Short Stories

Take Care Little Red

Mother and I filled the picnic basket together, rushing around our unkempt home. She insisted I hurry, but I lacked serious enthusiasm for my long journey.

With an oversized white coat draped over my protruding, skeletal shoulders, my mother hurriedly ushered me out of our once-picturesque, now-collapsing house's back door, insisting I travel through the cold, supposedly, haunted woods, to visit my sickly grandfather. My grandfather was a nasty old man, who was bad mannered and ill tempered, our hate for each other was mutual. He was commonly referred to as insulting names, by the majority of our village, including myself. Despite my continuous protests to visit him since early childhood; mother always executed a creative scheme to get my young self to his cottage. He was hunchbacked, with accompanying white, wispy hair, and liver spots covering his wrinkly skin.

The thin white material that covered the upper half of my body failed to deter the wind's brisk bite. One foot in front of the next, I dragged my frail stature through the dense and unfamiliar forest. With snow lounging on every surface, the flora now lacked its usual green vibrancy.

My woven basket, which held remedies for the ill, food and wine, swung carelessly back and forth, beheading each flower I passed, lilies and columbines, and inflicting pain on small innocent insects that dared to lounge upon the shrubbery and instilling fear on those whom were yet to come. Overhead, birds sung in languages I could not decipher, and trees whispered secrets I could not hear. My heart rate increased, blood pounding in my eardrums, my palms turned moist. I turned back, only to have my vision confirm my biggest fears, my home had disappeared in the dark fog... there was no turning back.
After what felt like an eternity, I had finally arrived at my grandfather's cottage. It was not a grand, nor a feeble building. The dishevelled garden, like a miniature forest of his own, and a tall door, made with a single brass knob, resting on the left side, made the cottage seem eerie, like a house from an ancient fairy-tale. The lilies engulfed every inch of the picket fence that surrounded the lonesome structure.

The flowers were an obvious compensation for his own beauty. Among the lilies, I found a lone freesia, and tucked it behind my right ear.
Clenched fist, my knuckles hammered on the mahogany door. Three steady knocks.
His raspy voice, which seemed so unfamiliar, called from inside, "Come in my dear!"
Obeying his command, I pressed my perspiring palms to the door's handle and anxiously twisted. The same painted portraits lined the walls, each one hanging from a mouldy, fraying piece of thread. I heard my grandfather rustling around, but ignored him for the moment, and scurried in the kitchen's direction. Contrasting the cottage's exterior, the interior of the building was spotless; I could see my reflection on every surface. I placed the basket on the cold, tiled floor, and emptied the contents into the correct compartments in the panty.

Our family lacked wealth to employ, or incorporate expensive meals into our diets, so my grandfather's knowledge and love of food made it clear that he would truly appreciate my mother's gifts.

I began to become distressed, my grandfather had not welcomed me since I had entered his home; I commenced my search.
"Grandfather?" I called again, this time with more assertion.

I spun on my heel when I heard a reply from the kitchen, my original starting point. When I re-entered the kitchen, the curtains were drawn, but grandfather's figure was illuminated by a single stream of light. He was slouched on the kitchen's floor.
I searched for my voice, "Are you okay sir?"
His head bobbed in response. I did not like my grandfather, but his lack of usual character was worrying. His face turned towards my own, and the single stream of light brightened his features, continuing to shade the left side of his face. The dark shadow forced accentuated the bags that he carried under his eyes and his liver spots were protruding on the right side of his face. His smile was sadistic; I shrunk back in my transparent skin.
"Grandfather, your feet... they're huge!" He pushed off the floor's cold surface, and stood to his full height, his figure towering over my own. His smirk grew; fear began to rattle my delicate bones.
"You're much taller than I remember," trembling syllables stumbled out of my constricting throat. My voice was uneven, each waver shaking my body slightly. His back straightened further at my comment. He took a large step towards me. I clutched my white coat, hoping it would produce more than just a layer of heat, but an adequate amount of protection.

In one swift movement, his claw-like hands reached for my thin wrists. I dodged his attempt. It seemed that grandfather's distaste towards me had grown, or his illness had caused serious effects on his judgement. I repressed a groan as he leaped towards me, forcing me to thrust myself against the kitchen counter, his full lips turned upwards at the edges, his bright, long teeth gleaming from the small light which intruded the darkness of the kitchen. He placed his body close to my own, his structure cordoning off my only exit.

The small flower that sat in my hair drifted onto the tiled floor. A monstrous growl emitted from his petrifying mouth. His tongue shot out, covering his crimson lips with thick saliva.
"What are you doing?" I feared the answer. I could see his thoughts processing, and I used this time to my advantage. I rammed my foot down, stomping on his foot, destroying the flower that I had dropped previously. A yelp of pain reverberated off the kitchen walls, but I could not pity my ill grandfather. I had to escape.
Knocking vases, paintings and furniture from my path, I headed for the nearest exit. A steady limp, and panting followed closely behind my long, desperate strides. Gripping the brass door knob, I twisted, I yanked, I turned and I pulled, but it merely rattled at the presence of my shaking, sweating fingers. The panting came closer. It was time to test another plan. My mind raced, and my feet followed. My memory seemed to have forgotten how large this cottage was. My lungs began heaving for air that was seemingly impossible to inhale, my feet throbbed with discomfort, but now was no time for complaints. His hands reached for me, I dodged, I tripped, and within milliseconds, I had collapsed on the hard wooden flooring, with my grandfather's monstrous body on top of my own.

There was more sunlight in this room, but for that, I was not glad. His heavy, overly hairy body that was positioned on top of my own made it hard for me to breathe. I screamed for help, but my odds of survival were slim to none, I accepted defeat. His red eyes shone with an evil glint, his claws extended and he delicately placed his nails on the nape of my neck, slowly pressing harder, dragging his filthy paws in patterns on my throat and chest. I retracted from his touch, but failed to escape. Blood pooled in my collar bone's concave, and cooled my warm skin. A swipe of his nails caused my cheek to burst, blood spilling onto the hardwood floor. His meaty paws wrapped themselves around my thin neck, and he arched his back, howling to the sky; like the wolf he had traded places with.

I closed my eyes, and fiddled below his hold. My hand reached for my pocket, and the cold touch of my blade calmed my senses. I swung my arm out from under me, using all my strength, I plunged my pocket knife through his protrusive, hairy gut. His face contorted and he began to whimper as I twisted the blade slowly before sliding it out of his stomach. I freed myself from his grasp and let him fall to the floor as I wandered towards the kitchen. The largest kitchen knife made its way into my grasp, and I swung it by my side back to where my grandfather lay. His wolf form had abandoned him as he lay nakedly gasping on his floor. I smiled down at his pathetic crumpled self, and I beheaded him. Blood covered my white coat.

I worked for hours in the small kitchen; his hard skin was soon the perfect texture. I scrubbed the house clean, and returned home, via the woods. I was even more scared of walking through the trees now, in the darkness, than I was during the brightness of the day.

My messy clothes and I trudged through the door, and I saw my mother slouched at the dining table, waiting for me. I was immediately smothered with affection. She ignored the blood stains, the first thing my mother did was rummage through the picnic basket. It now contained a freshly prepared and still warm casserole, which I had prepared at my Grandfather's cottage. She was delighted with the results of her swift look through the carrier and immediately placed the feast upon the table, and ushered me to place myself beside her.

The casserole's pastry was golden, glistening under the dining room's artificial light, and once sliced, the meat also glistened, the sinew causing my mouth to salivate. Mother was quick to take her first bites, and dished some up for myself, refusing to pause to say grace; we continued to devour our meal.

"The casserole is lovely, dear," Mother commended, "but he tastes too much like Grandma."

-----A/N----
This was a literature test. I had to write in Angela Carter's style, hope you enjoy x
*February2015