Red

Grandma's Cottage, the locals called it. It's proper name was The Down, because it sat on the edge of the woods and overlooked the chalk downlands before it. But the locals knew than when a kindly old woman moved into any old house to live on her own, you called it Grandma's Cottage. It was just what tradition demanded. Tradition also usually demanded that you were suspicious of any old woman who lived in a remote cottage by herself, but since Grandma was too old to do most things herself, there was little to be suspicious of. Her strawberry jam was quite excellent, and her chickens always laid healthy eggs, but then you could say that of anybody's jam or eggs and nobody would bat an eyelid.

What was suspicious was the fact that, despite the cottage being fairly isolated, it was never disturbed. It seemed like such an obvious target - a defenseless old woman on her own, with it's back to the dark woods... But no burglar dared set foot near the place, and the majority of the beasts and birds of the wild seemed to keep a wide birth from it. It wasn't anything wrong with the place itself, people agreed from a safe distance and with a cup of tea to keep their minds off it. No, it felt more like there was something lurking about the place, something ominous that watched and judged those who came and went. And it seemed to get worse during the winter months, tho nobody knew why.

The wolf who pushed his way into the cottage was new to the area, and either didn't know about the local whispers or didn't care.

It should be explained that the animals of the district were a lot smarter than most, and aside from being able to speak in rare cases, were more given to careful planning and thought. It had been three days since this particular wolf had last eaten, and in most circumstances he would have eaten the old woman up there and then without much thought. But he'd heard other rumours - about the granddaughter who came up from the village through the woods to deliver groceries, and tender young meat sounded much more appetizing. And he thought he knew a trick or two that would enable him to get close enough.

There were a lot of difficulties that came from having paws and no opposable thumb. Tying the old woman up was a bit of a struggle, since he wasn't very good with knots, but it was made easier by the fact that, for whatever reason, she didn't struggle much. Locking the broom cupboard was a little better, since he could just twist his jaws to turn the key, but keeping the old door shut with one paw proved an irritating business. And then, after fighting for at least ten minutes to get the nightgown and shawl on, he still wasn't sure if he had it right. Oh, well. Can't win them all.

He'd just crept into bed when he heard the knock at the door.

"Come in, my dear!" he croaked, putting on his best old woman voice. He'd practised it for as long as he'd been a pup, and it had never failed him yet.

When the door opened, the wolf wasn't quite sure what to make of the figure that walked in. He'd been expecting a rosy-cheeked, blonde-haired child skipping through the doorway, all smiles and baby-blue eyes and too trusting for her own good. But the figure that approached was almost the complete opposite - her hair was a dark ashen colour, her skin was pale and most of her seemed to be hidden behind a red cape or coat that rustled as she moved. And her eyes were... he couldn't quite tell, but perhaps a very vibrant chestnut colour?

She was also older than he expected, and much taller. Ah, well - two mouthfuls were better than one.

"I'm here, Grandma!" called out the girl as she entered the bedroom, over the distinctive clop-clop of what might have been clogs. Her voice was soft despite the volume, as if the wind itself had deigned to speak on behalf of this strange and lonely-looking thing. The wolf, ignoring these details,racked his brains quickly - what was her name again? It started with an R, he knew that much. Rosemary, Rita...

"Leave the basket by the bed, Rosalynd!" he replied. "And come and chat with your grandma!"

The girl, much to his delight, did as she was bid without hesitation or questioning. Now that she was closer, he could smell her properly - young and tender, but with an oddly smokey quality like charcoal, that nevertheless made his mouth water a little. He could smell what was in that little wicker basket, too - sausages, eggs and other good things - and made a mental note to rootle around in that later. Perhaps he could wash this girl down with some of the meat-things, and perhaps the brandy. He'd always wanted to try brandy.

The girl came over to the bed, footwear clopping on the wooden floorboards, and looked at him keenly. The wolf looked back, and tried his best to control the triumphant grin crawling over his muzzle. This almost seemed too easy - he would have started kicking himself to ensure it wasn't a dream, if he could. She clearly didn't suspect a thing, not even bothering to take a second look, and she was but an arm's length away from him, which he could cover in a single spring no problem, bed or no bed.

You stay right there, he thought to himself, and we'll be having lunch very soon. With you as the lunch, of course.

"Oh, Grandma," said the girl, suddenly, "what big eyes you have!"

The wolf blinked, and wondered if he'd been caught. But then he steeled himself, knowing that he could easily salvage this, and cleared his throat. If that was the game that she was going to play, then let's cast a few dice and see where it took things, eh? The old classics never died, and if anyone knew how to make them work...

"Well, my dear, all the better to see you with!"

The girl leaned a little closer, and the wolf had to resist the temptation to just snap at her face right there. All in good time, my good wolf. Just be patient a little longer...

"And oh, Grandma! What big ears you have!"

"Well, my dear, all the better to hear you with!" This was too good - the wolf would have laughed aloud, if he didn't fear for his cover being blown. Just a few inches closer...

"And oh, Grandma! What big teeth you have!"

"Well, my dear, all the better-"

But the girl had suddenly stepped back a pace or two, into the red-gold light of the autumn morning that shone through the window behind her. And what the wolf saw next with startling clarity made the words choke and die in his throat. The red thing he had taken to be a cape unfurled itself and spread across the room, blotting out the light like leathery curtains. The clacking he had thought to come from wooden clogs started up again as the talons flexed in anticipation. And as his hackles rose in barely-comprehending terror, sharp white fangs glinted as his prey grinned at him in mockery of his failed deception.

"But mine are bigger," she hissed.

And lunged.

There was only one consolation for the wolf in the last moments of his life. The scarlet wings blotted his body from the sight of any other creature peering in.

-------

When Grandma finally picked the lock and staggered out into the daylight, there was nothing to suggest anyone had been in her bed. The sheets were straight and neat as a button, and there wasn't the least smell of wolf about them. But Rosalynd sat on the end of it, idly licking her fingers as though she had all the time in the world, and what looked like a large brush was clutched in her other hand. And there was something else lying at her feet - something furry and looking oddly flat, like a throw rug that had gone wrong, with bulging eyes and jaws still parted in a silent scream.

Grandma knew enough about Rosalynd to know what had happened.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked.

"Yes, Grandma," replied Rosalynd. "I'm perfectly alright." She belched gently, not even bothering to cover her mouth, and for a moment the smell of blood and meat wafted through the air.

"But what about you?" she asked, pointing at her elderly relative's wrists. "Those are some nasty rope burns."

"Oh, it's nothing," Grandma shrugged, grinning. "I've been tied up worse than that, believe you me. Some people nowadays can't even manage a fisherman's knot right." She left the implication of that sentence alone and bustled over to the stove where her kettle sat, still whistling after she'd put it there before the wolf showed up. Rosalynd made no reply as she clattered about, but now dabbed at the edges of her mouth with the brush, which the light of the window now revealed to be a tail, the stump still bloody from where it had been torn off.

"Did you want a cup of tea?" asked Grandma cheerily.
"Yes, please," said Rosalynd. "A strong one. I'll need something to wash this down," she added, indicating the deflated corpse with one hand.

"Not too strong, I hope?" Grandma's eyebrow raised meaningfully as she poured out the first cup. "You remember what happened last time? Such a horrible rash - you know lavender doesn't agree with you, dear."

Rosalynd rolled her eyes. "Yes, Grandma."

-------

A few days later, the tail, washed clean of blood, was nailed up on the front door by the stump. It stayed there for a least a week, during which time the man who cut Grandma's firewood and fed her chickens commented on it. Grandma was oddly dismissive of it, merely claiming that it had been "sorted out" for her, and the man had to content himself with that, knowing that it was better not to ask questions. The rest of the body was flung on the rubbish heap to rot, with only the rats caring to gnaw at what dry flesh remained on it.

But in all that time, the birds and the beasts of the woods saw, and learned to keep well away from the cottage for a while.

They knew that Rosalynd the Red had been calling.