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Little
Red Rotting
Hood |
For all
that Grandma
was one of
the most
respected
necromancers
in three
kingdoms,
she went
down without
much of a
fight in her
final hour.
Her house
was filled
with charms
and potions,
but they
didn’t do
her a bit of
good when a
hungry wolf
showed up at
her door.
The wolf was
pleased. The
winter had
been long
and lean,
and it was
his first
real kill in
a few weeks.
He feasted
off of the
old woman’s
corpse, but
a familiar
scent kept
intruding
into his
mind, and
once he’d
eaten his
fill, he
searched the
house for
the source.
There was a
great
quantity of
fresh meat
on the
sideboard,
and
Grandma’s
best
tablecloth
was on the
table. It
could only
mean one
thing:
guests for
dinner.
Yum.
The wolf
grinned, a
plan forming
in his
lupine mind.
She must
have been
expecting
one of the
local
villagers,
all fat and
sassy from
the recent
harvest. His
jowls
smacked just
thinking
about it. He
pulled
Grandma’s
cap over his
head, and
her
nightgown
(which was a
bit more
problematic)
and set
about to
straightening
the worst of
the mess in
her house.
When that
was done,
the wolf
crawled into
the bed and
waited,
mouth
watering as
he
daydreamed
of the fat
woodcutter
down the
road. He was
lazing off
into
dreamland
when a small
scratch came
to the door.
He cleared
his throat
and tried a
feminine
falsetto.
“Who is it?”
The words
came out as
more snarl
than girl,
and he
winced,
wondering if
the guest
would take
the bait.
A response
sounded at
the door.
Feminine,
faint. It
almost
sounded like
a moan.
The wolf
frowned and
tried again.
“Come
innnnnn,” he
sing-songed,
voice
cracking at
the high
note. Wolf
throats just
weren’t made
for human
speech, and
he sounded
more like a
constipated
donkey than
a Grandma.
There came
another
small
scratch at
the door,
but it
remained
closed.
“It’s open,”
he bellowed
from the bed
in a snarl.
Jesus effing
Christ, did
he have to
do
everything
himself?
Another
scratch at
the door,
and another
moan. “Braaains?”
The wolf got
up from the
bed and ran
to the door.
Was
Grandma’s
guest
stupid? He
opened the
door a
crack,
flipping the
latch and
then racing
back to bed
and pulling
the covers
over him.
Grandma had
a thick pair
of sleeping
drapes
surrounding
the bed, and
he pulled
those closed
too.
A small,
lone figure
shuffled in
to the open
door a few
moments
later,
footsteps
slow.
Halting.
Hesitant. A
bright red
hood
obscured the
face.
The wolf
straightened
the puffy
lace cap
atop his
head, hiding
his ears.
“Grandmama
is ill,” he
called again
in the high
falsetto.
“Come to her
bedside and
give her
some
sugars.”
And let her
eat your
plump,
succulent
face.
“Braaaains?”
The girl
responded,
and the wolf
heard
shuffling in
the main
kitchen,
followed by
the sound of
eating.
Exasperated,
the wolf
snarled. It
was almost
not worth
eating
humans these
days, it
really
wasn’t.
Especially
with the
diseases and
all. Still,
a quick peek
out of the
curtain
showed that
Red Riding
Hood’s arms
were nice
and plump as
she bent
over the
counter,
eating. She
was a solid
little
chunk, that
grand-daughter.
A nice, fine
meal if she…
The wolf
squinted.
Was
she…eating
the raw
meat?
Kids these
days.
He waited
patiently
while she
stuffed her
fat little
face, and
tried again.
“Come give
Grandma a
kiss?”
The girl’s
feet began
to shuffle
across the
room once
more, and he
retreated
back under
the
blankets. A
toothy grin
covered his
face, which
he tried to
hide.
Grandma had
been missing
most of her
teeth.
The
shuffling
stopped.
Fucking
A.D.D. and
kids these
days. The
wolf swore
under his
breath and
peeked out
of the
curtains
again.
Little Red
Riding Hood
had
discovered
Grandma’s
body under
the table
and had
dragged it
out. She was
chewing on
what was
left of the
dead woman’s
head and
making
disgusting
smacking
noises.
Ugh.
The wolf
made a sound
of disgust
in his
throat, and
Riding Hood
looked up.
The eyes of
the little
girl were
red, her
face bloated
and round,
and rot
surrounded
her mouth. “Braaaains.”
Definitely
time to
check out
the fat
woodcutter
down the
lane. Even
wolves had
standards.
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