolf asks angrily as he rattles his chains again.

Her face falls into a deep frown. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mister Wolf. I was afraid you’d move about in your sleep and aggravate your injuries, especially your arm.”

His arm? The Wolf asks himself. He looks to his right. His arm is fine; his claws are sharp, and his fur is sleek and gray. He looks to his left, and his heart drops to the pit of his stomach. His left arm has been severed at the elbow, wrapped in tight, bloody bandages.

The little girl starts to speak again as he stares at his missing limb. “I found you lying on the floor with a nasty wound across your back and your arm missing. I bet it was that mean old Woodsman that did it. He probably attacked you and left thinking you were dead. It’s a good thing I came home when I did, Mister Wolf. I used some of my grandma’s medicine to help it heal.”

When the Wolf hears that last bit, a part of him freezes. He remembers what he saw in that bed; the legless skeleton and the old bloodstains.

“Your grandmother,” the Wolf asks, “Is she still alive?”

The little girl laughs; she does not giggle. “Of course, she’s still alive. She’s just a little sick right now, but she’s getting better. We’ve never been happier.”

Then, without another word, the little girl turns toward the lit cauldron. She grabs a ladle and starts to stir. As she does, the scent of the cauldron makes its way toward the Wolf. The scent of carrots, potatoes, a thick broth, and meat.

The Wolf can feel his stomach grumble. His mouth fills with saliva, and the little girl smiles at him.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

He hated to show weakness, especially to prey, but the Wolf couldn't deny his hunger. He nodded, and the little girl’s smile grew a little wider. She took her ladle and poured some of the stew into a bowl.

She brought it to him, with a big wooden spoon, and started to feed him. Internally, the Wolf berated the girl for getting so close to his mouth. Just one little bite and her hand would be in his belly. He wanted to eat her so badly.

But, the Wolf was still in chains. Even though he hated it, he couldn’t devour her. . . not yet.

“How was it?” she asks.

He chews the last of the meat and swallows. “It’s too stringy.”

The Wolf is too busy licking his lips to notice some of the life has left her chipper tone, or to see her eyes turn somewhat hollow. “I see. I thought as much.”

He doesn’t notice because he doesn’t care to. Only when the little girl turns around does the Wolf say anything. “Can’t you let me go now? I’m awake and I’m already feeling much better. I won’t hurt myself if you undo the chains.”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she hums to herself as she starts to stir the cauldron again. The Wolf growls; he doesn’t like to be ignored. He opens his mouth to bark at her, but then she starts to speak.

“You know,” she says, “my grandma’s been sick for a long time. She lives all the way out here in the forest. There’s no one here to take care of her, so it’s my job to bring her food and medicine.

“Mother can’t do it. She’s too busy working and taking care of my siblings. She sends me instead.” The lifeless tone of her voice fills the air like a fog. “She sends me into the forest, where all the scary things are; all the wolves and bears and monsters; and she tells me to stay on the path.”

Her head shoots up, and the Wolf flinches despite himself. Her eyes are wide, but there’s no light behind them. She’s smiling, but there’s no joy in it. A shiver runs down his lifeless spine, but he doesn’t understand why. After all, she’s just a little girl.

“But that’s silly, isn’t it?” she asks. “The path isn’t special. If someone wanted to hurt me, the path wouldn’t stop them. . . and they knew that, both of them. They just didn’t want me to complain, but I had to hear them complain all the time.

“Grandma’s always doing it; it’s too hot, it’s too cold; her pillow is too soft, too hard; it’s never just right. She keeps complaining, but she never gets out of bed. So. . . I figured if Grandma wasn’t going to use her legs, then I would take them.”

The Wolf freezes. He stares and asks, “What did you just say?”

She doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring into the cauldron as if it held all of life’s secrets.

“I didn’t do it right the first time. It was too messy, but it was worth it." Her smile shows too many teeth. “Things were so much better after. Grandma didn’t complain anymore, and we were both really, really happy.

“Mother was still complaining though, still sending me into the forest on my own. I had to let her know how I felt, so we could be happy like me and Grandma.”

The little girl hums; the cauldron bubbles. Meanwhile, the Wolf starts tugging on his chains again. Growling as he pulled and pulled, but the metal just wouldn’t break.

“It took a while, but I finally got Momma to come with me to Grandma’s house. It was nice; we talked and talked all the way through the forest.” She giggled, and the Wolf’s blood turned to ice. “And when we got to Grandma’s house, I let her know just how I was feeling. And now we’re much happier.”

Something was wrong with this little girl, the Wolf realized. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was the prey. Words formed in his brain, and they left his mouth before he could stop them.

“What is wrong with you?”

The little girl freezes. Her head drops and the hood of her cloak buries her face in shadow. The room goes silent; a deathly quiet settles in the air; and the only thing the Wolf can hear is the sound of the cauldron bubbling over. Broth spilled over the sides and sizzled against the fire below.

“. . . I’m glad you found me,” she says, finally. “All the other creatures in the forest have learned to stay far, far away. But you, you came right up to me. And that me so happy.”

Before the Wolf can find his voice, the little girl dips her ladle into the stew. She takes a big sip and nods her head.

“You’re right. The meat is too stringy, but the broth is delicious.” She giggles again, sending more chills down the Wolf’s back. “I guess that’s another thing I have to thank you for.”

A part of him, call it instinct or common sense, told him to keep his mouth shut, but he didn’t listen. “Why?”

The little girl swirls the stew and starts to pull something out using her ladle. He watches as the warm broth slowly drips off bleach-white bones. The bones of a forearm, hand and all, his forearm.

“For providing the stock,” she says and drops the bones back into the broth with a splash.

The Wolf screams. He pulls and yanks at his chains, but they don’t come loose. His heart was racing; it hurt. His wrist ached; his skin turned bloody underneath the cuff. Why was it so hard to breathe? He’d never felt this way before; so weak, powerless. He didn't understand why.

As he struggled, the little girl reached off to the side, and she returned holding an axe; a bloody, Woodsman’s axe.

“Don’t bother,” she says, “there are a lot of special plants in the forest too. The ones I used numb the pain, but they leave you weak too. They won’t wear off for another day or so.”

She walked towards him. The head of the axe slowly skidding across the floor. Even covered in blood and rust, the blade still looked sharp.

“I wonder if there’s a part of you that isn’t so stringy,” she says. “I bet your belly is nice and tender, but that takes so long to cook and it’s so messy. I think I’ll start with a leg this time.”

The little girl raised her blood-drenched axe, and the Wolf screamed.

There are a lot of scary things in the forest. But they’re not always wolves, or bears, or monsters. Sometimes. . . sometimes they wear little red hoods.