Red

“What big ears you have….”

Tight…Confined…Uncomfortable…Dark…Warm…

“What big eyes you have…”

Can’t breathe…Can’t see…Rumbling…

“What big teeth you have…”

Growling…Snarling…Shouting…

“The better to eat you with, my dear!”

Roaring…Crying…And then…

“Darling, wake up!”

I jump awake, shaking and sweating. My throat hurts. I had been screaming. There’s a faint glow to my right, not bright enough to be the light from my dream. A face above me looks down; a fragile looking woman is bending over me. I know her. I trust her. I love her. That much I am sure of. I open my mouth to say something…but nothing comes out. I can’t talk; don’t want to talk. She waits, but what she wants I can’t do for her. Sighing, she smiles, gently places a fragile hand on the top of my head, then takes the faint glow from my bedside table, and leaves my room, softly closing the door behind her.

I lay back down and close my eyes, falling asleep instantly.

No more dreams that night. I wake to find the sun beaming into my room, casting a glow onto the dancing dust particles, giving the slight impression of very tiny snowflakes. Smiling at the thought of snow covering my floor, I reach my hands to the air above me and stretch.

Immediately I know something is different.

I can see the dust in the sunlight; I’m smiling. I sit up, and, yes, I can see everything clearly. There is no wolf in the shadows. Looking down at my body, I find that I am not covered in blood and other things that inhabit the insides of a wolf’s stomach. I close my eyes, and I can smell…meat, but it’s different. The warmth that partners the smell is delicious, and makes my stomach growl.

I flinch, but I am not terrified. It is not the same sounding growl that I had been terrified of all these years.

Could it be that the day my grandmother has talked about finally arrived? For years she has been patting my hand or kissing the top of my head, telling me that one day things will get better. I have been awake for so long now, and not once have I hidden in fear of the wolf that had haunted my dreams, and every shadow didn’t possess red eyes, beckoning me into the darkness with sounds of promised delicacies and pleasures.

Slowly I push my scratchy blanket off me, place my feet on the wooden floor, and stand. I had been able to move on my own for awhile now, but I was still slow in the actions. Looking around, I find my cape, the one grandmother had made for me last year. It’s not red, like the one I was wearing during that horrible incident. The first time I had laid eyes on my red cape after waking from a long sleep after being freed from the wolf, I remember screaming, terrified that the wolf was coming for me.

He wants me. He won’t leave me alone until he finally has me. The red…He knows me by the color red.

But this one isn’t red. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to notice the color, though I’ve worn it every day since Grandmother had given it to me. I grabbed the soft, dark fabric, and throw it around my shoulders. Looking down, it’s only as long as my knees. Had I really grown that much in the passed year? Perhaps Grandmother will fix it for me? And change the color. If I am as healthy and sane as I hope I am, I could handle my old red cape.

On the dresser next to the chair on which I had picked up my cape, sit’s a brush. Yes, I remember what it is and what it’s used for. Grabbing the handle, I begin to brush my hair, just like I remember doing so long ago; just like I remember Grandmother doing just yesterday. My hair is longer than I remember, but still wavy. It falls down to my waist now. The last time I remember handling my own hair, it was only to my shoulders. The color is the same, though; I didn’t expect that to be different.

Setting the brush down, I look at the door. The smell was almost too perfect, too enticing, not to leave now to see what Grandmother has made. But, before I leave the room, there is one more thing I have to do. Looking down at my body, I am relieved to find that I was at least wearing a small, black nightshirt, which also fell to my knees, just an inch shorter than my cape. I know this isn’t suitable to wear during the day, but my stomach growls again, and I insist changing clothes can wait.

Besides, I want to see the look on Grandmother’s face when she sees I can take care of myself again.

Smiling, I open the door. The smell is stronger now, and I can even hear Grandmother moving about the kitchen. She will be putting plates on our small table before she decides it’s time to wake me and help me dress for the day. Won’t she be surprised when I reveal myself to her?

I make my way down the short hallway, my fear almost completely gone. He is dead. He can’t get me. He can’t hurt me. He can’t see me, hear me, talk to me, seduce me…He is gone, and so is my fear of him.

She sees me, nearly dropping a plate she is carrying. I smile, she smiles. I know this is the first time she has seen me out of my room. This is the first time she has seen me smile. I hold out my arms, wanting to go to her, embrace her. Grandmother, I love you.

“Red, darling. Happy birthday.”

She holds me close, her head resting on my shoulder. Tight. Her arms are holding me tightly against her. She starts to shiver. I pull back, but she still holds on, still smiles.

“Grandmother?”

Her eyes close. Her arms loosen. I let her fall, instantly knowing the one person I loved is now gone. I smile, though, knowing it was of her own will, and not because of a wolf or anything else. Bending down, I gently place my hand on her forehead. I can’t leave her here, in the kitchen. She needs to be taken care of. She needs to be…

What is that people do with their dead? Surely they do not leave them lying on the floor. Outside? No, that would surely attract unwanted company, and I will not suffer another wild animal wanting to devour my precious grandmother. In the ground then? In the dirt? No, animals could dig. But, perhaps if I put something over the dirt that I cover her with?

I open the door leading to outside, but freeze. I have been outside, but not by myself. What if he is waiting out there for me? What if he only stayed away because my grandmother was alive and protecting me? I need something to fight him off.

Looking around the kitchen, I see the perfect weapon. I remember seeing Grandmother use it to chase rats, a raccoon once. I pick up the wooden handle and hold it like Grandmother had. The metal shines in the sunlight streaming through the open door. I remember not to touch the metal, as Grandmother had often warned me. I know it might not be enough to protect me from him, but it might be enough to scare him away. If I had a larger weapon, like our friend always has with him, then I might be able to fight off a possible attack without getting myself harmed.

What did Grandmother say? It’s my birthday. Our friend will be coming by. Maybe I should wait for our friend to help me bury Grandmother. No, she’s too precious to leave unattended. The longer she stays out in the open, the greater the risk her scent will attract him. The sooner she’s safely buried, the better.

I grab the sharp object and step outside, keeping as quiet as possible. I hold my breath, looking around. There’s birds chirping somewhere nearby. The sun is warm. No movement. No, he isn’t there. If he was there, I wouldn’t feel safe, and strangely, I did. My grandmother has died, I was alone, he could be out there, watching me, and yet, I didn’t feel frightened.

I walked back inside, and place my sharp object in the pocket Grandmother had sewn into my cape. I stand next to her head, watching her. She fell gracefully, almost as if she really wasn’t dead when she fell. Her hair lay spread about her head, the beautiful silver looking as if it were shining in the sunlight against the wooden floor. Her hands had fallen onto her chest, her legs slightly bent. She looks like she’s only sleeping. Kneeling down, I gently shake her, not wanting to accidentally bury her alive.

What would that feel like? Being mistaken for dead, buried in the ground, with rocks piled over the dirt. I imagine it would feel tight, confined, almost like the inside of his belly. Can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t see, can‘t move. Slowly suffocating. No way out.

I jerk my hand away from her. How horrible being buried would be! I hope she’s dead, so she wouldn’t have to endure the pain of waking in the dirt, imagining she’s inside his stomach again. She doesn’t move when I shake her, but I can’t take that chance. If she does wake up, she would be terrified. But I can’t leave her here until that happens, assuming it would.

I grab the object in my pocket and, without hesitation, I bring the blade down into her chest, assuring her death. She doesn’t flinch, her eyes don’t open, she doesn’t make a sound. I pull the blade from her chest, and no blood streams from the wound. She is dead, fully and surly. If she hadn’t been dead, blood would pour from her wound. I had seen her kill a goat before, and blood poured endlessly into the big bowl she had placed under the beast’s neck.

Blood attracts unwanted attention, she had told me. Looking around, I don’t have to worry about blood making a mess unless something happens and the blood finds its way out of the wound. I grab a cloth from the table and tie it around her chest. She’s so small and frail, I’m glad she died this way. It would have been too easy to kill her otherwise. He would have done easily enough.

I grab her arms, and pull her across the floor and through the door. Her pale skin almost glows in the sunlight. Dust flutters around as I drag her further away from the house. It wouldn’t do to bury her too close, now would it? Satisfied I am now far enough away from the house, but not too far, I let her arms drop, and immediately look around for something to dig with.

The hole would have to be deep enough so it wouldn’t be easy to dig her up, but not too deep either. I don’t think I can dig very deep, nor do I want to. I want her buried before our friend shows up, or else our friend might not think this is best for my grandmother. Of course, our friend would know what people did their dead; our friend does, after all, live with other people. What if they want to take her away from me? What if they want to take me away from her? She’s my everything. She’s the one who helped me recover, how ever much recovered I really was. I was just going with what I was experiencing. Everything I had been doing all day pointed toward recovery, but honestly, what did I know?

There, next to the house, a digging tool. I grab the wooden handle and immediately begin to dig, only stopping to make sure my grandmother was still in her place, and there was no unwanted company around.

The sun was high in the sky by the time I push her into the hole. I wanted to place her gently, but I couldn’t pick her up. I could feel my eyes moisten as I hear her body hit the bottom of my hole. I’m sorry, Grandmother. I wish there was something else I could do for you. I wish I knew the proper way to do this, but I couldn’t bear to have you leave me just yet. I won’t let anyone take you away from me.

I push the dirt, from the pile I had made from digging, into the hole, watching as it falls onto her perfect, little body. It doesn’t take me nearly as long to bury her as it did to actually dig the hole, and soon I was walking around looking for stones to place on top of the pile now above her. I keep my eyes and ears open, listening for any disturbance that would mean he had come for me. Of course, it made sense that he would wait until my protector was dead. Then again, if he really wanted to get me, wouldn’t he have done it already? There were so many opportunities to attack me while I hadn’t been paying attention while digging that hole. Nothing seemed amiss, however, and soon I had a big enough pile of stones for placing on top of Grandmother.

I’m almost finished gently placing the stones over Grandmother when I hear it. That faint, distinct cracking of a twig. Immediately I grab the object from my cape’s pocket, and turn around. He’s here. He’s finally making his move. What should I do? Would he chase after me if I ran to the house? Of course he would. He is a wolf, after all. He enjoys the chase. No, I should stay and protect myself. That way, at least he can’t attack me from behind. I would be useless then.

The twig snaps again, and this time the sound is closer. It’s coming from the other side of house. Again, I hear it. But then, the sound of a door opens, and I begin to shiver. He doesn’t know I’m outside. He wants to get me by pretending to by my precious grandmother again. I won’t let him this time. I take a step towards the house, but slowly, and as quietly as I possibly could. He would be able to hear me if I make too much noise. His ears were big.

The better to hear me with.

He’s moving around the house. I can hear him. He sounds clumsy. Why would he be making so much noise? Was he searching for us? It would only be a matter of time before he realized the back door was open and come looking for us outside. That’s all right. I would be waiting for him. He wouldn’t get a chance to attack me. I pressed my back against the outside wall next to the door. When he shows his ugly snout, I would drive my blade into him, just like I had done with Grandmother.

I can hear him now. He is in the kitchen. He’s making his way to the door. I raise my blade, poised, ready to drive the sharp edge into his skull. Grandmother had told me our friend had killed him all those years ago, but I knew he was alive. Always, I could feel him. He was there, in the kitchen, slowly making his way to the door, where I would surprise him, killing him myself.

I won’t bury him, like I had with my precious grandmother. No. I will leave him outside for the unwelcome company; the wild animals would go crazy for a taste of his flesh. He was a large wolf, larger than a normal wolf would be. He had a lot of meat on him. Maybe I will take some for myself as well? Eat him, like he ate me, except he would be dead.

“Red?”

I blink, and lower my blade. It’s not him. I know it’s not him, for I remember his voice as if he only spoke those dreadful words this morning. No, it was someone else. I pocket my blade before our friend stepped outside.

He’s older than I remember seeing him. I see him every year on my birthday, though I know he made regular visits. My grandmother told me when he would show up to bring her company. I loved him for thinking of my grandmother like that. I know I wasn’t much company for her over the years. In fact, it was only recently that I started talking. This very morning, right? Aside from the nightly screaming, I never made a sound.

He looks at me, surprised, I’m sure, to see me up and about on my own. I smile at him, glad that he made the trip into the woods just to see me and my grandmother.

“You’re here,” he says. He’s holding something wrapped in cloth. Or he could just be holding cloth that wrapped in itself. The cloth is white. My grandmother had said that white is a terrible color for the woods. It gets dirty too easily, and we would have to wash it at least twice a day.

“What are you doing outside? Shouldn’t you be inside resting? And where’s your grandmother?” Again he looks around.

“She’s buried,” I tell him. He blinks at me.

“What do you mean?”

I point to the rocks.

“What did you do?” He’s looking at the rocks. He takes a step toward her. He’s going to dig her up. He’s going to take her away from me. I can’t let him do that. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, though he’s much taller than myself. “What’s wrong?” He turns toward me.

“Don’t take her away. Please.” My voice cracks, which could be because of lack of use, or because the moisture in my eyes is becoming heavier. He places his arms around me, holding me close to him like my grandmother had done just that morning.

“It’s okay. I won’t take her from you.” He steps back and looks down at me. “But you can’t stay here by yourself. You need someone to look after you.”

I move my hand to the pocket where the blade is, but I don’t grab it. I don’t want him to think I might harm him. But I do want him to know that I am capable of taking care of myself. He looks around, and gently pulls me toward the house, using his arms around my shoulders to lead me. He closes the door behind us, and the gently pushes me down onto a chair at the table.

“You’re filthy.” He walks to the washbasin and grabs another cloth, wetting it. “Have you been out there all day?”

“I wanted her safe.”

He places the wet cloth against my face. It’s cool, and I can’t help closing my eyes. It feels too good to ignore as he gently wipes my face with it.

“Red, I’ve brought you a gift.”

I open my eyes to see him standing before me, holding the cloth he brought out to me. I take it, unraveling it. Another cloth bundle falls to the floor, this one also white. He grabs the cloth I’m holding and holds it up. It’s another cape, longer than the one I’m wearing. I smile, taking the cape from him and hold it against my cheek. It’s a good thing he cleaned the dirt off my face, or else the white would be dirty already.

He bends down to pick up the other cloth bundle. It looks like a dress, though surely not long enough to reach the floor if I were to wear it. Had he gotten a size too small? Grandmother had warned me against wearing dresses that were too short. It could tempt the wrong sort, she said. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I did think of the wolf, and vowed never to wear anything that could tempt him. Tempt him to do what, though, I didn’t know.

“I want to see you in it,” our friend says. I look up at him. Of course he would want to see me wearing something that he just brought me. Though I know trying it on wouldn’t change the fact that it’s too short. It looked shorter than my nightdress that I was wearing. I say this to him, but he just laughs. So, he bought the small dress on purpose? At least the cape looked long enough to cover what the dress didn’t. I grab the dress from him, and walk to my room. Holding the dress up against my body, it looks like something a child would wear.

I close the door, and begin to try on my new clothes. I set my old cape on the bed, gently, not wanting it to get ruined, but I toss the night dress on the floor. It is, after all, just a night dress. I first put on the dress. It is too short, but it fits perfectly. If I had a petticoat, the skirt wouldn’t just hang limply around my legs, but the exception of the petticoat might be preferable. The torso of the dress fit tightly, but comfortably, against my chest. I look at myself in the mirror, and, sure enough, I look like a child.

I then wrap the new cape around me, and I’m glad that it falls to the floor. I place the hood over my head, and I can’t help but smile at my reflection. The white won’t work, however. I can already see the dust making an impact on the purity of the color.

The door opens, and our friend is standing there, watching me. “It’s perfect,” he says quietly. I smile to thank him, but he grabs my shoulders, holding me tightly. “I’m glad she’s dead,” he tells me. “I was getting tired of the old woman.”

I blink up at him, not showing him how much his grasp on my shoulders actually hurt. He was glad my grandmother was dead? How disrespectful! How dare he? I glare at him, but he throws me down onto my bed. I land on my old cape, my stomach hitting the blade in the pocket. I feel him come up behind me. I push myself up, but he’s much stronger, and he forces me down. He places a hand on the back of my head, and pushes my face into the mattress.

He’s hurting me. Why is he hurting me? He’s our friend, right, Grandmother? Our friend wouldn’t hurt us.

I can feel him brush the cape aside, revealing my legs to him. The dress was too short, it only fell down mid thigh. He takes a rough hand and gently rubs the inside of my legs, bringing the dress up higher.

My arm is caught underneath me, and I could feel the wooden handle of the blade pressing into my arm. I have to protect myself. He’s acting just like the wolf.

Of course! This man isn’t our friend! The wolf ate him, stole his clothes, and is now acting like our friend. He’s going to eat me, and I don’t have a way to stop him. No, I do. I manage to maneuver my arm so I’m able to grab the handle of the blade, but I can’t pull it out from under me. He’s laying on top of me now, sniffing me. I knew it. He’s the wolf, come back for me. They said he was dead, but I knew different. Always, I knew he was there, and would come for me again. I knew it. But I can’t let him have me. No. I’m going to kill him before he can do anything to me.

I try to push myself up, anything to release the blade from under my body. I can’t get up very high, he pushes me down again. His hand is now between my legs. I’m confused. What’s he doing? I don’t enjoy him touching me there. I have never been touched there before, but I’m not as stupid as he thinks I am. I know how wolves mate, and I have a feeling he wants to impregnate me with his baby wolves. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

He pushes off me, and I take that chance to turn around, but I get caught in the cape. My arm is stuck as my new cape traps my arms at my side. He laughs at me, but helps free my arms from the cape. I keep the blade hidden. It wouldn’t do if he saw the blade and figures out I intend to kill him. He takes his hand away from my legs, and places his arm across my chest, his own strength enough to keep my arms from moving, as well as my body. He’s too strong, no doubt about it. He is the wolf, come to get me once and for all, but I won’t let him.

He uses his other hand to remove his pants. Yes, he’s going to make me have his baby wolves. I can’t let that happen. He will not do anything to me, be it eat me or impregnate me. I close my eyes, focusing on releasing my arm with the blade.

No words are spoken as he forces my legs apart. I continue to try to pull my arm free, keeping my eyes closed, trying not to pay attention to what he’s doing. His arm holding me down loosens a little, and I try to free my arm. I can almost bring it across my chest when I feel something enter me. The pain is excruciating, more so than when he stuffed me in his mouth. I can’t help but to cry out. Whatever entered me pulls out, and I hope that’s it, but it drives into me harder than before. Again it’s painful, and I can’t help crying out. I open my eyes to see him moving his hips in the same rhythm of whatever it is pushing inside me.

He smiles down at me, and I begin to fight again, trying to pull my arm free. He won’t impregnate me. It won’t happen. I’ll slice my stomach before I let his wolf pups be born. He laughs some more, but closes his eyes. His arm loosens as he moves faster.

I grunt as I am finally able to pull my arm free. His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t notice as I raise my arm. He laughs again, and opens his eyes just in time as I drive the blade into his shoulder. He roars. I pull the blade out and bring it down again, this time into his abdomen. He pulls away from me, roaring in pain. He sounds just like he did when our real friend chopped him up. However, he somehow managed to survive that attack, and now he’s here, acting out his revenge. It won’t happen, however, because as he stumbles away from me, I jump up and drive the blade into his body again.

He falls as blood is flowing from the wounds I inflicted on him. My new clothes are being spattered in blood, but I don’t care. He lands on his knees, tears streaming down his face, blood pouring from his mouth and the stab wounds. I continue to bring the knife into his body, not caring where I hit, as long as he knows I want him dead, and in the most painful of ways.

You hurt me. You hurt my grandmother. You hurt our friend. You haunted my dreams for so many years. You disrespected my dead grandmother. You intended on making me give birth to your demonic wolf pups. I can’t ever forgive you. I don’t know how you survived last time, but I will make sure you’re dead this time. I will make sure you can’t even recognize your body. I will cut you up. I will feed you to the wild animals outside that you’ve also tormented all this time. I will feed you to myself. I will eat you, like you did to me. I will enjoy it. I will make sure you never hurt me or my precious grandmother again, you bastard.

I sit next to the mutilated body, panting, the knife stuck in his back, or front, I’m not sure. My new dress and cape are drenched. Grandmother was smart when she said white would be ruined instantly. Only a few spots of white can be seen, and that’s mostly in my back. I take off my cape, and then the dress. I’m naked now, but I don’t care. He’s dead now. He can’t hurt me. The only thing left for me to do now is clean up the mess.

I lay the cape down and start placing bits of him onto the cloth. I don’t care that the blood is ruining the fabric. I like the color red better than white anyway. Now that he’s finally gone, I can handle the color of red. I like red. It’s why I’m called Red. What’s my original name? I don’t know, but I don’t particularly care either.

I pick up the cape, and bring his body, or most of it, outside, where I carelessly toss it. Let the wildlife have him. I’m sure they would be relieved at his death as well. I go back to my room, and resume cleaning up the mess. All the meaty parts left over, I place on my dress. I don’t care for the dress. I have plenty of perfectly good dresses. I take the dress filled with the meat, and place it on the table in the kitchen. I have to pack it away fast, or it’ll spoil before I can even begin cooking it. I’ve watched my grandmother prepare meat plenty of times to do it without hesitation or question.

I pick out the bones, tossing them out the door as I do so. The meat is then salted, and wrapped. I use my dress to do the wrapping. I then pick up the dress with the meat, and walk outside, intending on placing the meat in the cooler shed where all the meat gets hung and dried. I don’t look at the other meat, but I can smell it. It smells unpleasant, but gratifying and delicious. It’s finally over. I killed him, myself. And if he plans to show himself again, by impersonating another human, I won’t hesitate next time. I can’t risk being overpowered like that again.

After stashing the meat away, I walk back to my grandmother. The rocks and dirt remain untouched.

“I did it, Grandmother. He’s dead. He won’t bother us anymore. You can rest in peace knowing I’m safe. You can rest knowing I can take care of myself.”

A whimper behind me causes me to jump and whirl around. In the mess of his meat is a small animal. Its snout and fur is bloody. It had been nibbling on him for awhile. I walk up to it, and smile. It’s a wolf pup, but it’s not his. No, this one has been tormented by him, though. I can tell. It’s skinny, too skinny for a healthy wolf pup. Poor thing. It needs me to take care of it. It hasn’t realized I was next to it, so I bend down and gently place my hand on its back. It flinches slightly, glancing up at me briefly before continuing eating.

Eat up, baby. His meat will make you strong. Don’t hold back. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. Nothing will harm you. You are mine.