Big Bad Wolf
The dim sound of a distant scream drifted through the hot summer air, and the woods fell into an eerie silence as the woodcutter paused. A spark of intuition told him mischief was afoot. Though he was behind in his work, it wouldn't do to leave it be, so he abandoned his cart and set off into the woods to see what the trouble was, axe resting against his shoulder.
The path brought him to the clearing where the old baker woman lived. He knew the place well; he would often be greeted by the smell of fresh pies cooling by an open window as he took his cart past, and she would offer him cold water on hot days and hot tea on cold days. So it made him rather ill to find that the door was ajar and not a sound of life was coming from the house. Fearing the worst, he let himself inside.
A chair was overturned, and the rugs were in a disheveled state. Wild flowers, crushed and broken, littered the floor. There had been a struggle, right here in the old woman's kitchen. "Is someone there?" he called.
A sound. In the old woman's bedroom. But not a sound that she would make.
The woodcutter clutched his axe tight in both hands, padded slowly to the door, and threw it open. Whatever he had expected to find, this was clearly not it.
An enormous wolf was laying in the old woman's bed, stretched out on his back with his head above the bedsheets. He had dressed himself in the old woman's clothing -- a nightgown and a sleeping cap. His eyes were cold, staring up at the ceiling. A fat tongue slopped across his jaws.
It wasn't hard to imagine what had become of the old woman.
The wolf's belly was stretched to an unnatural size. Even through the bedsheets, the woodcutter could see movement. Signs of life from within. He wasn't too late. Perhaps she could still be saved if he moved quickly.
And then the wolf noticed him. As the woodcutter approached, mortal fear flashed in the wolf's eyes, but there was nothing he could do; the monster had gorged himself into immobility.
He was helpless. It would be quick work.
The woodsman raised his axe. But before he could bring it down on the monster's throat, the wolf's eyes looked up at him, hard and accusing.
"So you would murder me in cold blood," he growled. "As I lay here helpless."
The words stayed his hand, but the woodcutter stood resolute. "You're a wicked beast," he countered. "You've devoured the old woman, and now you sleep here in her bed."
"You would put me to death, but you know nothing of my crime," the wolf spat.
"I know that you should not be allowed to murder again!"
The wolf glared up at the woodcutter, a growl low in his throat, but he said nothing. At last, his eyes fell. "Destroy me if you must," he growled. "But hear my story first. It is my final request."
The woodcutter shook, but he lowered his axe at last, for he knew it was a terrible curse to kill another creature -- even one so foul as this -- without granting his final request. "Talk," he ordered. "But make your story brief, wolf."
The wolf turned back to meet the woodcutter's gaze. And when he was sure the woodcutter was sincere, he began his story.
It was the spring when I'd first met her. I don't travel so close to the road as a rule, but that day I had been following a curious scent. It brought me, of course, to her.
The little girl taking the path through the forest all alone. Defenseless. Naive. In a pretty little dress and a red riding hood, carrying the basket that I'd smelled a mile away. If I'd ever meant her harm, that would have been the time. Nothing could have stopped me.
No, I wasn't hungry. Not for her. I was simply curious. Unfortunately, my curiousity was what did it. I was so intent on watching her approach that I let her spot me.
She stopped short, surprised to see me. She looked back at me with wide, angelic eyes, studying me, as though I was a particularly interesting flower growing at the side of the road.
"Hello, wolf," she said quietly. It was the smallest, most polite smile you'd ever seen. The whole thing rather took me off guard. Most people hate me or fear me on sight. They call me "wolf" as a curse. But when she said it, it was like a song.
It was disarming. I padded closer, always keeping to the side of the road. "Hello, Little Red Riding Hood," I responded. "And where are you going all by yourself in the forest?"
She smiled and blushed. "I'm going to visit my grandmother for my birthday. My mother said that I'm old enough to go on my own now." She opened her basket and showed me the soft pastries inside. "She gave me some sweet cakes to take."
From ten feet away, I closed my eyes and smelled them, a delicate blend of vanilla and cinnamon. "Hmmmm. So that's what I've been smelling all morning," I mused.
"My mother bakes them," she explained proudly. "She's the best baker in the entire town. My grandmother taught her everything that she knows."
I was being careless. I actually took a step out onto the road. "Do you think I --"
She recoiled as if she'd been stung, and her smile faded. And I realized, to my dismay, that she wasn't as comfortable with me as I had thought. There are boundaries between men and beasts, and I'd crossed one.
"I should really be going," she said apologetically. "My grandmother is expecting me." And without another word, she turned and hurried down the road.
I pursued her, of course, but this time much more cautiously. If she saw me again, she gave me no indication. Part of me was concerned about her -- a wicked beast that came upon her might decide to gobble her up. Part of me simply wanted to know where she was going.
I tracked her all the way to a beautiful cottage. I watched from the woods as she arrived on the doorstep, safe and sound. The old woman came out to embrace her, and she laughed like the river rolling over a pile of stones.
It fascinated me. I watched them for an hour through the window. They sat and talked and ate cakes, and then the little girl helped the old woman to clean the kitchen, and then she went outside to pull weeds from the garden. She never moped or complained once as she worked.
After some time had passed, I left her to her chores and returned to my hunt. But something about the encounter stuck with me. And when I returned to my own cold cave in the afternoon, there was no one to hug me or bring me sweet cakes. I had lived alone for some time, but it had never hurt before.
I watched for the little girl after that day. She made the trip many times. Sometimes I would simply watch over her. Sometimes I would approach her and we would talk. But I could never get very close to her. No matter how many times I met her, she would always grow frightened and run away if I got too close.
And then I would watch from afar when the old woman would meet her at the door of her cottage, and the little girl would embrace her and they would greet each other with smiles and laughter. And the pain twisted in my stomach when I saw how easily and completely she loved the old woman. And I would watch for as long as I could stand to torture myself, trying to imagine what her embrace would feel like.
I came to despise the old woman. I hated her for the love her granddaughter gave her. What I would give to be in her place!
Yes. The plot had taken seed in my mind months ago. At night, the fantasy would disturb my sleep, running around and around in my head. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Not until today.
Not until this morning, when I met the little girl on the road, carrying a basket that smelled of fresh bread. I stepped out of the trees to greet her as always, but when her eyes met me, her face became cold and she quickened her pace down the path. I called out to her, and still she ignored me.
She had always been wary of me, but she'd never ignored my greeting before. Forgetting myself, I ran ahead and met her in the middle of the road, and she shrieked as if she had been bitten.
"Why do you run from me, Little Red Riding Hood?" I asked.
She looked up at me timidly, eyes wide and dewy. Her voice was small and anxious. "My mother doesn't want me to talk with you."
For a moment I was struck dumb. It had to be a mistake; I couldn't imagine such a thing. "But why?"
She looked at me with a fear I had never seen before. "Because you're a terrible beast," she said.
It was a dagger to my heart. I had known her for months, watched over her as she made her trips through the forest, spoken with her. I thought she would come to love me as I had loved her.
I tried to imagine what might have happened. Perhaps she chanced to tell her mother about our meetings. Perhaps she was scolded and taught why men hate and fear wolves.
Now I could see in her eyes that I had lost her. She would never give me her innocent smile again. She would look at me, but all she would see is a terrible beast.
I began to feel hollow. Numb.
"Please let me pass," she pleaded. "My grandmother has fallen ill. I'm bringing her bread that my mother baked and a bottle of medicine from the apothecary to help her recover."
The old woman. It brought to my mind the nights I had spent in obsession, dreaming of replacing her in the little girl's heart. And I began to see that I had no other way.
Isn't it perfect? I thought. The girl will have nothing to do with me anymore, so I have no use for being a wolf. The old woman is sick, perhaps dying, so it could hardly be called murder to help her along, now could it? I decided at once that this was my opportunity.
But I would need time to prepare.
"Do you think you could bring your grandmother a gift for me too?" I asked.
She seemed surprised at the suggestion. "I suppose so. What sort of gift can a wolf give?"
"I'm an animal of the forest," I admitted. "I have no money to buy medicine or a kitchen to bake bread, but I have lived in this forest all my life, and I know it like a brother. There is a small, sunny place not far from here where the most beautiful wild flowers grow. I could lead you to it, and you could pick a bouquet for your grandmother."
She seemed uneasy, and I was worried that she could see my mind. "I shouldn't delay," she said. "I hate to think of my grandmother sick and all alone for so long."
"But it would take only a moment," I promised her. "It would surely lift her heart, and I do want to be of help to her somehow."
So at last she relented, and I took her to the flower bed as I had promised. I left her gathering flowers; I don't believe she knew when I had left her.
I flew through the forest with all haste. I knew paths that the little girl could never have taken, and they took me to the old woman's house long before she was even done gathering her flowers.
The old woman wasn't stirring inside. I gave a rap on the door, and the voice called, "Is that you, my darling? Come inside; the door isn't locked."
I let myself inside and followed the sound of her voice, calling upon my bitter jealousy to drive me to the kill. Oh! what sweet anticipation as I stalked through her house in pursuit! How gratifying to find her in bed, frail and helpless, her cheeks sunk hollow and her thin face pale as she stared at me as an agent of death! How satisfying to feel her feeble throes as I held her in my jaws! She was shriveled and unappetizing, but oh! how sweet vengeance was when I devoured her alive in one big bite! I smacked my lips and licked my claws and reveled in how it felt to finally have her trapped behind my ribs, a fitting punishment for the heartache she had put me through.
With the old woman gone, I could finally begin my plan. I stole her night clothes from the closet and spent a long, clumsy time putting them on. I'm unaccustomed to clothing, and the nightgown was the simplest thing she had, so that was what I used. And when I checked my disguise in the full-length mirror, my heart swelled with joy. I had done it.
I had become the old woman.
As I admired myself, I began to daydream about my new life. The kitchen where I could make tea and cakes, the garden where I could grow vegetables. But most of all, I thought of the little girl.
I had a granddaughter. A granddaughter who adored me.
It was almost more than I could bear.
I crawled into the bed and covered myself up. And as I waited for the little girl, I thought about the marvelous new life opening up before me.
My happy dreams were cut short by a sharp rap! rap! rap! at the door. "Is that you, my darling?" I called, softening my voice. "Come inside; the door isn't locked."
A moment later, the little girl came in. In one hand, she held the basket that she had brought from home. In the other, a wonderful spray of fresh-cut wild flowers that she had so diligently gathered for me.
When she saw me, her eyes lit up, and she smiled and laughed. "Grandmother!" I held my arms open and she ran up to embrace me.
I closed my eyes and held her tight. I drank deep breaths of her scent. After waiting so long for this moment, I held on to it for as long as I could. I decided that it would be like this forever. I would live in the cottage, and the little girl would come to visit me with her laughter, and I would learn to make sweet cakes for her. I would be her grandmother now.
It would be like this forever...
"Grandmother?"
There was doubt in the little girl's voice. I felt a cold shiver down my spine as she looked up at me.
"Why, what is it, my darling?" I asked.
She stared at me silently for a longish moment. At last...
"What big eyes you have."
My heart fluttered. Her smile was gone, and her eyes accused me.
"Well, that's all the better to see you with, my darling," I said.
"And what big ears you have." She took a step backward, and the basket slipped from her hand.
"That's all the better to hear you with, my darling," I explained innocently. But I was ruined. I felt it in my bones. My disguise had failed. She would never smile or laugh for a terrible beast, much less one that had devoured her beloved grandmother. It had all been for nothing.
All for nothing.
I could see the flight in her eyes. She would run to the town and find someone to destroy me. A hunter with a gun who would rid her of me once and for all. I saw how this would end, and I began to fear for my life. As she backed toward the door, I began to draw back the bedsheets, readying myself in case I had to leap at her.
I felt ill. My heart was breaking. But she'd left me no choice.
"... And what... big... teeth you have...."
I couldn't let her leave alive.
"All the better to eat you with."
She screamed and ran. It was no difficult matter to catch her; if I had wanted to eat her to begin with, I would have done it long ago. But if it was easy to catch her, then it was impossible to silence her. I couldn't bring myself to pierce her flesh or spill her blood.
So I closed my eyes and I swallowed her whole.
The wolf's eyes trailed off, staring away at something distant. "She was young and tender," he said quietly. "But it gave me no satisfaction."
"Is everything you said true?" the woodcutter asked.
"Everything. I swear it on my life," the wolf said, looking up to the woodcutter.
"Don't swear on what's already forfeit, wolf," the woodcutter said. "We both know how this has to end."
The wolf snarled. "Think what you like then. But I never would have hurt her." He looked away. "It doesn't matter anyway. I can't bear to live with myself. Not after what I've done to her."
The woodcutter weighed his axe in his hands, staring at the wolf for a long moment. Then he set it down.
And he pulled the knife from his belt.
The wolf screamed as it plunged into his throat, but he gave no other struggle. The woodcutter cast off the bedsheets and drew the blade down the front of the wolf's body, slicing cleanly through the wolf's flesh and the old woman's bedclothes. He was careful as he reached the wolf's swollen belly, making sure not to harm the old woman or the little girl. He had barely started before he heard the first desperate gasp for breath, and as he reached the navel he saw their faces. The old woman was wrapped around the little girl in an embrace. They both stared up at the woodcutter, dazzled by the shock of daylight after being trapped for so long in the wolf's dark belly.
They spilled out, soaked with gore and chime, but unhurt. The old woman looked feint, and the little girl was crying. The woodcutter took her up in his arms and hugged her to comfort her.
The wolf stared up at the ceiling, his eyed bugged out and unseeing. His jaw and tongue hung slack, but he still lived, his body heaving with short, shallow gasps. The woodcutter knew there wasn't much time.
"Little Red Riding Hood," he said, "Are you well enough to help your grandmother get to the river to clean yourselves off?"
She looked him in the eye and nodded solemnly without a moment's hesitation. "It isn't far. It will only take five minutes if I help her."
He couldn't help smiling. So small and so shaken, and yet so brave in spite of it all. If he'd doubted the wolf before, his worries were erased; he could tell that she had a spirit that could charm any man or beast.
"Then take her at once," the woodcutter ordered. "But before you go..."
He turned to the old woman. "I will need to trouble you for a needle. And some black thread."
As the little girl took her grandmother to the river, the woodcutter set to work to mend the wolf. As he was stitched up, the wolf's eyes closed and his breathing became more regular. By the time he was complete, he was sound asleep, exhausted from the pain. The woodcutter brought his cart around to the cottage, and with help from the little girl and the old woman, he loaded the wolf up and took him home.
The wolf awoke at last sometime later, surprised to find that he wasn't in his cold cave in the forest, but stretched out on a rough bearskin in front of a small fireplace. His belly still ached from his stitching, but he was held together. The woodcutter sat nearby, watching him pensively.
And all at once, the wolf realized what had happened.
He glared up at the woodcutter. "You've spared my life."
"You did a wicked thing," the woodcutter said flatly. "But I know why you did."
The wolf scowled. "So you leave me indebted to you," he growled. "For my life."
"You will be my companion," the woodcutter explained. "You will keep me company and help me in my work. And you will never again do such a wicked thing, or it will be your life."
The wolf folded his paws and rested his head in them. It was an indignity to be forced to serve men, but he knew it was a terrible curse to disobey a creature who has spared your life. "Then so be it."
As the days passed, the wolf and the woodcutter became friends. The wolf would help to pull the woodcutter's cart and hunt rabbits for their dinner, and at night he would have a bearskin beside a warm fire where he could sleep. The woodcutter never made the wolf wear a collar or chains because he knew the wolf's debt would be weight enough to hold him.
It wasn't until the autumn when they paid a visit on the old woman again. They arrived just as the little girl did; she was standing at the front door, hugging her grandmother in greeting. Neither of them had seen the wolf or the woodcutter yet.
In his shame, the wolf couldn't even bring himself to look up to his master. "By your leave, I would prefer to remain outside." And he split off from the woodcutter before he could be seen. The little girl had brought sweet cakes from her mother's house, and as they shared stories with the woodcutter over tea and cake, the wolf slunk to the back of the house and curled up.
It was sometime later when his ears pricked up to the sound of approaching footsteps. They were too light to be his master coming to retrieve him, too nimble to be the old woman. He sat up as they got closer. His head bowed. His ears drooped. His heart thundering in his chest.
She stood and looked at him. He thought he would melt under that look of pure, quiet curiosity. He wasn't worthy. He never would be.
"Hello, wolf," she said quietly.
"... Hello," the wolf said, "Little Red Riding Hood."
She stepped forward and embraced him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his warm fur. He rested his head on her shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut to hold back his tears.