Little Red

‘Don’t forget the eggs! Did you take the eggs?’

     ‘Yes, mama,’ said Little Red in exasperation.

     ‘Okay, now, stay on the path, you hear? And don’t stop – not for anything. Especially strangers. Do you understand?’

     ‘Yes, ma – don’t talk to strangers, don’t shake wolves’ paws, don’t stray from the path... all that.’

     Her look of consternation passed and she smiled. ‘Good, ‘cause you know what’s been going on of late – two cows slaughtered, chickens gone missing, and Mary-Sue’s been missing for ten days now. I know the Devil’s at work in all this – we all know Mary-Sue’s whorin’ ways, though her mother pretends she’s as white as the Virgin Mary herself....’ She caught her daughter’s pleading look. ‘Look, jus’ be careful, honey, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?’

     ‘Okay, mama,’ replied the girl. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She turned, opened the gate, and started on the path. Jesus-Fricking-Christ!, she thought. Why does my life have to be so - fucked? Why does everything about it seem so ridiculous – taking groceries to granny... why does she have to live out so goddamn far in the woods? God, anyone would think I was livin’ in some fairytale or one o’ Aesop’s fables!

     Little Red began walking. The woods were ancient and eerie, the sky was purpling with evening’s approach, and she thought she could hear the faraway death cries of wounded Indians or the howling of coyotes. Ain’t nothin’ to bother me, she thought. She looked through the basket: two dozen eggs, bread, a chicken, two jars of preserves, four apples... all accounted for. But then she took a fancy to one of them ripe red apples bursting with juice, wiped it on her coarse woollen shawl, coarse as her virginity, and bit into it, the juice dribbling slightly down her chin.

     Jeez! How long does this path go on for? She turned around. She could just make out the chimney of the house, a haze of blue smoke rising through the barren trees. Behind them, way in the distance, she could see the brow of the Appalachians, beautiful and ominous.

     The path was soft underfoot. It was October, and the trees were bare. But the woods were so thick with trees that they gave the appearance of abundance, fooled one into thinking they were lifeless and naked – there were horrors in the forest that could turn one’s blood to jelly. But that excited her. Ever since she’d turned fourteen, she’d been pining after Earl, a local boy, feeling these flushes, these moods, these – urges. They felt so unnatural, so blasphemous, but she entertained them. She was becoming a woman – she’d had her first period seven months ago, her breasts were growing larger, and she’d been getting hair in new places.

     She looked around at the big yews, oaks, birches all silver-specked, the maples, and the tulip trees all yeller and pretty, and she noticed the brush which lay just beside the path. There weren’t many villages around, and there was a good ten or twenty miles between them. A girl could get lost in these woods and never be found. The thought of that made her uneasy.

     She heard a sudden sharp snapping sound, the breaking of wood or bracken. She peered between the stands of trees and saw a young deer, looking innocently at her. ‘Hey!’ she called out, and it darted into the woods. At this same moment, a single crow flew from the bow of a nude oak overhead, making Little Red jump, and as she turned to continue down the path, she caught sight of a large shadow looming ominous in the late afternoon sun, the owner of which stood behind her. She stood stock still.

     ‘Young girls shouldn’t be all alone in the woods, you know?’ said a sonorous, calm voice.

     She remained still.

     ‘Turn around, young girl. Show me your face.’

     She did so – she put down the basket beside her and turned slowly.

     ‘Now, let me get a good look at you.’ The man’s strange eyebrows shot up. ‘Ah, what a beautiful young girl you are!’

     ‘What are you doing?’ she asked him. ‘Have you been following me? L-look, my house is only a few miles yonder – if I was to scream out loud my papa would hear it. He’d be hear within a few minutes, and he’d –’

     ‘Hush, hush!’ he interrupted. ‘Don’t fret, young girl – I mean you no harm. Tell me, what is your name?’

     She resisted, her lips trembling.

     ‘Come, come. I am a simple hunter. I only ask to put you at calm. Now, tell me your name.’

     She looked at him, observed his calming smile. His eyes were brown, browner than earth, it seemed, and were framed by dark, bushy eyebrows that were joined in the middle. Little Red remembered something her granny had told her as a young girl: never trust a man whose eyebrows meet in the middle.

     ‘My name is Elisa – Elizabeth – Hemlock, ‘though everyone calls me Little Red – on account of this here shawl.’

     The man smiled. ‘Ah, a beautiful name! And tell me, why are you in the woods? Little girl, where are you going?’

     ‘I ain’t no little girl!’ said Little Red. ‘Where I’m going is none of your business, mister! Why do you wanna know?’

     ‘You can trust me, little one,’ he said. He looked down at the basket, filled with groceries. ‘Taking that to someone, are you?’ He paused. ‘Hmm, I know a great spot for a picnic – it’s just a bit farther down the path. There’s a clearing. Shall –’

     ‘Mister, these groceries are for my grandma. She’s sick, and –’

     ‘Please, call me Vincent. Vincent DuBlanche – pleased to meet your acquaintance.’

     She blushed, noticing how his hard features now appeared sensual and calming.

     ‘Will you come? Come with me – I have plenty of food.’ He held up a brace of geese. ‘I have some cookies and nuts in my bag. Come, come, and we’ll talk.’

     ‘Okay,’ said Little Red, ‘I will come with you, but on one condition: we walk side by side - and I can’t stop for long. It’ll be dark soon and – and the forest’s not safe.’

     ‘Not safe? Don’t be ridiculous! Old wives’ tales! Old wives’ tales indeed! There are no horrors in these woods. Besides, you probably thought me a horror when I first came upon you, didn’t you? But I’m all right, aren’t I?’ She settled her gaze. ‘Besides, you’ll be quite safe with me.’ He turned slightly so Little Red could see the rifle on his back. ‘Now, let us walk.’

     They walked for a short while until they came to the clearing and they settled by a spot beneath a yew tree. She ate the cookies he offered and grew more relaxed, all the while succumbing more and more to his casual gestures whilst noticing the dimming day.

     ‘Look, I must go soon – it’s getting dark.’

     ‘Hush, child. Now, tell me all about your granny.’

     ‘My granny. Why should I?’

     ‘Because I wish to make you a bet. I bet you, dear girl, that I can get to your granny’s house before you can.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘Using this.’

     ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

     ‘A compass. It shows one’s direction – one can always find north. Using this, I bet you that I can beat you to your granny’s house – you can follow this winding path, and I shall make my way through the woods.’

     ‘But it’s not very safe,’ she said.

     ‘Oh, but I am one with the woods,’ he said. ‘Once you get lost in them, you find something wonderful.’ He gestured to her. ‘Don’t you want to get lost in the woods, young girl?’

     She looked into his eyes – those big, brown eyes so inviting. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Now, I must be going.’

     As she started to rise, he pulled her back down to the ground. ‘Oh, but I think you do know what I mean. I follow the pulse of the heart, my dear – the moon. The two are aligned! And something tells me you feel the same.’ He inched his way over her, bringing his face level with hers. She noticed his full lips. His eyes seemed to glow a strange yellow in the twilight. He loosened the knot tying her shawl and then kissed her, and she resisted.

     ‘Don’t resist me,’ he said coolly. He kissed her again and she returned it, her arms wrapping around his shoulders pulling him into her. One hand explored her body, starting at her supple neck, then making out the soft incline of a small breast, then settling on her pussy, warm beneath her panties – he could make out the soft hair and the undulations of her labia.

     She brushed his strong hand away. ‘Stop it! No, no!’ she screamed.

     But he overpowered her. Before she knew it, he was astride her – inside her. It felt wrong – he was big and it was painful. She wept as he worked it in and out, looking away and gnashing her teeth. She could feel a warmth down there, unlike anything she’d ever felt. It hurt like hell – like he was taking a blade to her insides. And yet she didn’t want him to stop. She worked her hips up and down with him in a pathetic attempt at union, and then she felt his back – it was thick with hair; thick like no earthly man’s. She sank her fingers into that hair. Then she looked up into his eyes. He smiled a terrifying grin, his teeth pointed and yellowed. He  sank them into her neck. She gasped in pain as he drove them in, deeper, and then he withdrew, his teeth bloodied, his eyes luminous and wild, and looked into her eyes again. She felt another warm burst down below and then she passed out.

     When she awoke, it was dark. She could make out the shadows of the trees in the faint light – the day was almost over. She could feel a stinging pain down below. She gingerly felt the area and then started whimpering. She recollected the man, on top of her, driving himself in and out of her, and then she remembered passing out. She looked at her fingers – they were crusted with dried blood. ‘Oh, no,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, no... the fucker! The Fucker! Oh....’

     And then she realised he might still be near. ‘Help me!’ she screamed. ‘Help me! Help! Please, I need help! Somebody!’ She screamed for anyone who might be out there in the woods with her. Oh, God! Oh, God. Oh God! she muttered.

     She grabbed the basket, leaving behind her now defiled and mulch-covered panties, and limped her way up the path, desperately shouting for help, praying for her helpless and imperilled granny. ‘Help me! Help! Is anyone there?’

     She heard a door shutting somewhere in the woods, and then she could hear a voice far away: ‘Who’s there? Do you need help?’

     ‘Yes!’ she cried.

     ‘Hold on,’ said the voice, ‘I’m coming.’

     ‘Thank you! Thank you! Oh, thank God!’ She heard a clambering through the trees and then he came out onto the path. He approached her: ‘Oh, dear God! What has happened to you?’

     She looked fit to collapse, so he swept her up and held her, his arms thick, smelling like a child of the pines, that thick, intoxicating smell of fresh lumber. ‘I – I was on my way to my granny’s house, when... oh, no! Mister, sir... you must help me – we must get to my grandma’s house! I would tell you in full but you would think me crazy! We-’

     ‘Now, now, child, we –’ He  noticed her bloodied neck, the wound like an unholy defloration, and he immediately understood – he’d heard the stories. He couldn’t believe they were real until he saw the beast for himself, though. He left for the cottage at a run, leaving behind the basket, its assorted goods spilled out on the path.

     ‘Yes, it’s this way! Not much farther!’ They travelled through the darkness, illuminated only by the huge moon, full in the sky, pallid and onerous.

     They broke off the end of the path and he could make out the little cottage, smoke billowing from its chimney, a pale yellow light coming from one of the windows. As they approached, the man could make out the broken window. ‘Come, child! I must leave you here. Do not leave this spot – I shall be out soon enough.’

     ‘Mr,’ she said after him. He turned. ‘Be careful.’ He nodded gravely, hiding the terror that seemed ready to billow out from his throat. ‘Don’t worry about me – just you hide ‘hind that tree. Don’t make a murmur, you hear?’

     ‘Yessir,’ she said.

     He faced the cottage and walked up to it, the girl hidden behind the trunk of a huge oak tree. As he approached, he could make out faint slithers of light coming from the bushes outside – a dusting of glass fragments. He could hear an unholy sound – the tearing of flesh – and it was coming from inside the cottage. He burst through the door, axe raised, expecting to find several coyotes or a large wolf, but he was greeted by something far worse.

     The thing shot him a look that felt like a chill hand reaching into his spine. It looked like a wolf, but the thing had the stature of a man. He looked around himself uneasily, preparing himself for the worst. He could see behind this creature the unrecognisable corpse of a person – the nightgown was torn and bloodied, the chest ripped open as cleanly as orange peel. It approached him, swung for him, its jaws snapping, and he shimmied to the right and tore through the air with the axe. He felt the purchase – the creature was down on the floor, snarling and growling in pain. He struck it again, and again, and soon it neither struggled nor whimpered no more. With one final blow, the tree-cutter cut off the beast’s head its head. Covered in blood and breathing heavily, he turned the thing over – it had become a man! This naked person, previously a great hairy beast, was now a man, his flesh gouged and torn in deep gashes.

     The tree-cutter fell to his knees, struggled out of the cottage, falling about, and was immediately sick. He went back to the young girl and held her.

     ‘What’s wrong, mister? What was in there?’

     ‘Child,’ he began, ‘you, you –’ but then he started crying, and, for some strange reason, so did she. They wept until they eventually fell asleep ‘neath the safety of the oak, and soon enough they awoke to the startling sun. They went back to his cabin: she bathed herself; he fetched the basket of things and fixed her up a hearty breakfast.

     The funeral came and went; chatter about the goings-on remained. A story was maintained that a local nut by the name of Cletus Inchbecker had broke in, naked and mad, and had cut her to bits. No one except Little Red’s mother ever saw the corpse, ‘though she knew that wasn’t the true story. Little Red’s wound was healing nicely by now. In fact, it had healed remarkably quickly.

     She never told anyone about what happened in the woods, though – said she fell down; although her mother knew that explanation couldn’t be applied to the wounds between her legs. It was now almost a month after all that had happened – late November – and the moon was waxing towards its fullest expression once more. As that ominous date approached, Little Red’s forebodings increased. She’d started going steady with that local boy, taking it very slow – she’d not even allowed him to hold her hand yet.

     But there was something very peculiar happening to her: hair had started growing in some pretty odd places. She’d put it down to becoming a young lady, but she knew in her heart a strange new hunger – she had started noticing more and more the wolves baying at night, and they had never sounded so beautiful, nor their song so inviting.