Little Red Riding Wolf 2 (Patreon)

As you may have been expecting, the end of this little fairy tale has turned dark.

Don't say I didn't warn you!

Little Red Riding Wolf 1

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Penelope reached the fair long before Little Red Riding Wolf could, and she skulked around the train of circus wagons that lined the fair’s back edge. Like the animal attractions inside them, these wagons had once been shiny and new. But now the wooden carriages were largely forgotten, pocked with chipped paint and overgrown with weeds.

The lion cage stood empty, and the zebra exhibit was questionable. If that creature inside truly wasn’t a painted donkey, then why did it look like his stripes needed touching up?

But there was the cage she was seeking! The peeling paint at the top of the red wagon read “Vicious wolf!” but the grey canid behind the bars looked anything but. Sitting in a rocking chair with a cotton bonnet on her head, faded yellow ribbon around her neck, and a shawl across her lap, the old she-wolf focused on her knitting.

“Snagged again,” cursed Grandmama as she plucked a woolen strand from the rough groove in her needle. “I really need to replace these.”

“Good news, Grandmama,” said Penny as she approached the wagon. “Your grandson has brought you a brand new pair!”

The she-wolf paused her knitting and took a moment to squint at the girl before her. “Oh, is that so?” she asked before the wool loops began sliding from needle to needle once more.

“Uh huh,” said the girl with a nod. “And a basket of treats wrapped up in a red and white cloth.”

Grandmama stopped her rocking and reached down through the bars to pat the bare back half of the sheep waiting just outside her cage. She’d managed to unravel the fluffy little bovine from his ankles to the middle of his belly, but half of his winter wool still remained. “Be a dear,” she told the ram, “and let Grandmama get a few rows of black onto this blanket.”

The fluffy white sheep nodded and stepped aside for a black ewe that had only been unraveled up to her tail.

“Anyhow,” Penelope said, trying to regain the she-wolf’s attention, “your grandson—the one in the cute hooded cloak—”

“Red,” Grandmama offered as she resumed her knitting, “my daughter’s boy.”

“Yes, him,” said Penny, trying to mask her frustration, “he came to visit you by himself, but he got frightened by how many humans were around.”

Grandmama clucked her tongue. “That poor little dear,” she sighed, shaking her head. Then, she cursed under her breath once more as the yarn caught.

“Yes, well, he got so frightened that he ran off into my workshop,” Penelope lied.

The old wolf paused and looked up, her eyes fogged like the mirror after a long shower. “A wolf cub in a human’s house?”

“Well, not in my house,” said Penny. She pointed across the field adjacent to the fair, to the red house at the far edge and the smaller, yellow structure behind it. “My workshop… It’s an old shed behind our home.”

Grandmama tsked and shook her head once more. “Oh, poor Red, he must be frightened out of his mind.”

Penny nodded and gripped the bars with her hands. “Would you mind talking to him?” she asked. “He can’t stay there. My parents will be livid if they find out there’s a wolf cub hiding in the shed.”

The wolf looked up and frowned. “Oh, I’d love to, dear,” she said. Then, she reached over and tapped the bars with a claw. “But I’m afraid I can’t.”

Penelope sighed. And with a grunt, she climbed up to the iron lever that kept the cage door latched. She grabbed it with both hands, then bounced her weight up and down, trying to get the rusty thing to budge.

“Oh, do be careful!” said Grandmama, her knitting forgotten in her lap.

With a creak and a groan, the lever finally budged, and the cage door swung open slightly with a screech of protest.

Grandmama patted the black sheep. “I suppose we’ll have to work on this later,” she told the ewe. Then, she accepted Penny’s hand and climbed down from her exhibit.

# # #

When Red couldn’t find his grandmother in her cage, he panicked and ran frantically around the caravan, his basket forgotten. “Grandmama!” he yelled. “Where are you?”

A pair of sheep, grazing nearby, looked up to study Little Red Riding Wolf with their widely spaced eyes.

“Have you seen my grandmother?” he called to them.

Both of the sheep nodded, but it was the little black ewe who stepped closer. “She was here earlier,” said the sheep, “but a girl in a sunshine-yellow dress stopped by and led her away.”

The wolf cub gasped and covered his muzzle with both paws. “She did?” he asked, his fur standing up in fright. “Where did she take her?”

“They went that way,” said the ewe, and she pointed across the field where the ram still grazed. “They went to that little yellow building behind the red house.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” said Red as he grabbed his mother’s basket. “Thank you! Thank you!” he said again as he rushed off.

His heart beat hard in his chest as he ran, and the blood pounded in his ears. Why had Penelope led Grandmama away from her home? Was it because she was angry at Red for refusing to trade away his grandmother’s knitting needles?

When he finally reached the shed, he found the door slightly ajar. He leaned against the door, panting hard to catch his breath. “Grandmama?” he called. “Are you in there? Grandmama?”

No one replied, so he nosed the door open farther.

Inside, he saw a sight like no other. The tiny shed was packed with work tables and shelves, tools and jars, wooden cut-outs and bags of wood shavings. “Grandmama?” he said, quieter now, a touch of warble in his voice. “Are you in here?”

Still, no one replied, so he slunk farther inside, nostrils flaring, sucking in so many strange smells. Beneath them all, Little Red Riding Wolf could smell his grandmother. She had been here recently. But then again, so had so many other small animals. They sat or laid on shelves, frozen, their glassy eyes staring at no one.

He sniffed a burlap bag of wood shavings that had toppled over and spilled onto the floor. Though he could never reach it, a pickle jar set at the edge of a high shelf was a familiar smell too. The squirrel that Penny had showed him earlier in the day had stunk of both.

And then, he found the scent he had been seeking. “Grandmama?” he asked, trying to peek up onto the high workbench. Then, he set the basket down and pulled the knitting needles free. Standing up on his tippy toes, he could just barely see her grey pelt over the table’s edge. “Wake up, Grandmama. I brought you presents! I brought you new knitting needles!”

But before he could get his grandmother to wake, Little Red Riding Wolf’s ears twitched. He spun, only to find Penelope pulling the shed’s door shut behind her. “Well, well, well,” said the girl with the wicked grin. She set down the plate of cookies and the glass of milk she’d been carrying. “Isn’t this my lucky day?”

Red backed away, his eyes locked on Penny’s. “What are you doing to my grandmama?” he whimpered. “Why did you bring her here?”

“I thought maybe I could win next year’s first-place prize with a snarling wolf mount,” Penny explained, “but now I’m wondering if that would be enough. Wouldn’t it be better for my diorama to tell a story?”

The girl with blonde curls smiled even wider as she reached for the knife on her belt. “What if the snarling grey wolf was protecting a frightened … little … cub?”

She leapt and Red cowered beneath the high shelf, his eyes shut tight so he couldn’t see what would happen.

He felt the girl’s body flop down hard atop him, slamming most of her weight into the wall. But only for a moment. Then, she rolled aside and laid on the floor, her mouth and eyes wide. With one hand, she clutched at her chest and the long knitting needles that stuck up between her splayed fingers. She sucked in one labored breath after another.

“Are… Are you okay?” whispered Red.

Penelope tried to form words, but before she could, the little wolf’s attention was drawn to the high shelf where the pickle jar rocked slowly back and forth, jostled from when Penny’s weight had hit the shed’s wall.

“Oh no…” said Red.

He covered his eyes with his paws, but still, he could hear the jar topple over and the tin lid clatter to the floor.

“Glug… Glug… Glug,” went the pickle juice, and the blonde girl’s wheezing breaths turned to wet, gasping gulps.

Little Red Riding Wolf couldn’t bear to look, so he held his eyes closed and waited, and waited, and waited for the horrible sounds to stop.

When they finally did, the black wolf cub burst from the shed and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, refusing to look back until he was all the way safely back home once more.

And what of Penelope?

Some say that she was never heard from again.

But yet others believe that she did manage to win that big, ruffly ribbon at the following year’s fair.

———

Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yN9EiQ4fUXRoPillYXH28iVyHp9U9F-fyRHkPukcHMs/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?